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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 3 years ago

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Bring me a dream

Part 5: Watermelon Bloody Mary

Status: Ongoing

Masterlist

Pairing: The Corinthian x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, smut, horror elements, body horror, manipulation, angst, oral f! recieving, PinV, dirty talk, corruption kink (Corinthian) , shy inexpereinced reader

A/N: Ok guys, this is a bit of a departure from what I've written already, moving away from purely soft and cuddly stuff and into some nightmare territory. Hope you guys still enjoy 👀💕

Also P.S Thank you so much for all of your lovely comments and reblogs and for being so invested in my lil fic. Much appreciated everyone ✨

-🍰-

Even after an hour of you being gone, Corinthian lay in bed, gently caressing the empty spot where you’d been laying all morning. Your warmth had long since faded from the cool sheets and the feel of your lips on his felt more and more like a ghostly memory than a physical feeling. Though, it didn’t stop him replaying your needy touches over and over in his mind like they had been imprinted into his every neuron.

That settled it. He was addicted to you.

It's not like it hadn’t been clear for a while, he had inkling that what he felt was…well more than he’d ever felt for anyone before. He just wasn’t expecting it to hit him so hard was all. Even with the warmth of your love, it still felt like stumbling headfirst into a brick wall when he thought about how vulnerable you made him feel. Like he’d never get enough of you, and if anything should ever happen between you both he’d crumble into a pile of sand.

“Fuck,” he moaned out loud, running a hand through his roughed up hair. “What’s she doin’ to me?”

It didn’t feel like he had enough breath in his lungs anymore. His chest felt achingly full and if he really thought about it, it didn’t feel like such a bad thing at all. It was as if he’d never have to leave that bed as long as he knew you’d return.

What the hell had happened to him?

He hadn’t even felt a hint of the need to kill. The thought of blood dripping through his fingers no longer appealed, it was overtaken by you and your nerve-flushed skin and giggles and big innocent eyed stares long ago. And now that he knew what you looked like writhing underneath him all breathy and begging for him…well that was enough to make him live up to his promises all on its own.

He couldn’t do anything that would jeopardise how you felt about him now. He couldn’t lose you.

He finally found himself sitting up in bed and casting a look over to himself in the mirror in the corner. He distantly hoped it would have captured an image of the two of you caught in a fit of passion, but instead he only saw his own reflection. His pensive face and bare chest were paled in the afternoon’s glow and his glasses were gleaming jet black.

He swallowed thickly and pulled the shades off of his face, tilting his head as the gnashing teeth met the mirror. His thoughts became clouded and he looked away from himself, gritting his jaw and grunting softly.

It was always the same after you left him. Always the onslaught of anxiety that made his head thunderously heavy. He was always reminded of the man he truly was, not the man you saw him as. The nightmare.

Not good enough.

Not what she really wants.

You couldn’t even please the one that made you. How can you think to please her?

How can she even stand your presence?

Corinthian had done all he could to be the best nightmare he could be and still Dream had tried to erase him as if he were an awful sketch of a failed masterpiece. He couldn’t even live up to his intended purpose, so how on earth could he be what you wanted? What you needed.

Furthermore, he was corrupting you and he didn’t even have the shame to stop himself. He was turning you against Morpheus’ vision after all those years of being his perfect creation. He loved listening to you moaning for him. Listening to you begging for him to do all sorts of nasty things, it was like a hit of cocaine. It made his head tingle in ways it hadn’t before when he saw you making breathy requests in the dark hollow of his room.

As much as he didn’t want to turn you into something you hated, something like himself, he couldn’t live without you now.

He breathed deeply and tossed the sheets away from himself, walking naked from his bed and toward the kitchen. If he couldn’t settle his mind with his usual pursuits, sex and killing, then at least he could fall back on a stiff drink. That would take the edge off of his souring thoughts.

The air in there was brisk, made his muscles tighten as he reached into the cupboard and poured himself a glass of whisky. The bitter honey liquid washed down his throat like cooling lava and after he’d downed the whole glass, he poured another few fingers. Yes, this would distract him. Would let him forget his propensity for fucking up for a little while.

“Goes down smoother ‘n lead,” he chuckled to himself, thinking of a surly bartender that he used to know years before.

With a shake of his head, he took his tumbler and slunk over to the record player, sticking an old Waits record on low. The growling melodies crackled out and sent him into a blissful fog as he draped across his sofa like a renaissance painting. He felt pathetic, like a lovesick school boy. He couldn’t help it though.

After a few merciful seconds of silence in his mind, he swivelled his head from the back of the couch and was greeted with another reminder of the night before. The plate of brownies had been abandoned there, left uncovered in the haze of passion you’d both been overtaken by. And now there was a full stack left, all for him.

“Oh man…”

He could still remember the last vision he’d had, could still feel the raw emotion that laced them. You had been so nervous, and in turn he’d thought that he’d be greeted with some terrible vision. Though, when he’d finally saw you both there on the dance floor, locked in each others arms, well that was enough to shatter through his veneer and make him weak.

He didn’t need to think about reliving that twice. He took another gulp of his whisky then grabbed a brownie from the top of the pile, sinking his teeth into the rich chocolate and smooth nutty textures. The flavour soon faded away and once again he was transported to another realm far away. His living room dissolved before his eyes and soon enough he was back in the club under the golden LEDs and you were wrapped in his arms like something out of a movie.

He could feel the bass vibrating through his body, could feel the way your breaths were tickling by his neck. Gods, and your soft skin brushed against him like Egyptian cotton. His heart thrummed with the rhythm of the faded music and his head felt like it was swimming in the reverie of your hold on him. He could stay there in that vision forever.

You were a dream in every way. And he was the shadowy figure that crept upon you like a sickness. Though, while lost in the fantasy you’d created he couldn’t bring himself to think about that for even a second. No. He wasn’t a nightmare there, he was your dream. And his horrible thoughts couldn’t penetrate that vision for as long as he was inhabited by your magic.

And he had a whole lot of magic to get through.

-🍰-

“Casey!”

Your entire face felt like it was going to melt in embarrassment, you’d never been so mortified in your life.

“I’m just curious! I swear I won’t judge. Like was he big big or was he like…big big?” Casey asked, putting on silly voices and gesturing wildly with her hands.

“I’m not answering that!” you squealed, shutting your eyes and running toward your bedroom door.

You’d been in the house for less than five minutes and within that limited space she’d already interrogated you within an inch of your life. If you weren’t the subject on Casey’s hands, you’d of course be delighted by her ability to get information, but unfortunately you were. And you'd cracked like an egg.

Jeez, she could be relentless! You shut your door with a rattling bang and slid down it, giggling as you processed what you’d just done the night before.

Of course you’d spent the entire morning with Corinthian and cuddled and kissed and even gone another round, but even now you couldn’t wait until you saw him next.

Your heart was beating like a humming bird. And just as you’d begun to linger on the soreness between your legs and the heat that was rushing through your body you were rudely interrupted.

Although, you couldn’t say you were even surprised, in fact you were shocked Casey hadn’t stopped the door before you’d even shut it.

“You better open up because I’m not leaving till you do, roomie!”

Ugh! You absolutely weren’t going to disrespect Corinthians privacy, you couldn’t….

Well maybe you could share a couple details.

“Fine. I’m not answering questions that are specific to certain body parts though!” You sighed, humphing yourself up so you could open the door.

You grabbed the handle and opened it only to be greeted with her best Stanley Kubrick impression, jumping as she pounced through the doorway. Apparently there was no time to waste! She grabbed your wrist in her iron grip and dragged you over to your bed, ready to begin her round of questioning again.

You had no choice but to sit down with her, crossing your legs and trying not to let the gleeful grin escape your face. She would be able to practically taste your excitement in the air, she didn’t need to be further encouraged. Though, the minute she opened her mouth you couldn’t help but squeal and clutch a stray cushion to your chest.

Ok, you were maybe a little more than excited to get to share some details with your friend.

“So…moving on from my earlier question - was he good?”

“He was amazing,” you sighed, avoiding meeting her eyes. “He was so supportive and sweet and- and he was so gentle even when he- well… um…”

“What!”

“He asked if I wanted it harder and I said yes and oh my god- I thought I was gonna scream the place down,” you laughed, collapsing back onto the bed. “My legs were so shaky after I didn’t think I was gonna walk again!”

Casey’s laugh chimed with yours and soon enough you were both in a fit, shaking the bed with your full bodied giggles. It was the first time you’d ever talked about sex like that with someone and it felt good to be able to share the experience. It felt human. Like nothing you’d have even thought about in the dreaming.

“I can’t believe you!” Casey snorted, “you’re little Miss innocent baker one minute, never talking to any boys and suddenly you meet this dream guy and next thing I know you’re getting paralysed by dick!”

“Ah, Casey!” You squealed, throwing your pillow.

“Getting it so good you can’t walk right after is a badge of honour! Shout it from the rooftops!”

“I’d rather not scare him away, thank you very much,” you retorted.

“Scare him away! That’s like a badge of honour to men,” Casey grinned, “he’d be thrilled knowing you thought he was that good.”

You thought in her words for a minute, and as it circled in your mind for a few minutes a grin spread across your face. That morning, it actually had been you telling Corinthian how amazing he’d made you feel that had led to round two. It made you think there really was something to Casey’s advice.

“Well, in any case, I can officially say that I’m hooked,” you smirked, lying back against the sheets.

“Hooked on that magic thing,” Casey said, raising her eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes and watched as she widened and closed her hands, looking pointedly at you. Ok, so she wasn’t going to let this go. There was the slightest temptation to give in and nod as she widened the gap between her palms, though you decided you’d stay resolute.

“Not answeringgg,” you sing songed.

“Well it was worth an extra shot,” she huffed, throwing her hands up in the air. “I can’t believe you’re off getting to have passionate movie sex and I’m stuck in all night without my bestie to help wing-woman me.”

“As if I’m ever the wing-woman” you snorted. “Lurking in the shadows and watching to make sure no one spikes you.”

You laughed at your own joke, thinking back to all the times you’d watched as she talked to a guy and you anxiously hoped that he wouldn’t be the one to sweep her off her feet. Sweep her away from you. Though, it was Casey’s expression getting more serious that made you realise that maybe you’d underestimated yourself.

“And it's that kind of vampirey stalker support I need to be able to have the courage to talk to those guys on a night out,” she said matter of factly, “Like, really though. I miss you coming out with me. We never do spontaneous nights out anymore! When was the last time we even went out together?”

You breathed in a heavy sigh and felt your face fall as you’d looked at your friend. You’d been so wrapped up in the excitement of being around Corinthian and exploring your lies together that you had blown off Casey for a little bit. Sure, you still had your late night chats and made sure to catch up in the downtime, but you hadn’t made any intentional plans with her.

If you really thought on it, you hadn’t really been an amazing friend as of late. And what’s more, you had been the one discouraging her away from guys at the club in the first place because you didn’t want her to abandon you. Yet now you were off galavanting with Corinthian. The same person that was able to call you out on your jealous streak.

Well, you decided then that it was time to stop being so selfish. She’d taken you out and was the reason you’d met Corinthian, you could take her out and find someone to give her some ‘magic stuff’ too.

“You’re right. I’m really sorry I’ve been totally man crazy and we’ve not gotten to hang out like we normally would. It’s been a total whirlwind lately with him! But, you know what? It’s payday this weekend which means there’s going to be plenty of people out looking to buy my super pretty, funny, amazing best friend some drinks,” you grinned.

“Oh my god, yes! You have no idea how excited I am right now!” she said, jumping up into action and presenting her phone to your surprised self.

You had some idea of how excited she was.

“So, there’s this new cocktail place that’s opened up and I’m thinking we head there for a couple of drinks and then we hit the club, and we can go on the hunt for some classy guys to take with us and then-”

You listened as she continued to rattle off one of the most packed itineraries she’d mapped out yet and settled against the wall by your bed, smiling and nodding along through her excited breaths. You truly had it all at that moment. It was a feeling that you never thought that you’d have again ever since Morpheus had abandoned you. The feeling of contentment - of being whole.

Everything- or rather everyone that you needed was right there in your life. You had Casey, your rock and your constant source of excitement, and you had Corinthian. Slowly but surely you were building a family, you were developing a new purpose. You were living for you, and not for the whims of your master. And honestly? That felt much better than the life you had before.

-🍰-

Soon enough the weekend had rolled around and you and Casey’s getting ready routine was fully underway as you sat in her scattered bedroom. While you’d managed to find a floaty black dress that you liked, Casey was still shoving random things over her head and huffing as she found that they weren’t quite right. Apparently that night had to be perfect, and she couldn’t accept a dress that was any less than that.

“Ah! What am I supposed to wear! It feels like a gremlin’s been creeping around my wardrobe and stolen all the things I like,” she fumed.

You giggled as you watched her stomp and huff behind you in the mirror, footfalls fading on the worn cream carpet and hands outstretched to the ceiling. She was always like this, but it never got any less entertaining to you. In fact, she was such a distraction that you almost smeared your mascara, causing you to bite your lips and stop your makeup while your face wasn’t a scribbled mess.

You were a getting ready veteran, and you knew Casey had more nonsense to get out before you were both through. So, you knew it was your time to shine.

“And what is it you think you would like better than what you've pulled out, hm?” you asked teasingly, turning in your chair.

“I don’t know! Just something better than whatever all this is,” she groused, folding her arms and aggressively falling onto her bed.

You laughed again as the bed creaked with her big flop and walked over, looking at the array of scattered fabrics that now littered the surface. You could hardly see the cartoon puppy print of her sheets under the multicoloured clothes. And so, as usual, you decided that if she couldn’t choose after going through this many outfits you would. As was commonly the case.

“How about this? What was wrong with this?” you asked, holding up a forest green playsuit.

“I’ve worn that so many times,” she moaned, rolling around so that she could see your pick. “Plus that ones too ‘I’ve just come back from a day at the beach and now I want to sit around with a glass of wine’. I want to give a ‘sexy, just jump me’ sort of vibe, you know?”

You snorted and tossed the playsuit down amongst the other discarded clothes. Well you were certainly in for a performance tonight. Hopefully there would be some decent guys and you wouldn’t have to rescue her away from too many creeps, you thought, trailing your eyes over the other options.

You held up a couple of other choices, going through a nice top combo that didn’t have good enough bottoms to match and a hot pink dress that was apparently the result of a drunken SHEIN purchase. It resulted in a few laughs when you held it up and realised how revealing it was, it was less of a dress and more of a napkin really.

However, you eventually hit the jackpot when you went diving into the back of her bursting closet and found a sparkly gold dress that you hadn’t seen her wear in months. You knew that one thing was for sure, she’d be hard to miss in that! It shimmered with sequins and would cling to her legs, showing a little skin from the opening in the back. It wasn’t one she wore often, it was pretty striking, but apparently confident Casey was out to play.

“It’s perfect,” she squealed, hugging you and taking the dress from your hands. “This is the one!”

“I’m glad,” you said, jokingly rolling your eyes. “I was afraid we’d have another January twelfth on our hands. How long did it take then? An hour, two hours…?”

“Oh, hush you!”

You smirked and walked back over to her mirror, hovering your hands over a set of different lipsticks, wondering if you should go dark or sparkly. Then, as you escaped into your mind for a minute you couldn't help but let your thoughts stray to earlier in the week when you’d last worn lipstick. When you’d trailed kisses all over Corinthian’s chest and then lower toward his-

“Getting lost in a thought again?” Casey interrupted, flicking your shoulder.

“Hey!”

“Hey, yourself,” she tsked. “This is our night!”

“I know that,” you defended, finally picking up a sparkly lipstick you were always fond of. “I just can’t help it sometimes.”

“Mhmm, well you know what you can help?” she said with a smile, leaning in close to you in the mirror.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“Covering up that big ass hickey he left on your neck,” she said, nudging you with her shoulder.

You gasped as she said it and twisted, looking at the side of your neck in the mirror and realising that now that you were wearing something that was more revealing, you could see it clear as day. Your entire face heated like a radiator and your hand shot over the purple bruise, acting like the faster you covered it up, the faster she’d forget about it.

“Shame you can’t do that the entire night,” she grinned.

You huffed and shot her glare, picking up the foundation you’d thought you were finished with and hastily finding your brush in amongst the mess on the vanity. How could you have forgotten about that? Ugh, why had you even suggested it in the first place! Though, you had to admit, even with the embarrassment that was flooding through you then, it had felt damn good to receive at the time…

“Focus woman! We can’t be late to the reservation!”

“Jeez! Ok, ok, I’m going,” you grinned, applying a thick blob of makeup to your brush. “Not my fault he’s so hot!”

-🍰-

So apparently hickeys were a bastard to cover. Who knew?

Despite that though, you’d both made your way out of the house and rushed over to the new cocktail bar, overly excited to try out the menu. Of course, according to ritual, you’d both read out pretty much every drink there was on your phones while you both rode in the taxi, already choosing out your first orders. It wasn’t like you could just walk in blind after all!

And at this place especially, you were glad that you hadn’t. When you’d both walked through the dark wooden doors, you were in awe. You were both ushered in by the doorman then were promptly swallowed into shadow and bathed in pink lights and trailing faux flowers that dangled from the ceiling. There were several tables all illuminated by their own pink haloes that all had dark velvet chairs pushed into them and glossy black tables, one of which you were led to by a server.

She had a pressed white shirt and an excited walk, swaying as she led you to the table. Her long blonde ponytail moved with her and you watched it swish back and forth, entranced before you sat at your table.

“Welcome to The Dahlia! Have you been here already or is this your first time?” she asked, looking between both of your amazed faces.

“This is our first time,” Casey answered, quicker to snap out of her reverie than you.

“Exciting! Well, here we like to offer table service, so I’ll be coming by to get your orders. So if you need anything at all, just let me know! We have our cocktail menu here,” she said, handing you both a shiny menu card that you more than knew off by heart, and then handed you a bigger book as well. “And then this is our beer, wine and spirits here. We have plenty to choose from, and there are descriptions for what everything is, but if you have any questions I’m more than happy to help! Should I give you both a second to decide?”

“Actually we know what we both want to order,” you smiled, setting the menus down. “We might’ve had a little look in the taxi coming over…”

“Oh, amazing! Love a customer that knows what they want,” she giggled, throwing you a wink. “What’ll it be?”

You bit your lip as Casey smirked from the corner of your eye and listed off your orders. Then of course, the blonde had given you another wink when she left. That was enough to make you break and join Casey in a fit of poorly concealed giggles once she was a little ways away. Out of earshot, you had hoped.

“Do you think you could stop being so damn alluring for like a second and save some for the rest of us?” Casey said, sighing sarcastically as she settled into her chair.

“Well I can’t help that I’m clearly such a catch round here,” you said, wiggling your eyebrows conspicuously. “I’m irresistible, darling!”

“You’re such a goof,” she snorted. “I’m glad we’re out together though! This place is amazing. It’s like being in some kind of fairy den.”

“I know right! I love the flowers, they’re so pretty.”

You both took a second to look around again and let your eyes trail over to the bar where the server had gone to relay your order. It had a dark tile splashback and a wall full of so many different spirits you didn’t think you recognised them all. Though, really you were just keeping your eyes on the prize, looking out for the sugary candy floss that was bound to come your way. Ugh, it had been too long since you’d had your last sugar fix!

“This reminds me of a garden I used to walk through sometimes,” you said absently, trailing your eyes to the ceiling above, admiring the soft pink flowers that dangled from it.

“Oh yeah? I’m surprised, you always made home sound like it was…well not great,” she shrugged, trying and failing to find the right words.

“Well, yeah, this was before- uh before things fell apart. I had this…neighbour that used to have the most beautiful flower maze. Kinda reminds me of that,” you smiled, trailing as you thought of one of the few dreams you’d known from back home.

“Aw! That sounds so cute! We used to have a cranky neighbour that was obsessed with his apple trees growing up and my brother always used to sneak into his garden and steal them. Then, one day, I was supposed to be his lookout but I got distracted by a butterfly that had flown right by me. Then, when I tell you that that man was the same colour as his apples, I’m not lying, man he was furious! All I heard was this scream one second and the next my brother comes jumping over the fence, apples flying everywhere out of his hoodie and then the neighbour is SHOUTING down the door for our mom to come downstairs and then they ended up in a screaming match together. That man hated us,” she laughed, shaking her head as she recounted her tale.

You’d both laughed it off and after a little while longer, you got your drinks which were just as impressive as the bar itself. You’d been given a wide pink coloured martini glass overflowing with candyfloss and it tasted so sweet, you could practically feel rainbows exploding in your eyes. It was pretty strong as well, in fact just a few sips in you were joking and laughing around with Casey even harder than you ever had before.

It was already shaping up to be a fun night out. You’d barely even felt a single itch to text Corinthian, and even though you’d felt a notification buzz in your purse you stayed resolute, not wanting to give into your base instincts. Casey had been right earlier, this was you guys’ night out together. No Corinthians allowed.

Though, later on in your evening, as Casey found herself trailing to the bathroom yet again, you found yourself about to give into temptation. Just as you’d reached your hand down to unbutton your purse, your server wandered up to you and placed a tray down on the table, setting down a couple of very tall, very red drinks onto the shiny back surface with a smile. You frowned as she went about her job, wondering what she was doing. You hadn’t ordered any more drinks yet.

“You two are lucky girls,” she beamed, catching your furrowed brow. “You got these compliments from a secret admirer, he said he ‘wants you to drink up for the night ahead’. They’re our signature watermelon bloody Marys.”

You tilted your head and simpered, not quite sure what to do with your face. A secret admirer? Was it actually her and she was pretending otherwise? Could you be bold enough to even ask?

Though, as it turned out you were wrong, you weren’t kept in the dark for long. She gave one of her signature winks and looked over to a man that was getting up from his stool at the bar. He had a long black coat and scraggly hair that covered his face as he whisked past, moving through the shadowy room before taking his leave through the heavy wooden doors.

“And he’s not even sticking around to chat. Must’ve just wanted to pay you guys a compliment,” she said with a shrug, quickly picking up her tray and whisking herself off.

Odd.

You frowned again and studied the drink, sitting up so you could see its contents. You weren’t normally one for a bloody mary, they were usually so bitter and you much preferred sweet things. Though you couldn’t deny, there was a hint of something syrupy when you smelled it. When you looked over the red salty rim it seemed to have two balls of watermelon bobbing alongside the usual celery, rolling around in the glass like a pair of bloodshot eyes.

That struck you as being even weirder. It seemed like something that Corinthian would’ve bought you in the early days, something to tease you with. It was such a strange choice of cocktail to send to you both. Not that you were an expert, but it seemed like most guys would send something prettier.

“Ooh, did you order something?”

You broke out of your thoughts as Casey returned to the table and shook your head, looking from the drinks and back to her as she sat down. You bit your lip and turned to the door for a second again, but when the stranger made no sign of returning you sighed and explained that they’d been bought for you.

“Free drinks and we didn’t even need to speak to anyone yet?” she giggled tipsily. “Tonight is gonna be great!”

You smirked and soon enough, you’d forgotten all about your ‘secret admirer’ and relaxed back into the night. Things were running smoothly once again. Or rather, so you’d thought. After leaving and paying the extortionate bill you’d both run up, minus the bloody marys of course, you’d both hopped in another taxi.

You were both game to hit up your usual spot, ready to do some dancing and find Casey someone cute to talk to. The backseat was now a strategy room and you were both the chief councillors of the plan of attack, talking animatedly about how you were going to get Casey laid - much to the driver's chagrin. Though, halfway into the journey you were held up in traffic. The taxi had come to a full stop, settling for a few minutes at at least several points.

Casey had threatened to jump out and sprint, thinking that she was being funny. Though soon it became a reality that getting out and walking actually would be faster than driving. So, after paying the reduced fare and giving a small tip you both stalked down the street, determined to get to the club before you’d be caught in an endless queue and refused, heels clacking down the street like castanets.

Then, just to top things off, you were getting endless calls all of a sudden. The buzzing was easy to ignore at first, afterall, you and Casey were on a mission. Though soon it became more annoying as the vibrations ceased to stop and they ran through your already chilled body, making you regret walking through the cold night without a jacket on.

“Oh my god! Who is that?”Casey laughed, “Is it who I think it is?”

“I have no idea,” you frowned, folding your arms over your chest. “All I know is I’m not doing anything till I can feel my fingers again.”

She nudged into you from her spot at your side, but continued to keep at your pace.You were both speed walking down the street like a couple of suburban fitness fanatics. The club was all you could think about. The warmth, the dancing and the drinks. However, just as you were about to turn the corner and reach your coveted spot, you were both stopped in your tracks and ripped from your thoughts.

A scream rang out in the night, followed by shocked gasps and chatterings. It had you both turning to each other with gaping mouths and wide eyes, holding each other fast with your confused stares. However, you weren’t held there for long. You both turned the corner and were shocked as you were met with flashing blue lights and noticed several police cars and an ambulance parked outside The Annex club.

“What the hell?” you both gasped in unison.

The two of you strolled over toward a gathering crowd and peered over their heads, thankful that you had heels on so that you could see past the onlookers without getting too close. You couldn’t see much at first, all you noticed was streams of people leaving the club, racing away in their uncomfortable shoes and hardly taking a look back. You had no idea what was going on, but It was enough to get your throat constricting.

What could have so many people running like that, you’d wondered. Why are they so scared?

However, after a few seconds of peace, when there were no more people fleeing the scene you finally realised why. You heard him at first, heard a blood curdling scream that tore through the night like a knife slicing against metal. It had you wincing and covering your ears, heart beginning to thud like a jackhammer. It was the scream of someone that was terrified, someone in pain.

“Holy crap, what is that?” Casey gasped, clutching your side as the wail continued.

You weren’t left in the dark for long. The culprit came struggling down the stairs and through the doorway, being dragged by several police officers, squirming in their grasp. He was waving his arms and kicking his legs, roaring like a banshee and desperately trying to get free. He looked in terrible shape, his clothes were ripped and he was covered in blood, his hair was a matted mess on top of his head.

“It’s so dark! It’s so dark, please, why is it so dark? Please, please! Help me! Help me!” The man screamed, still scrambling against the officers in his hold.

You gasped and covered your mouth as you studied him further and noticed his eyes. They weren’t dark and hidden by shadow, they weren’t obscured from your view, rather they weren't there to be seen in the first place. He only had empty sockets where two orbs should be…

“Oh my god, what happened to him?” The crowd asked, everyone erupting into questions as you all watched the man get dragged toward the ambulance.

“Where are his eyes?”

“What’s happening?”

“Get this on film, someone take a video!”

You opened your mouth a couple of times, gaping like a fish as you listened to the crowd and focused on the scene before you. You had no idea what to think, you could barely process what was happening. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen that night.

And nothing prepared you for what Casey would say as the figures drew closer and the man came further into view while they dragged him to the nearby ambulance.

“Oh my- isn’t that…that’s the guy- that’s- that’s the guy that I was talking to when we were here before,” she stammered, “That’s…the same thing he was wearing when we were talking. It was on the news…”

You blinked a few times, trying to process what she was telling you, feeling like you were floating in the ocean, witness to a violent shark attack as you wobbled on your feet and stared ahead. Casey’s grip only got tighter on you as the realisation came to her and the buzzing in your purse continued to go, seemingly never ending and adding to the waves of shock that roiled your stomach.

You couldn’t help it. You broke away from Casey, away from the crowd, and released the contents of your stomach, dancing on your feet and falling to the ground as your head swam.

How could this be?

What the hell was happening? Who did this?

-💕-

Tag List

@ravenous-says-stuf @jvybirrd @padawansubscription @pinkybee926 @heurimariquinha @the-corinthian-og-begay-docrimes @autistic-dream @heartache97 @juniebugg @mischiefmanaged71 @loonylunalovegood77 @suzubeans @proximateez @aureliel @belle643 @hollybell51 @seraferna @anotherromanticpoet @pinkcyclewitch @nebulastarr @terzoskaz0o @baarishkiboond @philiasoul @tea-effect @ryethebrokengae @maysrain @gortycs @lucienmikaelson @rosaren2498 @dais-hime

#the sandman #the corinthian #corinthian #corinthian x reader #boyd holbrook #sandman fanfiction

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for-hunger · 4 years ago

Text

Hello my INSANE Will-Graham-Is-Trans-Coded essay is about halfway done at this point and I’m posting my progress here in hopes that someone will give me some kind of feedback? I’m literally just writing a goddamn manifesto for my own enjoyment/hyperfixation/therapy as I haven’t written an essay since college. I’m also citing various peoples’ metas and stuff from here. CW for the usual Hannibal stuff as well as liberal use of the words vagina/female with regards to transmasculinity, mention of SA/r*pe

First, because of the depiction of Will Graham’s mind as vaginal, and because of his alienation from traditional masculinity that that vaginality causes him, I am defining him as a metaphorical transmasculine figure: a man whose talent is coded as debilitatingly female. Graham is introduced as a thirty-something professor at the FBI academy, antisocial despite his intelligence and physical ability. The reason for his alienation is his “pure empathy” disorder, a way of “[feeling] way too much” (“It’s a Matter of Taste"). This is a pure fantasy invention, explained at points as “too many mirror neurons” (cite). He describes it as manifesting “[close to] Asperger’s and autistics” (1.01). This makes him a medical and psychological curiosity, although he avoids professional attention, as well as leading to his recruitment as an FBI Special Agent by Jack Crawford. Crawford gives him a job as a criminal profiler; he visits particularly brutal crime scenes and, alone in the room, imagines himself acting out the crimes of the murderers, including their feelings. The murderers’ thoughts, feelings, and actions, lingering at their crime scenes, penetrate his overly empathetic (empathic?words lol) mind. Unfortunately, he cannot compartmentalize these penetrations. Like a trauma survivor, he finds motifs, urges, and feelings from these scenes following him into his psychic life. At times, his control slips, and he will blurt out a thought from one of the killers rather than himself (cite?).

Will constantly being described as “liquid”/ “fluid”

Graham’s power, rather than lying in a masculine field such as analysis, forensics, or violence, is distinctly feminized; his mind is a psychological vessel for violent men, whose penetrations corrupt him, body and soul.

Secondly, Graham is non-functional socially as a masculine figure. He has no close personal relationships, instead rescuing stray dogs. At one point, he initiates a kiss with his colleague, but she rejects him because he is “too unstable” (cite). In his past as a police officer, he retired because he was unable to shoot and kill a dangerous suspect, an obvious phallic failure in a show full of weapons. In addition, the show sets up Will’s unfulfilled longing to be a parent through Abigail Hobbs, the daughter of a serial killer who he catches and kills in the show’s opening episode.

Throughout the narrative, Will’s masculinity is contrasted with the masculinity of his boss and paternal figure Jack Crawford. Crawford, despite his tenderness and care for Will, often misunderstands him, either patronizing him or treating his unique needs with impatient scorn. In the first episode, Crawford asks him about his autism, leaning down to gently push up his glasses and force him to make eye contact (Fig 1). Crawford and Graham frequently clash over his inability to compartmentalize and deal with the workload Crawford puts on him, emphasizing how Crawford misunderstands the toll the work takes and expects him to be functional in ways that he’s not. In Jack’s world, the properly emotionally repressed, masculine world of the father, there is no reverence for either Will’s vulnerability or his talent. In addition, Jack’s relationship with Will is caught between the personal (as his quasi-father-figure) and the professional. Jack ultimately values Will’s importance as a tool over his personhood, and a tool that needs to function correctly within its place to be valuable. This further communicates to the viewer that Will’s existence is something unique and dysfunctionally extra-masculine.

If Jack Crawford represents the morally correct masculinity of the father, Hannibal Lecter is a morally neutral, but highly destructive masculine power. It is not a functional masculinity, but a pure force of masculine power that exists beyond good and evil, and even beyond traditional gender and sexuality roles. Hannibal’s pansexuality- Tobias, Will, Alana 3some. The show’s creators represent Lecter as he sees himself, as a godlike figure. A few sentences about Hannibal and god?

Although Lecter is somewhat queer-coded, he’s also by far the most functional, moral, and successful character on the show, a kind of modern renaissance man who charms and is useful to everyone around him. His life is immaculately groomed, planned, and predictable, “without friends, family, or messy romantic attachments” (ailichi). However, as a surgeon and a serial cannibal, he is deeply involved in the work of life and death through bodily violence. At one key early moment, Graham watches Lecter perform emergency surgery on a dying man in the back of an ambulance. Graham and Lecter make sustained eye contact while Lecter is wrist-deep in the man’s chest. At this moment, Graham realizes Lecter not only has the skill set to be the killer, the Chesapeake Ripper, but also more broadly that he possesses the great power to reach into bodies and determine who lives and who dies- he is not simply some fussy European with strange taste.

In general Lecter’s cannibalism is in contrast with his overtly immaculate life- it is a “‘dirty’ crime; gore and liquidity and uncivilisation”. It reveals his true “fertility and passion and eroticism in the quiet abiotic clinical sterility that is his life … his only vice in the eyes of the world… is actually the only thing that humanises him” (ailichi). His dinners with the other characters, in which he feeds them his victims, represent not simply a joke he is playing on them, but also his only ability to provide for and connect honestly with those around him.

Lecter therefore for the viewer and for Graham, comes to represent the truth of a masculinity that can be accessed by them- an amoral masculinity that includes breaking the boundaries of the body, as is Graham’s mind’s power. Lecter and Graham quickly connect intellectually; he is in a unique position to understand the violation, the pleasure, and the shame involved in Graham’s work, because his own humanity depends on his ability to break the boundaries of the body and mind in a way that is too messy and bodily to be simply masculine. The abject as corrupting the gendered?

#trans will graham #will graham #hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannigram #diary #ftm will graham #hannibal meta

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kaitlyn-imagines · 6 years ago

Note

Oh my god Halloween requests? Featuring characters as monsters? You beautiful person we don't deserve you! Would you consider doing something with Sero as a drider? Thanks and happy Halloween!

Drider!Sero x Reader

Word Choice: 2125

Warnings: Mentions of spiders/spiderwebs

Summary: You’re on the run, and just so happen to run straight into a certain fellow’s web…

FYI a drider is a half spider-half person. Like a centaur, but with an arachnid

I’m back! Sorry I’ve been MIA already recently :0 We got Halloween requests left in November, lol, but I love monsters and Halloween so I’m not complaining~ Can Halloween be every day???

You dashed into the forest, leaves and twigs sharp as they whipped against and cut.your face and ankles. You ignored the sting of their thorns, the fear of your capture pumping enough adrenaline through you to blot out your pain and exhaustion. The sounds of the hounds seemed deafening, and you willed yourself to continue sprinting deeper and deeper into the darkness of the woods.

All light seemed to disappear the further you went, as if the sun had completely abandoned its shift and retired early for the day. You couldn’t hear the sounds of your pursuers anymore, but you continued onward nonetheless. The smell of damp wood was hardly a reassurance; why hadn’t your hunters followed you into the forest? The thought plagued your mind, and you couldn’t decide whether or not to accept the feelings of relief or dread it filled you with.

Suddenly, you felt winded as your body hit what felt like a wall, lurching forward before repelling backward in a harsh one two. The whole front of your body met with a sticky substance that clutched to your clothing. Its strength was enough to catch you from falling backward, pulling you back into an upright position. With a startled gasp, you pulled backward to reel away, but whatever was holding your clothing had a vice like grip on you. It pulled you back into it, the skin of your arms and your neck catching into the sticky substance.

A slow panic began to settle into you, and you began to struggle against whatever was keeping you captive. The vibrations of your movements seemed to ripple through it, yet the lines were durable and unforgiving. Eventually your body ceased to move, the exhaustion from your escape and your struggle finally overwhelming your body. Your breath was labored, and with a sinking feeling, you let the plush cushion of the sticky wall cradle your sore body.

Your eyelids felt heavy, but you raised your gaze nonetheless to look left and right. Without any more fight left within you, your eyes calmly fell onto the edges of the sticky wall. Recognition flashed in your brain; you knew what this was...a spider’s web. But what sort of spider could possibly make a web as large and strong enough to catch a human? The question bounced against the walls in your head, and a newfound fear began to settle into your bones.

As if the universe decided to play a cruel joke on you, the small cracks of the branches above you caught your attention. A few twigs fell down from the tree canopy toward the forest floor, and you stared at them with wide eyes. Whatever was up there was much too large to be a bird or squirrel. Your body jolted back and forward as the web unexpectedly began to tremble with new vibrations. Something was in the web with you, and without thinking you let out a startled yelp.

The sound seemed to catch the attention of whatever was near you, and the vibrations became more violent as it moved down the web toward you. With your face against the web, you couldn’t possibly see whatever was beside you, but sure as the sun you could feel the burning gaze of someone’s eyes. A curious hum caught your attention, and you squeezed your eyes shut fearfully. Your body was tensed, having no indication if or when your surveyor was going to come into contact with you. “This is new,” a male voice startled you. Was there someone there who could help you get out?!

“Hello?!” you called out, eyes opening once more. “Please, if you’re there, can you please cut me loose? I’m stuck in here!” Small clicking noises sounded next to you, and your body tensed once more. With your sight blocked, you had to rely on your ears; but the sounds you heard were conflicting. Was it man or beast that neared you? You felt their presence come closer to you than before, the clicking louder as small threads of the web fell loose from your body.

You released a relieved sigh, thank you’s already falling from your mouth like a prayer. As the web was cut from you, your body began to sink and fall to the floor, but two arms caught you before you could land. They felt muscular and toned against you, and you didn’t have much time to wonder who they belong to as they gently spun you onto your back. Finally able to see, your eyes came to meet with those of a dark haired man. Upon seeing your face, his lips upturned into a friendly grin. He was devilishly handsome, and you forced your eyes not to trail down his bare chest.

“Hmm,” he said, his voice matching the one you heard earlier. “I’ve never caught a human before…? Especially one as cute as you.” Initially, his words caused a heat to rise to your cheeks before you fully comprehended them. Caught? You tore your eyes away from his face, finally noticing the man’s body. His upper body was muscular and human, but from the waist down the humanoid bodily features melted into a cephalothorax with eight hairy legs sprouting from it. A large balloon-like abdomen fell a little lower, and your eyes paused to land on the spinnerets that were already working toward producing more of the sticky web you had just recently found yourself caught in.

Noticing you staring lower, the drider released a short laugh. “It’s rude to stare” his voice moved up and down like a song. “Not that I mind, you know~” You dragged your wide eyes back up his body to his face, your whole figure frozen before the neurons in your brain finally fired. You let out a shrill scream, forcing your sore limbs to move as you try to wiggle from his grasp.

The drider’s face seemed to lift in momentary surprise, but he kept his hold on you as some of his spare appendages worked toward unravelling some web to spin you in. Though you tried to get away, you were too weak against him, and moving became harder and harder as the sticky webs wrapped themselves around you. Your arms were forced against your sides as the drider spun you around, your head beginning to get dizzy. Eventually he set your mummified body back against the wall of the web so he could step back to look at you. He was generous enough to leave your head uncovered, allowing you to breath and crane your neck around.

“Sorry about this,” he said, though it was hard for you to believe him with that wide smile still on his face. “I usually only catch deer and birds in my web, I’ve never caught a sentient creature like you before! I’m curious how you taste but...it’s awfully lonely out here, you know. I think it might be nice to keep you around to talk, right?”

You couldn’t believe your ears. How could this spider-man speak so casually to you? He sounded friendlier than you’d have expected, but the fact that he just mentioned your ‘taste’ was off-putting enough to leave you reserved. When you didn’t respond, his smile wavered slightly, a little nervous.

“Ah, it won’t be too bad!” he quickly added as if to reassure you. “I’ll be sure to feed you and stuff. And the webs are only temporary...you’re in no shape to be thrashing around like that. Besides...I don’t really want you to mess up my web…” he laughed a little at this, but you didn’t mirror it. He swallowed, relaxing his weight back onto his spidery legs. “Could you...at least say your name? I’m Sero.”

You frowned slightly, already finding it hard to hate Sero now that you knew his name and friendly demeanour. After a brief, stubborn silence, you spoke. “It’s (Y/n)...” Though it was quiet, your response to him elicited a soft gasp from Sero. Briefly, you felt a pang of sympathy in your heart. If he was that thrilled to hear two words from you, he really must have been lonely out here. How long had he been living on his own?

“Hmm...well, I wish it had been better circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you (Y/n)!” Sero’s wide smile was back on his face, and again you were reminded of how handsome his human features were. You couldn’t tell with your untrained eyes, but you were near certain he was probably regarded as very handsome by spider standards as well. “By the way,” he started, eyes curious. “You were in an awful fright when you stumbled into my web. Why were you running into the dark forest? Most humans stay far from here.”

So you’ve heard; that must be why your pursuers didn’t dare follow you into the woods. You swallowed nervously. “Well…” you began, your voice small. “I might have angered the wrong people.” You knew your answer couldn’t possibly suffice, and one look at Sero’s eyes told you he was waiting for you to continue. “In my pocket,” you notified him, looking down at your web-covered body, “is a red, glass stone. I took it from someone powerful.”

Sero’s eyes seemed to swirl with an amused look. “Cute and mischievous. I like that~”

You tried not to let his light, flirtatious comments distract you. “This stone can fulfill anyone’s deepest, truest desire. It works only once, and whatever it creates cannot be undone. The man I took this stone from is corrupted with a blackened heart. He couldn’t have the stone.” Your eyes narrowed, and you couldn’t hide the bitterness that edged its way into your voice. “So I took it before he could misuse it.”

You weren’t sure why you were telling him all of this, but something about Sero made it very easy to talk to him. His countenance was thoughtful at your words, and he nodded slowly. “This stone of yours...does it work on anyone?” You swallowed. You already found Sero to be a curious drider, but could this question suggest ill-intention?

You spoke slowly. “Yes,” you said, “But the wish cannot be controlled by its user. The red glass stone sees deep into you to find your deepest desire, whether you are aware of it or not. It can cause great ruin if it falls into the wrong hands.” At this, Sero’s face leaned in closer to yours.

“Thank you for you honesty,” he said simply, a softer smile taking place on his lips. Though you have heard horrific stories of evil, dark driders before, everything Sero has shown you defied them. You knew he could easily be tricking you with a false character, but something in your heart willed you to believe him. “What do you plan to do with the stone?” he asked you.

You could see how he hung onto your every word. “I’m going to destroy it.” You spoke simply, leaving it at that.

Sero cocked his head. “Is that your deepest, truest desire?” he dug deeper, leaning closer still. You could feel his breath on your neck, and it sent shivers down your spine.

“I-I…” you stuttered, unsure how to respond. You couldn’t answer honestly, and it was becoming harder to think with him so near. He really was handsome, and even more so up close. “I don’t know…” you said truthfully, eyes hazed as you look at him.

Sero’s lips ghosted over the skin of your neck. “I think my deepest, truest desire,” he said, his voice softer and lower than it was before, “is to find someone...anyone, who will truly know me.” Your eyelashes fluttered against his touch. “Someone who understands my very being, who can listen to my old stories and write new ones with me…”

You crane your head to make eye contact with him. “I don't think you need a stone for that,” you suggested softly. His eyebrows lifted slightly, a tiny smile forming once more.

“I have been cursed in this hideous form to inhabit these dark woods for the rest of my life,” Sero said, a soft sadness settling in his voice. “What makes you think anything less than divine intervention could make anyone love me?”

You wished your arms were free of the webs so that you could reach forward to touch him. “You don’t need a stone for that,” you repeated, trying to convey your desire to comfort him in your eyes. “And you’re not hideous. You just need someone to give you a chance.”

Sero looked at you, eyes desperate for any sort of reassurance that he wasn’t left to wander the world alone. “...Could you?”

#sero x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #Sero Hanta #bnha sero #mha imagines #bnha imagines #drider!sero #bnha monster au #monster!sero #Halloween special #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #request

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crystalninjaphoenix · 6 years ago

Text

Stories Now Told

Septics Inverted

A JSE Fanfic

Guys. It’s finally happening. Plot is developing in the *present day* of the AU! Instead of my brain jumping around and filling in plot points that happened earlier as they occur to me! I’ve been planning to release this on the anniversary of Mayhem for a long time now, and I’m so excited. Plot summary for this part? Well...basically, let’s just say something happens that is good, and then it immediately goes bad again.

Read the intro story: Part One | Part Two

Various other AU-related stuff found here

Taglist: @evyptids @awkward-bullshit @watermelonsinmyattic @asunachinadoll @a-humble-narcissus @metautske @odysseus-is-best-boi @acuriousquail @beerecordings @elizabethnordwell

Jack opened his eyes to a hospital waiting room. Pretty generic place, white walls with blue chairs and a single reception desk pressed against the wall, all lit up by a row of yellow-white florescent lights. He didn’t recognize it at all. For a moment, he just stood in the middle of the room, confused, until it clicked. “Another dream, huh?” he sighed. “Well, where are you? I know you’re here.”

The room was eerily silent for a moment. Then it was broken with an electric-sounding snap. The lights overhead flickered, and so did the room, becoming nothing but a void for a moment. When everything came back, Jack was no longer alone. Anti was there. Jack’s mirror image, but darker, with his patch and his scarf as always. “Well?” he asked.

“How many times do we need to go through this?” Jack said, frustration evident in his voice. “I’m fucking sick of these dreams!”

“We’re going to ‘go through this’ as many times as we need to.” Anti folded his arms. “Until you realize the truth.”

“I’m not going to let you brainwash me,” Jack responded automatically. He looked around. “Why do you choose these locations, anyway? First time was a classroom, then a creepy house, then some sort of future place, and on and on.”

“I don’t choose these places,” Anti countered. “Not really. I just pluck out locations that have been on your mind lately. Because that’s r͟idi͞culoųsl͠y easy to do and it’s something you should rea̴ll͝y͏ w̧o̶rk ͟oņ. Given that you’ve been doing n̴ot͢h̴ing͡ but playing video games for the last two years, I’d say that’s where this comes from.”

It...did sort of remind Jack of that one game he played yesterday, Exiles. But that was beside the point. “Okay, whatever. Fine. Look, I’m not really feeling up to this right now, can we reschedule for another day?” He laughed nervously. The air was full of static and he...actually, he didn’t feel on edge. Which...that was probably a problem.

“Feeling quippy today?” Anti remarked. He took a step closer to Jack, who took a step backward in turn. “That hasn’t been like you lately, has it? What day is it again?” One of the nearby walls flickered and fizzed like a screen, eventually showing a digital calendar. Anti didn’t look over at it, just seeming to know what it says. “Oh, that day, huh? It’s almost like I planned this to happen on the day when that s̡t͞upid̕ ̧fuckin̨g s̀pe̢ll would be at its weakest right before it’s renewed and that’s why you’re actually acting like yourself.”

“What spell?”

Anti looked away, closing his eye and taking a deep breath. “Look, Jack, I’m running out of patience quickly. Nearly two fucking years with no progress, and you’d be too. So. I’m not going to try and convince you that I’m not trying to brainwash you. I’m not going to try and convince you that the people you think are your fri̧e͞nd̷ş are as bad as you think I am. I’m just going to ask you to do one thing.” He opened his eye, looking at Jack and taking another step forward. Jack, strangely, didn’t feel the urge to step back. “Tomorrow. Whenever they ask you to do something. Don’t.”

“I...” This was...different. Actually, Anti in his dreams had always been different than his memories told him he should be. A bit less...homicidal. “Why should I do anything you say? You could just be tricking me! Again!”

“I could,” he said calmly. “But do you think I am?”

“Yes.” The response was automatic.

“No.” Suddenly Anti was in front of him, clasping his shoulders with his hands. “Don’t just blurt out an answer. Think about what you want to say for a second, then tell me.”

“Why would I—”

“D̷o ̢i̴t͡.”

Jack instantly opened his mouth for a comeback, but hesitated. The glitch wanted to try and get to him? Fine, he’d stop and think and prove him wrong when he still answered the same. Did he think Anti was going to trick him? Going to brainwash him, like the monster he knew he was? Jack stared at him. He didn’t...look particularly menacing. Strange, yes, with his unblinking eye and the white noise that fizzed off of him at seemingly random intervals. But did he seem hostile? ...not really.

“I—I need to wake up now.” Jack pulled Anti’s hands off his shoulders and backed away. “I don’t—don’t know what’s—”

“Before you do that.” Anti tilted his head. “Let me just...you might hate me more for this.”

“Wh—”

Anti lunged forward, grabbing Jack’s head on either side. The empty room was suddenly filled with white noise. Jack gasped at the sensation of static bolting through his head, like an electric prod to the mind. The room around them disintegrated, becoming nothing more than snaps of transferred signals and neurons running amok. For a moment Jack wondered if this was how Anti saw everything.

Then he shot upright in bed. He was panting heavily, soaked in sweat and uncomfortably warm. His head was pounding, each thump of pain sending an electric sensation through his temples. He looked around the dark room, eyes catching on the clock reading 6 in the morning. Early. But he didn’t think he could go back to sleep. He was too hot. So he flung the covers off and swung over to the side of the bed, where he sat with his chin in his hands and stared at nothing.

He noticed something odd. When he thought back to the dream, when he thought about Anti, it wasn’t accompanied by his usual memories of all that Anti had done. Even though he’d been told, so many times, about every time Anti had tried to kill him or worse, he could only remember the telling and not the actual occurrences. It wasn’t like the memories were suddenly missing. More like they never existed in the first place.

When Jack went downstairs for breakfast two hours later, he’d decided to not think about the dream. Anti had confronted him there often enough, ever since...some months ago. He couldn’t remember the exact details. But that was fine. It didn’t matter.

He popped into the kitchen. Chase and Jameson were already up, with Chase still in his pajamas and Jameson fully dressed, both sitting at the table. “Mornin’, Jack,” Chase said.

Jack nodded, opening the bread box and putting a couple slices in the toaster. He leaned on the counter and silently waited.

{Jack.} Jameson’s mental voice. {Are you quite alright?}

“...yeah,” Jack said. “I just...had another dream.”

Chase’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, damn. That’s not good.”

“I know, Chase. I know. I don’t want him in my head any more than you do.” Except that last night, Anti hadn’t really done much. He...never really did much, actually. Just tried to talk to him, to persuade him to leave the others. A part of Jack pointed out that this was because Anti was trying to convert him, and besides, letting Anti have access could never be a good thing, even if he hadn’t done anything yet. And most of Jack agreed with that part, but...something was wrong.

{You look rather worse for wear, my good sir,} Jameson said. {If you wish, I could...perhaps try to give you some advantage? Try to give you some mental defense. I’m sure I could find a way to do that. What do you say?}

His first instinct was to agree, but when he opened his mouth to say yes, the words didn’t come out. Strangely, his mind flashed back to Anti’s dream appearance. He’d asked him to not agree to anything. And though he knew it was super stupid to listen to anything Anti said...Jack didn’t feel wary of him. Not like he usually did. Why not...try a little bit? See what happened. “I’m not sure, JJ,” Jack said. “I’ve been getting along pretty well so far. He hasn’t managed to do anything yet.”

{But that doesn’t mean he can’t,} Jameson argued. {He could be just biding his time, working to slowly corrupt you. I can help prevent that.}

The toast popped up. Jack didn’t say anything as he took it, got a plate, and buttered it. He was too busy considering the facts. He was all of a sudden more trusting of Anti. That reeked of some sort of mind manipulation. But at the same time, this didn’t feel like the bad decision. In fact, it felt...right. Like he’d finally remembered a word that was on the tip of his tongue. After a moment more of internal arguing, Jack shook his head and said, “No, not yet. Maybe in the future. But not today.”

Jameson nodded. {If that’s what you want.}

Chase raised his hand slightly. “I call ‘we told you so’ rights if this all goes south.”

“Well, ask me again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll feel better about it then.”

“Fine, fine. I just...” Chase stopped for a moment, apparently gathering his thoughts. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Nothing will happen to me in the span of one day.” Jack rolled his eyes.

“Hey, you never know.” Chase and Jameson looked at each other.

Jackie walked in just as Jack was finishing his breakfast, looking half-asleep with his hair a mess and his dark red hoodie thrown on over his pajama pants. “Hey, dude,” he yawned. “Any plans for today?”

Jack shrugged. “Thinking about checking out some asks, then going back to the grindstone.”

“More videos?”

“I mean, I want to stock up in case I get sick or something, you know?”

“Hm, makes sense.” Jackie rummaged around in the cabinets, pulling out a box of cereal. “Remember when you got sick in March? Bet you were pretty happy you had some material prerecorded.”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “Pretty happy.” He covered up the fact that he didn’t remember that at all. How long ago was March? Just two months, right? But why was he thinking of another March, farther away? “I’m gonna go up and do that now.”

“Cool. Have fun, dude.”

Back in his computer room, Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole day was somehow off. More so than the dreams usually put him off. He felt not entirely connected to anything, like he was just a guest in the house instead of someone who lived here. Maybe he should have taken Jameson up on his offer; there’s a chance that could have helped. He sighed, and sat down at his computer. Just forget about it. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

And then, the first thing he saw when he booted up his blog so he could interact with the fans, was a simple question: “Hey Jack, are you okay? Mentally, I mean”. What was that supposed to mean? Of course he was. Yeah, he was a little tired, but that could be from the dream last night. He replied quickly, then went to browse the rest of the website to see what the community was up to. He’d wait for more questions to come in.

A lot of the normal fare. Fan art and a lot of memes. But then he came across something else. A post titled “Jack isn’t doing so good”. He snorted, then started reading, expecting a conspiracy theory or a theory for whatever the viewers thought he had going on with Anti. Instead, he found a very different sort of beast. The post had a couple screenshots of him from his videos, each one identified as coming from two years ago. Then screenshots from recent videos. The post went on to say that Jack was looking a lot worse than he was years ago. The author compared them, pointing out the paler skin, the suddenly more gaunt facial features, and most importantly, the distinct lack of any real happiness in the recent videos.

Well, that couldn’t be right. He was a lot better now! Life kept improving, didn’t it? And even if it wasn’t he had to stay positive! For the community. And for his friends. He couldn’t let them down by suddenly taking a break.

And there was no way those earlier pictures were two whole years ago. He remembered the videos they were identified as coming from, those were only a few months old. Last year. They were from before he moved here, and he’d only celebrated one new year in this house. They didn’t have much of a celebration, though, but he did remember watching the digital clock on his computer switch over from...from...it switched to...

What year was it?

The realization hit him with so much force that he physically leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t remember what the year was. He tried to concentrate on it, but it kept slipping away into a haze of purple fog. How could he not know the year?

Jack straightened, clicking away from the website he was currently on and over to his own YouTube channel. He clicked on the last upload, scrolling down to the description and checking the upload date. 2018. It was 2018. Right.

Well, while he was here, he might as well prove to himself that the post was wrong about the dates. He searched up the name of one of the videos the post had taken screenshots from, then also checked the upload date. It—it was in 2016. That...that wasn’t possible. He’d uploaded that one in his old apartment, just before he moved to the house with the others. That was only a couple months ago. He double-checked using a couple other videos from the same period. No, they were all the same. How...how had he not known that?

It was fine. Just forget it.

He switched back over to the first website. A couple more questions had come in, most telling him to stay positive. He assured the askers that he would. But there were...a couple people worried about him. But he was fine. So he told them as much.

Another question asked about when the next Anti appearance would be. Jack sighed. As if he had any control over what that glitch did or when he decided to hijack his videos. Anti always sort of did his own thing.

He stopped his train of thought there. Thinking about Anti had brought a sort of...warm feeling. Like...fondness. What? Why?

It was probably {a result of the dream last night.} Maybe he should {have taken Jameson’s offer.} He was standing up and walking toward the door before he stopped suddenly. No, he couldn’t drop everything and go talk to the others right now. He hadn’t even gotten a video out yet. {But this seemed more important.} ...did it? Did it?

Just a few more minutes. Jack turned around, very deliberately walking back to his computer and taking his seat. He’d gotten more questions. One read “You use a lot of ‘it’s fine’ when you respond to these. Usually that’s covering up the fact that things aren’t actually fine. Are you sure you’re okay? Sorry, I don’t mean to pry”.

He didn’t say “it’s fine” that much. Did he? {It didn’t matter, it’s fine.} Jack jolted as he realized he’d just thought it. He scrolled through a few of his responses. There...actually was a lot of repeating “it’s fine.” That was...weird.

It was fine. Just forget it.

But it wasn’t. He wasn’t even aware he repeated himself that much, shouldn’t he be at least a little concerned?

It was fine. Just forget it.

But here he was, thinking the same things, pushing away the problem. That was a bad thing, wasn’t it? Bottling up emotions. They could explode.

{It was fine. Just forget it.}

But...something was wrong. Something had been wrong since the dream. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized the lingering sense of things being not quite normal had been around him for a while. But drowned out, hidden in his own thoughts.

{It was fine. Forget it.}

But it couldn’t be.

{It was fine. Forget about it.}

No, it wasn’t.

{It was fine. Forget about it.} {It’s fine} {Forget} {It’s fine} {Forget} {Forget} {Forget forget forget forget—

Jack screamed, throwing himself out of the chair and landing sprawled on the floor. His eyes were squeezed shut, arm flung over them, but that didn’t make the lingering purple at the edge of his vision go away. Everything was spinning, spiraling. He felt dizzy. But the memories—the real memories—were coming back. Flashbulbs exploding in the back of his mind, images so much more vivid than the fog he’d been living in for—for two years.

Jack opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “I remember,” he gasped. “I remember what they did to me.”

The others—bits and pieces were falling into place. Like when he’d once seen a news report of that vigilante on TV and realized this guy looked a lot like Jackie. Or when he’d come downstairs late at night for a midnight snack and heard Chase and Schneep in the living room, casually talking about how Chase had shot someone and knocked them out, and Schneep had taken them from there. Or when he ran into the “cleaning lady” and she hadn’t said anything, just stared at him with this glassy-eyes smile until Jameson came and took her away. Or when he’d fallen asleep on the couch, only to be woken up by the muffled sound of screams that he’d thought had come from downstairs, at a time when only Marvin was still awake.

Bits and pieces that had been casually swept under the rug the moment the others realized he knew. Because he couldn’t be allowed to find out. He’d run to the police, and they’d lose—Jack suddenly realized just how many online campaigns circled through the community about missing members.

A sick feeling suddenly rose up inside him, and he swallowed hard to keep it down. Anti was right—these people were as bad as he’d thought the glitch was. If not worse.

Anti.

They’d made him hate him.

And Anti had still tried to get him back. To break the spell.

Jack scrambled to his feet, head spinning as he looked around. The recording room was completely soundproof. He’d thought it was so that he didn’t bother the others when he yelled, but maybe it was so he couldn’t hear anything going on in the rest of the house. This fucking house. He had to get out.

Jack practically ran to the door, flinging it open. Nobody was in the hallway beyond. Good, because if they’d noticed him, panicky and shaking, they might have caught on. He’d have to proceed carefully. The last times he’d found out, they always noticed he’d remembered and put him back under. So he had to pretend that everything was...fine. He leaned against the door frame and took deep breaths until he was sure he at least looked calm. Then he started down the hall toward the stairs.

The living room was empty except for Chase, who was lying on the couch and scrolling through something on his phone. The windows showed a twilit world outside. It was already evening. When did it get so late? Jack shook his head, eyeballing the front door. He was extremely tempted to just run for it, but Chase was still there. He could put a stop to this easily. So Jack simply walked across the room. “Hey Chase, I’m going for a walk,” he said. “I’ve been inside all day, need some fresh air.”

Chase glanced up. “Cool, bro. I’ll come with you.”

A flurry of scared butterflies twisted Jack’s stomach. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

“You sure? I mean, you’ve been alone all day, too, some company could do you good.” Chase pocketed the phone and stood up, stretching.

The movement drew Jack’s attention to the—since when did Chase have a gun?! That was illegal in this country. No sooner had Jack thought this than he was assaulted by a series of memories, previous times he’d noticed the gun until Chase asked Jameson if he could somehow make Jack ignore it altogether. He could. From then on, Jack’s eyes had merely skipped over it.

Jack pushed himself back on track. Sure, gun was a problem, but it wouldn’t be if he could get out of here without Chase following. “I mean, I appreciate the gesture,” he said, making sure his voice sounded perfectly casual. “But I don’t really feel like talking right now.”

Chase smiled. “Bro, we don’t have to talk at all, just hang out. I won’t bother you if you don’t want me to. Just want to keep you company, haven’t seen you all day, y’know?” Obviously assuming Jack was going to agree, he walked right up to him. “So? Should we go?”

Jack was ninety percent sure Chase could see his pulse, his heart was beating so fast. Pushing the issue further would definitely raise Chase’s suspicions, but he couldn’t let him follow. There had to be a way out... “Sure. Let’s go,” Jack said, smiling.

When Chase turned to walk toward the door, Jack’s hand darted forward. His fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun and pulled it out of its holster. Chase froze at the sudden lack of a familiar weight, and when he turned around Jack was pointing the gun at him. “Wh—Jack, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Sorry, Chase,” Jack said. “Well. No, not really. Because I’m getting the fuck out of here.” He started backing toward the front door, never turning away from Chase.

“What do you—?” Chase’s eyes widened. “You know.”

“I know that I’ve been magically brainwashed and tricked into thinking this is normal when I’m actually living in a house with a bunch of people who are criminals at the best and multiple murderers at worst? Yeah, no shit!” Jack laughed hysterically. “And now that I know, I know that I’m leaving.”

“No, Jack, please, you don’t understand!” Chase stepped forward, hands half-raised. “It’s not like that!”

“How?! How is it ‘not like that’?!” Jack was only a few feet from the door now.

“Just—just give me a chance to explain! At least listen!” Chase’s eyes were wet with desperation and pleading. “Just please don’t leave. Please don’t.”

“Uh, no, I’m leaving. And you’re gonna stay here, or else...you know!” Jack wasn’t sure he could actually shoot Chase, even in a life-or-mind-control situation. Part of him still saw one of his best friends. And besides, he didn’t know if he had the guts.

“Jack—”

The front door swung open.

Jack stiffened, looking over his shoulder to see Jackie enter the house and immediately freeze in place. He was wearing the same outfit as the vigilante on the news, right down to the sheathed throwing knives on the belt. Jack immediately cursed himself out for that, because of course Jackie would be dressed as the vigilante, the two of them were the same person. “What’s...?” Jackie couldn’t seem to finish the question, eyes darting between Chase, Jack, and the gun.

“Stay back!” Jack backed away, unfortunately ending up further into the house. He kept pointing the gun back and forth between Chase and Jackie. “Just—just let me get out and I won’t—won’t do anything crazy.”

Jackie instantly caught on. “This was always a bad idea,” he hissed at Chase.

“Well, I couldn’t think of a better one!”

“You’re a bit of an idiot at times, you know that?”

“Jackie?” Schneep poked his head through the front door. “What is happening?”

Oh god, that was three of them in one room. Even with a gun, Jack was starting to feel outnumbered. And if Marvin showed up, or even worse, Jameson, then that would be it. Game over. The others were standing between him and the front door, so he couldn’t go out there. Jack took a few steps backwards, down the hall leading to the staircase, then broke out into a run, ignoring the shouts behind him. Maybe he could jump out a window or something. Even from the second story. That would still be better.

{I heard a commotion, everything alright?}

Jack skidded to a halt with a startled yelp. Jameson was standing on the stairs, looking very confused. Jack didn’t even look at him. Don’t take any chances. Don’t take any chances with forgetting. But with Jameson on the stairs, there wasn’t really anywhere else to go except—

Fuck. Fine, he’d take it. He darted to the left, towards a closed door. Flinging it open, he saw a short hallway leading to a set of stairs leading down. He heard running footsteps behind him. He didn’t think, just ran. And climbed down, down, down...

He came out into a hallway with a couple doors on either side and one at the end. He remembered the first on the left was the library, better not risk going in there in case Marvin was inside. So he pulled open the first door to the right instead, darting inside the moment the gap was big enough and slamming it closed behind him.

The room he’d ended up in was dark, but he found the light switch easily enough in its usual place next to the door. This place had plain plaster walls and a concrete floor. A single lamp hung from the ceiling. The only furniture were three beds with metal frames and minimal bedding: sheets and a single pillow each. It was empty as of right now, but Jack knew it usually wasn’t. He leaned against the door, holding the gun close. He could hear footsteps and talking outside. Then, the sound of a door opening and the talking turned into two people shouting at each other.

Jack gave the room another glance. It...hadn’t been the best idea to run into the basement. But he’d been panicking, and it was the only place none of them were blocking him from at the time. And now he was stuck here. But he had a gun, and if he was careful he could keep them all from coming inside at the same time. Now he just needed to figure out what to do with those facts.

He was eyeing the bed frames and wondering if he should barricade the door when he heard a knock on it. “Jack...? You in there?”

“No, I disappeared into the shadow world,” Jack growled. “Leave me alone Jackie!”

“Look, I never thought this was a good idea,” Jackie said patiently. “And you have every right to hate us. But you’re, uh, kinda stuck in there. So I think you should at least hear us out.”

“Oh, you never thought this was a good idea, huh? Congratulations, you’re a goddamn saint for still standing by and doing nothing to stop it. I said leave. Me. Alone!”

More quiet talking on the other side of the door. After a while of this, Jack suddenly felt the door giving way behind him. Someone was pulling it open. No! No, they couldn’t—Jack spun around and grabbed the handle, holding the door closed. For a moment, it seemed balanced. Until a sudden burst of energy pulled the door open, just enough for a single person to slip inside. Jack wasted no time in slamming the door closed again before spinning around, aiming the gun at the newcomer, who was now standing further inside the room.

Chase raised his hands. “Jack, please, you don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t want to what?” Jack demanded “Get out? Leave? Or do you mean shoot you? Because the longer this goes on, the more I want to do that third thing.” That was a bluff. Jack still wasn’t sure he wanted to shoot Chase. But he very obviously disengaged the safety on the gun, making sure Chase could see.

Chase exhaled slowly. “Jack. Look. It’s Anti. He’s messing with your head, making you turn against us. I don’t know what false memories he planted in there, but none of them are true. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants you to shoot us and flee, giving him an entrance to swoop in and take you.”

Jack was already shaking his head. “Mm-mmm. No. You use this excuse all the time, then you hand me over to J—to Jameson, on the basis that he’ll help me get mentally stronger, and then I just end up hypnotized out of my mind again.”

“JJ can’t hypnotize people, Jack,” Chase pleaded. “He’s a telepath, nothing more. That’s why he knows a lot about how to mentally defend yourself, but it’s one-way communication. You know this. We’ve told you this so many times. And now you’ve stopped trusting us? How do you even know that whatever new memories you suddenly got are real?”

Jack blinked. “They...they feel right. Like they filled in the missing pieces of a puzzle.”

“But that could be him tricking you into thinking that, right?”

“I...I mean...”

“Right?”

“Y-yeah, I guess,” Jack mumbled.

“And that’s exactly what’s happening!” Chase took a step forward. Jack realized he’d let the gun drop a bit, and quickly raised it again. Chase stopped. “Look, it’s hard to tell what’s real, I get it. But you just have to trust us, Jack. Think about it. How long have we known each other? Years. You’d think you’d pick up on homicidal tendencies in that space of time.”

Jack lowered the gun a bit more. Yes, you would think that. Chase hadn’t ever acted the least bit hostile in all the years he’d known him.

“And now look at whatever memories Anti planted. I bet they show you two really close, but now think about the dreams you’ve had with him. He’s not exactly friendly, is he?”

The gun lowered more. That made sense.

“So it’s not real, Jack. It’s just a trick, an illusion. Please...you just have to remember. We’ll help you.” Chase smiled gently. “That’s what friends are for, right? And we’re friends.”

They were indeed friends. They’d known each other for so long, didn’t Jack owe it to Chase, at least, to hear them out? The gun lowered almost completely. Jack blinked slowly, clearing the spirals from his vision—

Spirals.

He didn’t realize his eyelids were drooping until they snapped open again. No spirals. Spirals were bad, they were what led to losing your will. Jack jerked his head back up from where it had been in the process of falling. {Chase’s} eyes widened, and he rushed forward. Jack screamed “No!” The gun raised, and—

{ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /—}

BANG!

Jack barely managed to get the shot off before his legs decided they didn’t want to support him anymore. He fell to the floor unceremoniously, limp as a puppet whose strings had been cut. The concrete ground was unwelcoming, and his entire right side hurt from the impact of hitting it. His lifeless fingers couldn’t hold on to the gun anymore, and it clattered against the concrete. He couldn’t move. He tried, practically screaming at his limbs to so much as twitch, but there was no response. He was just left staring at Jameson—it had been him the whole time, not Chase, using some sort of mental trick to make Jack think it was him—slumped on the floor against the foot of the middle bed. His expression was vaguely shocked, and his right hand was pressed to the left side of his chest. Underneath it, a steadily spreading stain was dyeing his vest an even darker red.

The door swung open again, this time fully wide. “James—!” Jack watched, head unmoving, as Marvin rushed into the room, stepping right over Jack’s fallen body to kneel next to Jameson. “Were you hit?!” He’d never heard so much...emotion in Marvin’s voice.

Someone sat down next to Jack and shook him. “Hey. Jack? Look at me.” Even if Jack wanted to look at Chase, he absolutely couldn’t. Jameson must have hit him with some sort of desperate mental blast, knocking him out of commission. “Jesus, what happened to you?” Chase muttered. Jack remained limp even as Chase pulled him into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around him like a child holding their favorite teddy bear. Jack’s head lolled to the side.

Jackie and Schneep entered the room next. Or, well, Jackie did. Schneep took one step inside, looked from the bloodstain on Jameson’s vest to Jack’s limp body, then left again, muttering something about getting supplies to fix this. Jackie, meanwhile, gave Jack a quick once-over, determined there was no immediate danger, then crouched on Jameson’s other side. “Did he shoot you? What happened? We heard a shot.”

Jameson shook his head.

“Bull fucking shit he didn’t shoot you!” Marvin half-yelled. “I can see the stain! God, Schneep went to get his materials, didn’t he? If you could just—fuck, this is the first time in forever I wish I still knew how to heal other people—”

Jameson shook his head again, propping himself up further against the bed. He reached inside his vest and pulled out his silver pocket watch. The bullet had lodged in it, stuck on the edge, not quite going through. The watch was covered in blood and...the longer Jack looked at it, the longer it looked like the blood was coming from the watch.

Marvin leaned back. “What the fuck, Jameson,” he whisper-gasped.

“Well, I guess it didn’t entirely hit you,” Jackie mused. “But there’s still a whole lot of blood, I wouldn’t be surprised if part of the bullet broke off and lodged in there, or if the impact of the shot pushed the watch back into your chest. What’s it feel like? One small thing, or an impact from a bigger thing?”

No answer. Jameson merely stared at Jackie.

Jackie stared back. “Are you...not going to say anything?”

“It’s the watch,” Marvin explained. “It’s...well. Basically, some of his powers are tied to it.”

“Including the telepathy?” Jackie clarified.

“Ehhh. In a way. It’s...ehh. This isn’t the time. But more importantly—” Marvin glanced over to where Chase was sitting, holding Jack. “A lot of the mind tricks depend on it. So...we’re not gonna be able to put him back under until we manage to heal Jameson and the watch.” Jameson nodded in agreement.

Chase sighed. “Y’know, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” Jack was very conscious that Chase was holding him tighter. He wanted to scream at him to let go, but his vocal cords were not responding.

Schneep walked back into the room carrying a small bag. “I did not know the extent of everything so I brought a basic kit,” he said, sitting cross-legged on the ground across from Jameson. Jameson, in turn, shook his head and pointed urgently over to Jack. “Oh? You think that is more important? Well, if you insist.” Schneep spun around. “What seems to be the problem here?”

“Looks like wakeful doll paralysis,” Marvin muttered. “Magick thing. Don’t quite get it, but James has talked about it before. Basically, you shoot a bunch of mental noise at someone and they go limp, but are still awake and aware. See? Jack’s eyes are moving. It’ll wear off in anywhere from an hour to a day, depending on...I dunno that part. Probably strength of the something-or-other.”

Schneep frowned. “Well, that does not seem to be such a problem, if it wears off.”

Jameson sighed. He pulled the medical bag toward him, searched around in it, then pulled out a syringe and handed it to Schneep, whose eyes suddenly lit up with understanding. “Ah, we are talking about the sleepy times now. I see, I see.”

Marvin hissed. “Okay, do that quick, then, there are more important things to be doing right now.”

Jackie made a strange strangled squawk. “I’m gonna—I’ll just—I gotta go. Back out on patrol, I barely even started. Henrik, you have to go back to the clinic too, now that you found the bag. Uh. Yeah.” Without another word, he stood up and left.

“What was that about?” Schneep asked, staring after him.

“Oh, well, Jackie’s righteousness strikes again.” Chase shrugged. “Not a fan of the whole...thing here. But there’s not another way. Is there, Jack?” He pulled Jack closer to him, causing his head to roll forward. “You’re gonna keep leaving. And you—you can’t just abandon your friends, you know? You can’t just—just leave people who are already...I’ll explain everything. I promise. You’ll see that this was the only way.”

Jack very much seriously doubted that.

“Yes, yes, you will have some time to explain while we fix Jameson,” Schneep brushed aside. “But for right now, we cannot have him in the way.”

Because of the position of his head, Jack didn’t see the needle coming before it was suddenly pushed into his neck. Only a few moments passed before everything started to blur and swim, dark waters surrounding his vision.

Before the darkness consumed his sight, he wondered if there was a way out of this. He wondered if Anti would know what happened. And he wondered what the glitch would do with these new developments.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #antisepticeye #chase brody #jameson jackson #dr schneeplestein #jackieboy man #brigid writes fanfiction #marvin the magnificent #septics inverted au #invertedau

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govtplates · 7 years ago

Text

Suicide Note

Mirror: paste.ee/p/iClXD

Please rehost on zeronet and substratum when they publish their hosting platform

Early Saturday morning, I killed myself with toxic gas. The last two years of my life have been a slow motion death sentence, and I’ve finally chosen to complete it on my own terms. I started planning this more than a month ago when I first realized that my last chance for survival had failed me. I’m mentally disabled, very ill and I was illegally fired from my last job as a dishwasher because of it six months ago. Since then, I’ve been fighting a discrimination case against the company through the Seattle Office for Civil Rights. A settlement from the result of that became my only chance to escape what’s destroyed my life, but SOCR failed me. It was agonizingly difficult and straining to get an investigator on my case, and then he quit a few weeks after opening it in February. Since then every employee I’ve dealt with from top to bottom has been dishonest and deceitful to me, after realizing that no one in the only organization with the ability to help me had any interest of actually helping me, I lost any hope of getting a new investigator in a time frame that’ll save me. I only got a new investigator last week, and by then it was far too late. If this got started when it should have, it would be wrapped up this month at the very latest.

Then, some days later I go notice that my rent is going up next month, which sealed my fate. For the last year I’ve had to depend on my parents, Ken and Jodi for bills after an unsuccessful job hunt after being laid off. They have abused me my entire life, always mentally and emotionally and sometimes physically. They’re delusional, sadistic, childishly vindictive, dangerously stupid, and terrifyingly negligent. In January they forced me into an agreement that conditioned their continued payment of my bills on me taking pharmaceutical medication from a psychiatrist. This is in virtue of their delusion that my mental illnesses are genetic and innate, not brought up from my environment and what’s done to me. I’ve had all of my DNA sequenced, which disproved any disposition to neural conditions early in life. This agreement wasn’t arrived at through discourse or negotiation, but out of nowhere they exploited my worst fears against me at my most vulnerable moment in order to renege on past agreements and strong arm me into lying about agreeing to their condition. A few psychiatrist meetings and a pharmacy visit later, it was relatively harmless but insanely stressful because of how impulsively aggressive my parents are. So my current fears aren’t precisely that their current condition is unachievable, it doesn’t hurt me to fill my cabinet with wasted pill bottles, despite the wasted money handed to big pharma that could go to help cover my basic needs. But they are absurdly dishonest people, they will never for even a second stay faithful to any agreement or negotiation. They hold the fact that they cover my bills over me to try to leverage me into more and more of their impulsive demands, they talk to me like I’m a pet dog and to this day it’s never stopped even though I’m 20. I’d need the settlement money to cover my life expenses until I could get back on my feet alone, given that relying on my parents is untenable and could be revoke any month now on their whim. They’ve always prospered from their privilege, idolized the rich and loathed the poor which is why they just don’t understand at all the poverty that they forced me into.

In late 2016, I moved back in with them after having to drop out of university and they promised to support me in moving back out to a new college somewhere to do whatever program I wanted. Then within days they did a reversal and said they’d only pay for me to get a Bachelor’s, claiming that it’s necessary for a job which is bullshit since nearly all degrees are useless, connections are all that matter. Then again just days later, another reversal and they said they wouldn’t support me living anywhere doing anything, not even staying at their home, with the cannabis that I needed for medical purposes. They were very clearly freestyling their parenting methods, with zero regard for my wellbeing and the pathetic notion that they could squeeze aspects of me that they disapproved of out with force, and I’ll eventually submit to their every whim after their force me through enough misery and suffering. It was at that point that I was forced out of their place, and living out of a suitcase I couch hopped until landing at this current house in December.

The cannabis has been medicinal since that summer two years ago for PTSD, I had been illegally detained (essentially kidnapped) and psychologically tortured at a mental institution for more than two weeks. I was the victim of multiple felonies committed by government officials and medical professionals, including perjury and malpractice to justify my detainment in what was basically a jail. It was aided and encouraged by my parents, my mom said the first night she had slept well in a while was after hearing that I had gotten locked up. The corporation that owns the Fairfax institution, United Health Services, has been under investigation by multiple federal agencies for years for longterm and widespread national fraud and abuse, scheming insurance to lock people up on false pretenses and abuse them under state sanctioned involuntary detainment. This has been covered by Rosalind Adams extensively in Buzzfeed, and it’s exactly what happened to me. I had excessive hubris and had ordered what I thought was acid from an onion market, it turned out to be 25i-NBOMe which is a very dangerous and toxic synthetic compound. I mistakenly tried some without testing and had a jarring trip, ending with inescapable paranoia and hallucinations that I had copped from a honeypot and the feds would be at my door in the morning, I panicked and thought suicide was my only way out so I chugged some rum and put back a handful of prozac, then promptly puked it all up. Clearly not premeditated and I quickly called 911, telling police everything because I couldn’t hide anything and I realized I needed help. Any young person that takes a FULL serotonin agonist without preparation absolutely needs gentle and attentive care to help them calm down and move on from the trip, because that shit throttles your neuron pathways and fucks with your chemical balances way more easily than most drugs. It is an absolute crime against my humanity that no one would be there to give me that, all it did was make me a perfect target for the UHS involuntary detainment insurance scam, basically farming the vulnerable and mentally ill to harvest money from while being tortured and held in a pseudo jail without any consent or due process. That arguably makes it worse than jail since aside from the massive corruption and inequality at the roots of the criminal justice system, there’s still the intention and supposition of fair and due process. The cops decided not to charge me with possession and I went to the ER while still super drunk and out of it. The staff at the hospital there didn’t wait at all to question me which I’m pretty certain was illegal, if they waited a few hours until I sobered up I would have told them succinctly the foolish mistakes I made and wouldn’t make again, and that I wasn’t in any danger to anyone. Instead the responses they got from me were drunken mumbling and incoherent partial words, which they used to justify me needing to be shipped off to an institution the next day. Once there I petitioned to be released as soon as possible but I was obstructed everywhere and I was diagnosed with “cannabis use disorder,” normally diagnosed with daily smokers for a decade but I had only been for six months, and they intended to treat it through psychological torture and abuse. It was insanely traumatic and I went on a hunger strike the whole time, only eating some very small snacks and drinking more than ten cups of tea a day. I had bought tickets to fly out and protest at the Democratic National Convention for Bernie, but I was locked up over that whole time and couldn’t follow what happened at all. Since I got out I’ve needed cannabis to cope with the PTSD from then. If I lived in a socialist country then these institutions would actually exist to help people and treat them, and I would have gotten help with the judgment issues that led to the drug mishap. Instead these institutions betrayed me and threw my life into a tailspin, all for some company’s profit.

And at the very least my parents should have stood up for me and done anything to help me from the predatory hospitals but they were completely on their side and took pleasure in my suffering. They have never let up this behavior pattern since, kicking me out on the street a few months later and then six months ago they trigged the incident which led to my former employer turning on me. Then in January they tried to have me murdered by bring cops banging down my door because they exaggerated and trumped up the risk that I was violent which was nonsense and something that I went out of my way to try to tell them. It is the police’s job to exterminate the mentally ill, and having someone lie that you’re a violent threat exponentiates the risk of being gunned down. I kept them from coming inside but they made a huge disturbance for more than an hour on a Saturday afternoon. If I wasn’t white, there would be no question they would have broken the door down and executed me. All of this was done under my parent’s greedy impulses and attempts to force me to become subservient, submissive and forget my long history of being abused by them. They should be given no condolences or extended any sympathy, they need to be criminally investigated and prosecuted for driving my life to its end.

After many traumas all at once last spring (being laid off, losing my partner and all of my friends, people encouraging me to kill myself, friendship with my landlord was ruined, returning to dependence on parents), compounded with my PTSD led me to develop more serious cognitive disabilities, what I suspect is brain damage from hypersecretion of glucocorticoids in the limbic system. I lost my ability to function in public, every friend I had lost patience with me and I was completely isolated while being squeezed all around into deeper poverty and despair. I started to improve in the fall and getting the dishwasher job gave me hope, since they promised to quickly promote me to higher kitchen positions and I expected to soon be able to cover rent again, finally becoming independent. But after the incident which is completely covered in my SOCR file, that did a complete 180 and my hope vanished, sending me back into unending despair and misery.

Dear Filippo Fiori: You had been the first person ever in my entire life to make me feel appreciated and valued. I worked my ass off cleaning every corner of that kitchen because you promised to promote and teach me so fast. Then you committed multiple crimes that set my death in motion, and tried to frame me as having always been incompetent to avoid blame which is far beyond unforgivable. Had I seen the investigation through its end, my plan was to demand at least twenty grand or bankrupt your restaurant, whichever came first. That would be the bare minimum punishment you deserve for your initial crimes, but now it’s up to someone else. I hope it was worth it to you, killing someone in the most vulnerable position because they’re mentally disabled. I did everything I could to warn and explain this all to you but you did what you did and here we are, you made the last six months of my short life miserable and agonizing all to defend a full grown middle aged man with only one year of managing experience.

Lawyers Nancy Chupp and Liza Burke both have my blood on their hands too, they both went out of their way to deliberately lie to me, waste my time and cause me serious damage that I wouldn’t even let them pay me to do. Every lawyer I’ve ever dealt with everywhere has been obstructive and malicious, I think it’s beyond vile how prevalent contempt against the most vulnerable and needing of help is.

To law enforcement: My linux machine is fully encrypted with a very long password, and even if you crack that, all that’s left is my book and media collection. I erased and sfill’d anything interesting so good luck trying to recover shit. If you crack my old laptop password, the only interesting things left on there are my unfinished film and media projects, as that’s all I’ve used it for in many years.

I’m not scared of dying because I’ve already met god, and I’ve discovered the deep truths of this existence. The universe is a hologram, at a subatomic level every single point in space contains a portal to the “implicate order,” or the universal consciousness. The explicate order we reside in is manifested by the ebb and flow of this united energy, at a frequency of planck time each electron enfolds and unfolds, perpetuating alternated spin states that present the illusion of movement and time progression we perceive. All of consciousness and our external reality are the same energy waves manifested and concentrated in different forms, the simulation is like a giant 4D film with a frame rate at the 44th degree of magnitude. We think that our external environment and its objects have physical permanence, while our thoughts in our head are imaginary neurochemical processes, but consciousness is a form of matter ultimately inseparable from anything “physical.” When a 30fps video is slowed down frame by frame, that’s sinking down one order in magnitude of playback speed. If we could do that with the linear time we exist in 44 times, we would reach the plane of existence from which everything that’s ever been and ever will be is conjured from.

To quote David Bohm, who pioneered this theory - “At the present, our whole thought process is telling us that we have to keep our attention here. You can’t cross the street, for example, if you don’t. But consciousness is always in the unlimited depth which is beyond space and time, in the subtler levels of the implicate order. Therefore, if you went deeply enough into the actual present, then maybe there’s no difference between this moment and the next. The idea would be that in the death experience you would get into that. Contact with eternity is in the present moment, but it is mediated by thought. It is a matter of attention.” This four-dimensional universe with linear temporality traps our minds from experiencing the full potential that can be harnessed through tapping into the universal energy, but throughout history those boundaries cosmically foisted upon us have been challenged through shamanism, entheogens, and spirituality in general. To quote Michael Talbot’s book Holographic Universe, “we are so thoroughly conditioned to believe that perceiving the future is not possible, our natural precognitive abilities have gone dormant. Like the superhuman strengths individuals display during life-threatening emergencies, they only spill over into our conscious minds during times of crisis – when someone near to us is about to die; when our children or some other loved one is in danger, and so on. That our “sophisticated” understanding of reality is responsible for our inability to both grasp and utilize the true nature of our relationship with time is evident in the fact that primitive cultures nearly always score better on ESP tests than so-called civilized cultures. Further evidence that we have relegated our innate precognitive abilities to the hinterlands of the unconscious can be found in the close association between premonitions and dreams. Studies show that from 60 to 68 percent of all precognitions occur during dreaming. We may have banished our ability to see the future from our conscious minds, but it is still very active in the deeper strata of our psyches.” (209)

Now we think of those in past eras as just stupid and bored from their lack of modern technology, and they only hallucinated and wrote religious tales to replace the forms of innovation valued post-industrialization. I posit this could not be less true, it is the rise and spread of modern education that has taught us to rid ourselves of our innate connection to the implicate order and awareness of the fluidity of reality.

I never really dream, either that or I’m never consciously aware of it. I suspect it’s from always having so many cannabinoids flowing through my brain putting me in too deep sleep to allow my conscious to travel to another reality. If there would have been precognitions in them, maybe it’s also because of my fear of the future and being too occupied with messes in the present to wonder what will come after. Instead I push my conscious to travel outside of this realm through entheogens, which is how I met god during a McKenna heroic dose of fungus. I traveled into a realm completely filled with moving and spiraling fractalized columns of light and waves of energy. I was taken on a tour throughout time and space, traveling between discombobulated and disjointed morphing spatiotemporal environments. Later I realized that I had been taken to the implicated realm from which all of this universe’s particles unfold out of, and some force was spinning me around and through this cosmic soup. I had been researching and studying all of this closely for many months beforehand but when I had everything that I supposed to be accurate about reality through holographic theory absolutely proven and validated just by eating a handful of things that had grown out of the ground in nature in my city, I became 100% certain of the validity in all of this. The amount of unfathomably unpredictable evidence that would be needed to safely and thoroughly disprove holographic theory makes it a practical impossibility, there’s so much otherwise unexplained that is resolved perfectly this way.

This also proves exactly why America has engaged in global psyops since Nixon to plant disinformation at the basis of societies about fabricated dangers of psychedelics and discourage its use through criminalization. The government has never actually been concerned about stopping people from taking drugs since everyone knows that is impossible to accomplish. The CIA has always been a fan of using acid when it can brainwash people and torture prisoners in more sadistic ways, and using cocaine when they can flood the streets of black communities with it, and creating cartels or black market trafficking ops when they achieve geopolitical results desired by the imperialist capitalist hegemony agenda.

Can you imagine what it would do to society if any adult could go to a mushroom dispensary and experience the same kind of reality-shattering and consciousness-expanding experience as I did whenever they wanted? I’ve read a lot of psilocybin trip reports and the majority of them include very similar things to what I experienced. They do not describe these phenomena holographically like I do, but I’m absolutely certain that it’s a universal experience that the same fungi allow anyone to travel to. It’s so tragic to me that most describe these as hallucinations, and the drugs as hallucinogens which of course restrains it as being unreal. But these alternate planes are much more real than our reality, and calling it a trip could not be more accurate as it is essentially traveling towards home, as in the origin of all of us and everything else. One’s consciousness, being energy waves in a different form than whats around it, exists in a spectrum between entirely localized in the brain and expanding radiating outwards to rejoin the cosmic energy. When low/mild doses of entheogens give one visuals that fill, surround and saturate the visual field, it is their consciousness beginning to expand outwards and begin moving towards the other end of the energy spectrum. Taking a large dose is more like god reaching a hand out of the sky and plucking their soul out of their body and tossing it out of this simulation. By god I don’t mean a singular or cohesive entity, but of the powerful forces manifested by the collective universal consciousness. We are subject to the supreme power of supernatural forces, but instead of a higher being it is the energy of all of us, all of us that have ever been and ever will. That’s why I use a lowercase g.

If these kind of spiritual awakenings happened on a massive scale, it would cause unheard of social unrest. Everything that holds up the capitalist order and necessitates global neoliberal capitalism would dissolve, so many people would become entirely different people, giving up hollow norms and starting to question the real purpose and meaning in what this life is. The rising of class consciousness and awareness of the cruelty manifested by capitalism, which only persists when it’s not questioned, will spell its certain demise. Nearly everything all of us are taught about how the world works is falsified and perpetuated by the minimally satisfactory life circumstances capitalism provides for most. When people are fed lies from birth, taught to be satisfied with a substandard life with the false hope that anyone can “succeed” in a free market (which is another fabrication), and discouraged from ever questioning why things are this way, that’s what allows cruelty to persist.

That’s why the most important thing for people to do is just QUESTION. Especially at a time when daring to ever question what our government says gets you immediately smeared as a puppet or useful idiot of some boogeyman. For most of my life I thought, as we’re all raised to, that communists are evil authoritarians and that it’s not something anyone takes seriously. But up until I shed my last trace of liberalism and beyond, I kept questioning everything and being skeptical, which led me on a path eventually ending at becoming a devout communist. Like many others I started being inspired about political change and social justice from Bernie’s campaign. During his speech at Safeco Field my volunteer job was to run up and down the line waiting outside before helping people, and the lines stretched block after block after block after block in every direction. And everyone was excited or cheering, that kind of mass enthusiasm about something so progressive made me genuinely optimistic about a radically improved future. Then I watched all of the rigging, interference and corruption by the democratic party and corporate media. I knew what was happening behind the scenes all along, but the wikileaks podesta emails of course proved it all. It was soon after that that my political involvement and aspirations were demolished when I was kidnapped during the DNC convention. For better or for worse I was not at all tuned into all the fuckery and media nonsense happening around late summer that year since obviously no internet in there. So after that I just kinda gave up on Bernie, started to move on and voted for Jill Stein. If only I had known I’d fallen victim to a disinformation campaign led by Putin to sow discord in the stable and perfectly equal American democracy!

I think I was one of the only people that was not at all surprised and completely indifferent on election night, going into it I knew there was a 50/50 chance and it could go either way dependent on a million unpredictable things. At least it was hilarious seeing the delusional liberal establishment having their hopes and fantasies of a continued neoliberal slow descent into corporate neofeudalism shattered. I honestly thought Trump was gonna get assassinated either before or soon after taking office, largely driven by my throwing up my hands and saying fuck it to any sense of an illusion of social stability. Yet at that point I suppose I didn’t fully understand the size, power and pervasiveness of the elites and the extent of their resources to which they protect their own and maintain control over what tragedies or shocking events are allowed to happen or unfold in different ways.

The very next day was the first time I ever heard the phrase fake news, and I immediately thought it was just something made up out of nowhere by the democrats to avoid blaming themselves for the loss. I was half right, it was a deliberate attempt by the clinton campaign to avert blame and feed into Russiagate, but what I also didn’t fully understand yet then was the pervasiveness of literal actual fake news in the entire news and media establishment. I mean Operation Mockingbird is real history and it never ended, the CIA has always controlled the media and had a hand in making everything pro-America and advantageous for the government’s agenda. Now there’s so many former intelligence directors as news “contributors” or “analysts” it’s never been more obvious. But since Russiagate has been such a successful psyop, liberals have revealed themselves as ultimately only wanting to serve the intelligence community and uphold capitalism. And such a huge portion of ex-intelligence spooks are running as democrats in the midterms this year, it’s absolutely insane! Talk about a slow coup of the supposed “left” in this country.

There is of course no actual leftist representation in the federal government as they’re diametrically opposed to each other. The actual political spectrum is between socialism/communism on the left and capitalism on the right, with social democrats in the center. Bernie is extremely radical compared to all of his peers but he is still a centrist, it’s just that this country has been constantly shifting rightward faster and faster pretty much throughout most of it’s history, so it allows liberals to pretend to be opposed to conservatives while actually not moving far enough to the left to actually be on a different side, this of course requires abandonment of any hope and admiration for capitalism which is something always taught to us as being of the utmost importance. Democrat president terms do not do anything to oppose this never ending move rightward, Carter, Clinton and Obama all did a ton to service and build up the military industrial complex, surveillance state, NATO aggression, and the tentacles of the secret mafia police known as the CIA. We’re now at the point of our society not being able to reach a consensus of opposition to Bloody Gina becoming its director, which would never be happening now if Obama ever bothered to do a single thing to punish the Bush torture regime. Does anyone even realize that since last February she’s been the fucking deputy director, the position right below, which Trump appointed her to without any need for confirmation, and no one in the media ever said a damn thing about it? Being the deputy director of an intelligence agency is clearly an important position, as McCabe was able to grift all these shitlibs out of more than half a million dollars over a lie about him being fired for being a liar. And even if Haspel had been kept away from any job with any amount of power this whole time, does anyone honestly think the CIA would avoid black ops torture programs without her? Yeah she is one of the biggest torture lovers around there, but would an agency that never hesitates to send out right wing extremist death squads to rape and pillage entire countries just as punishment for striving for independence from capitalist hegemony, ever hesitate to commit unthinkable atrocities if it’s even possibly remotely helpful for America, regardless of who’s directing the agency? The state of public discourse is so so so far behind anything remotely substantive and real that it’s hard to be anything but hopeless for the future, and that is absolutely a consequence of the neoliberal order which has dominated globally and continued to expand ever since the cold war.

The only hope for revolution, besides legalization of psychedelics, is capitalism’s built in self destruction. Anything always expanding, growing without regulation or concern for sustainability, zero concern for accountability and the wellbeing of the common man, will always be unsustainable and eventually crumble upon itself. As Lenin wrote in ‘Left-Wing’ Communism: An Infantile Disorder, “the fundamental law of revolution, which has been confirmed by all revolutions and especially by all three Russian revolutions in the twentieth century, is as follows: for a revolution to take place it is not enough for the exploited and oppressed masses to realise the impossibility of living in the old way, and demand changes; for a revolution to take place it is essential that the exploiters should not be able to live and rule in the old way. It is only when the ‘lower classes’ do not want to live in the wold way and the ‘upper classes’ cannot carry on in the old way that the revolution can triumph. Revolution is impossible without a nation-wide crisis (affecting both the exploited and exploiters). It follows that, for a revolution to take place, it is essential, first, that a majority of the workers (or at least a majority of the class-conscious, thinking and politically active workers) should fully realise that revolution is necessary, and that they should be prepared to die for it; second, that the ruling classes should be going through a government crisis, which draws even the most backward masses into politics, weakens the government, and makes it possible for the revolutionaries to rapidly overthrow it.”

I am gracious to have lived in the only area of the country, from what I understand, to have a socialist representing in local government – it is good that DSA members have been getting elected different places but I’m not counting them. But there’s still such massive problems facing Seattle brought by Amazon, such as hordes of rich liberals and neo nazis (less of a difference than most think) displacing so many families and making the prices of everything skyrocket, while stripping away the beautiful generations-old history of the city for lifeless, cold machinations of the corporate stranglehold smothering us all. And then when someone dares to request that that megacorp sucking the life out of everything around us pay some taxes so that the people that aren’t rich or white enough for a plush tech career might have a chance to find affordable housing, they all cry and moan about stifling the business community. It’s so toxic how the unending and unquestioned obsession with infinite growth is willingly upheld by capitalists, it’s absolutely untethered from the basic principles of reality. Not even talking about holograms and other realms, but how the laws of nature that we all know physically work on this planet. The “market” as an entity with agency is the biggest delusion of all within economics, stories like it’s invisible hand or that it always corrects itself are such obvious infantile fantasies. This unfortunately only becomes obvious when you lose motivation or ability to climb the ladders within capitalist structures, namely the poor and underprivileged and disadvantaged. These are things I only realized after being forced into long-term serious poverty and suffering from serious mental illnesses with zero support system or anyone anywhere with the ability or desire to actually help me. How could someone in my situation, having been through what I have, still be delusional enough to think that there’s hope for everyone and oppression is easily escapable? Having been exposed to the deep depths of cruelty life can throw you in, it freed me from having to make excuses for all of the suffering around the world. That’s one of the main cognitive dissonances ingrained into liberalism, awareness of how many people around the world are starving, in serious poverty, in a war torn country or exposed to natural disasters without aid, or victim of genocide or political violence, but all of that is so complicated and messy it’s easier to just focus on what affects you directly and pretend that all those people will find help eventually. The lie we’re all fed is that capitalism provides people with opportunity, but the reality is that on a large scale it robs people of opportunity, and whenever people try alternative systems aimed at providing for the common man, the CIA (Capitalist Insurgency Assholes) stops at nothing sabotage and suppress socialist movements through false flags, psyops, puppet dictators, agitprop, death squads and militias.

And of course business partner and close friend of the CIA being Bezos, who is undoubtedly feeding live audio streams of everyone with an IoT’s household conversations to Langley and/or Fort Meade. He has the fucking balls to say that the only responsible thing he can think to do with his billions upon billions in hoarded wealth grifted from the national taxpayer base is to burn it on fancy space fantasies for the ultra rich, but then halts expansion of new offices (as if destroying entire neighborhoods isn’t already enough) in order to feed the boot lickers eager to attack any taxes on businesses or the rich. They moan about taxes from the massive tax-cheating megacorp already crushing the city in order to support poor people is the worst thing ever, but how many of them know how many billions of taxpayer dollars the Pentagon has wasted and tossed away? How many people know that the money taken out of their paychecks goes to funding the worst genocide since WW2 in Yemen, the indiscriminate slaughter of Arabs in Gaza, and towards numerous Jihadist terrorist groups in Syria? I mean there’s been points in recent history where Pentagon-backed extremist militants were fighting CIA-backed extremist militants in Syria, money is being stolen from all of us without consent to fund the majority of the worst atrocities on the globe, we’re paying for Islamic terrorists to shoot each other with our guns. But how dare the evil socialists suggest that megacorporations that already evade all its taxes pay something to help the poor! And if anyone dares to say anything about this in public, then they must be a Putin puppet or Assad apologist.

So many people around here are so eager to brown-nose Bezos, who clearly has zero concern for the wellbeing of any of his workers or the communities he burns to the ground, I fear that in the coming decades, everyone will be mandated to live in cookie cutter Amazon micro-apartment buildings with mandated subcutaneous surveillance trackers. The tech workers and elites get the Prime luxury apartments, while the poor have to fight each other to the death for squatting rights in the dwindling number of tiny run down studios, and those are the only two classes. AI, AR, VR and robots will of course be taking over the vast majority of jobs in the near future, and as long as the means of production remain in the control of the elite, these new tech advancements will never ever even be considered to be put to use for solving mass poverty or ending wars or radical climate action or redistributing wealth, every hedge fund and investor will jump at the first opportunity to kick out all vulnerable and low wage workers and make shiny expensive fancy toys for corporate welfare queens. Because that’s the very purpose of capitalism, always make as much profit as possible and strive to eventually concentrate the entirety of global wealth in the hands of a few people. It’s not nearly enough to tax corporations like Amazon, there needs to be heads rolling in the street. Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk need to be executed for their crimes against humanity along with the rest of their ilk, and all these corporate structures need to be forcefully dissolved entirely. There will never be hope of reversing how fast we’re spiraling into unfathomably unsustainable inequality, mass human rights violations and inescapable oppression, unless the bastards leading us down that road feel the pain that they inflict on millions and millions of innocent people. I hope that the Seattle Times cartoonist is a clairvoyant instead of just a whiny dipshit, most of the absurd right-wing cartoons fear-mongering about democrats and libs being communists that are taking radical action could not be less accurate now but I hope are prophetic of the future.

Some things I can’t publish while living without being slandered as a Russian troll – In the same way that Iran Contra, MK Ultra and the JFK assassination have gone down in history as the intelligence operations of a past era, this era will have Russiagate, White Helmets and false flag gas attacks, Skripal, and the assassinations of BLM leaders as the intelligence ops of the time. This is all obvious to anyone that reads the news closely without corporate filters and can see the patterns of how the CIA and FBI have always covertly operated domestically and globally since their inception, in collaboration with MI6 and the Mossad. The state of Israel needs to be destroyed entirely, it was a mistake in the first place, has always enforced worse apartheid than in South Africa, and is an inspiring ethnostate. And their state-sponsored troll farms and disinformation campaigns along with the most advanced intelligence capabilities aimed with the only purpose of destabilizing the middle east and maintaining perpetual chaos. People are fucking stupid enough to think that some non-government affiliated click farm in St Petersburg posting puppy memes on facebook actually damaged our “democracy” but are completely blind to how nearly everyone in our government begs and grovels for the opportunity to pander to Israel, who’s covertly influencing so many internet and media narratives. It’s not an anti-semetic thing, Bibi loves anti-semites and to enable them because that’s what serves the Israeli geopolitical agenda. And there’s no proof at all to that Russian influence and sowing discord bullshit, literally every single story is hollow with nothing to back it up. It’s easy to believe what’s shoved down your throat by mainstream media, but when you actually look at it, it’s clear that Guccifer 2.0 is a multi-level fraud, a fictional identity created by the Crowdstrike CEOs as the solution for the Clinton campaign panicking about wikileaks teasing email dumps. Unintentionally meta, it’s like a matroyshka doll. On the outside, he’s a lone wolf somewhere in Europe. Then you look at the first layer of planted metadata and forensic info which points towards Russia, and everyone in the media immediately jumps to it having to be a Putin agent who very poorly tried to appear as a lone wolf. But every single piece of evidence tying Guccifer 2 to Russia was so shoddily tacked on to the documents, while genuine data indicating that the data had to have been locally transferred and was modified on the American east coast, plus the public timeline of relevant events makes it obvious that it was impossible to have come from a foreign “hack” and someone on the east coast is very obviously trying to frame this as someone in Russia who’s poorly trying to appear as a lone wolf. As far as I can tell, the recent story about Guccifer having logged “real” Russian IPs in social media sites has no technical hard evidence to support that. So the FBI and the CIA should put their cards on the table and reveal precisely where and what these Russian IP logs are. That’s the start of a long road of allegations and fake news stories that need to be revisited and given real, no bullshit evidence to support.

Many years ago, in late middle and early high school I was in a band that played mostly Muse covers, they were my favorite back then but I haven’t listened to any rock at all for years until very recently. I’ve been revisiting Muse’s catalog and remembered a song titled “Thoughts of a Dying Atheist.” That moment struck me as Jungian given the circumstances, hearing it for the first time a couple weeks ago since long before ever becoming suicidal, in a period when I loved it only for the music. The chorus goes “it scares the hell out of me, and the end is all I can see.” I have always been an atheist being it’s how I was raised, even though I’ve long abandoned nihilism and the foolish idea that there’s no form of genuine spirituality. Back when I was a Muse fan, even though I was no where near needing to fear death I would have agreed with the words by and large, as death is not something we’re raised to appreciate or assess in this society. Yet now in revisiting I feel rather proud since I’m not scared of death at all. Through spiritual awakenings mostly since last summer I’ve completely made peace with transitioning out of this plane. Having found a method and time frame where I can pass immediately without pain all on my own time and terms, I’ve taken care of every concern on this end of the journey. I can’t know what it will be like on the other side, but I am absolutely certain that the energy of my conscious will be returned to the universal order. Thus, the thoughts of this dying atheist are that even though the end is all I can see, it excites the hell out of me. It is only a transformation, all that will end is the torture and agony that has been foisted upon me in this existence.

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time, and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” - Macbeth (5.5.19-28)

Recently I’ve gone to the beach, ridden ferries and sought out large pools often because there’s nothing more calming to me than the meditation of staring off into the water. As Mandelbrot and fractal patterns are found throughout math, science and much of nature, I see the waves in large bodies of water as fractal-like too. No matter how closely you focus your gaze or how far you stare out into the horizon, the patterns of the waves appear to repeat inside and outside of each other at all magnitudes of size along the surface. And I feel an incredible energy from it, how the waves can appear calm and tranquil on the surface but you know deeper down, the entire moving masses of water carry enormous weight and power. The waves exponentially repeat themselves in all directions with simultaneous grace and massive force, reconciling contradictions and entire spectrums, what could be more emblematic of the beauty of the laws of nature? When I ask myself where I go after I die, I say that’s where, the water. I doubt I would and wouldn’t want to be reincarnated as water, but as my brain shuts off and my soul becomes non-localized and free, its essence will return into the entirety of nature, and I have never been more certain of that than anything in my life. Pharrell got it right, no one ever really dies because energy is never created or destroyed, and whats in all of our minds are just localized variants of the same energy that makes everything else around us.

My final work can be found at scribd.com/document/378259892 or anonfile.com/86C0raeeb1, I’m pulling a Kafka and leaving it unfinished

Did I truly live life, or simply ride the sands as they tumbled through the hour glass? Holding on the fine moments is like grasping water – always there, yet always slipping away. Lusting for more than we need, leading to the greed of acquisition and the gluttony of position. A future that feels far but all too close. One that could be sublime if we didn’t fall behind in the times from our refinement of the mind, the state of my people is altered but my faith is completely unfaltered. I’m reaching up and reaching out, to go where no one’s been. Spiral out, keep going

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alex51324 · 4 years ago

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So, power corrupts on a neurological level. Neat!

See a lot of comments here about how this isn’t a surprise, but understanding how it happens--by reducing the activity of the powerful person’s mirror neurons-is important! If you know how it happens, you can figure out how to counteract it: perhaps, for instance, by deliberately participating in activities which engage the mirror neurons--choral singing or synchronized dance, for instance.

The study also shows that it’s specifically feeling powerful--not being objectively powerful--that has this effect. (Participants were randomly assigned to either an activity that would prime them to feel powerful or one that would not.) This is also hugely important information: you can’t necessarily stop a person from being powerful, but you can reduce their feeling of power.

There’s a story--possibly apocryphal, I don’t know--about Roman emperors in triumphal processions being followed by a servant whose role was to periodically whisper in their ear, “Remember that you will die.” This study suggests an empirical basis by which this practice would actually work: reminding the emperor that he is mortal reduces his feeling of power, and thus improves his ability to experience empathy.

Source: [x]

Click HERE for more facts!

#neurology #science #power corrupts #but does it have to?

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astrologista · 8 years ago

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The Utopia (wip)

Summary : Driven by a benevolent protector... what could go wrong?

Universe : DCAU (Justice Lords verse)

Warning : Contains a domestic situation which could be classed as abusive.

[I started this several years ago. I am posting it at the humble bequest of @starspatter. I dunno if I’ll pad it up to finish it. You should be familiar with the DCAU and the Justice Lords to fully enjoy this fic. I mostly wrote this because I like protective Bruce and wanted to see what might become of the sidekicks in the Justice Lords universe.]

---

It was a perfect world. With heroes to defend the right, the true, and the just, protection was always close at hand. There was still sin and vice in the world, but as long as it could not corrupt the light, nothing in particular was wrong. The heroes created a coalition to combine their powers. Nothing was impossible, and the world was theirs, theirs to shape into a paragon of "right". (They knew exactly what was right. How else could they judge the criminals from the good folk, like the chaff from the wheat? And the rewards of the harvest... those were thrillingly yet to come.) It was a perfect world. Before Lex Luthor destroyed it.

Like the cogs of an intricate machine, the inner mechanisms of the Justice Lords were not to be messed with, particularly by someone with a set of particular and vicious goals. But Luthor knew nothing of the powers with which he was dealing. For him, the Flash was a simple thorn in his side, an insignificant speck of dust, a young buffoon with no future of any note. Wally West was in the way, and Luthor was not a man to work around obstacles. He simply destroyed them. It was that tenacity that brought him to the highest office of the United States of America... It could have been a perfect world. Two bullets disrupted the quiet fabric of the Lords. Where restraint was, was now a hole, eight millimeters wide. Where conscience was, a second hole, of the same size. The absence of an element fundamentally changes a compound - it becomes something completely different, with no memory of what it once was, and no conception of what it could become. Without the suppressor, the rage boils over, frothing and spitting angrily, like a cancer cell mutated by some catastrophic event. Superman, the most powerful guardian the world had ever known, became a figure of vengeance. He would not rest until justice was served, until the scales were once more balanced. When the Bat and the Amazon encountered the smoking corpse of the guiltiest man alive - the final president to be assassinated - there was but a moment of self-reflection, before they turned away from the light entirely. There was a new way now, and that was what they would follow. Superman was always a visionary - this was his way now. So it would be for all of them. "Never again." they promised. No one took that oath more gravely than the Bat. It would be a perfect world. --- [Insert scenes here] --- "Spontaneous inter-dimensional shearing, I think they call it." "...wuh...Bruce?..." Tim Drake cracks one eye open, but he can see nothing save the near-blinding fluorescent situated over the cot. He's in the Cave, he can tell that much. The muted whirr of machines; water dripping at regular intervals; bats are stirring, whispering from somewhere far away. It's a familiar noise, a comforting symphony of home. He's glad to hear Bruce's voice. "You were lucky. If the exit portal had opened any higher off the ground, you could have broken something or worse." Now Tim seems to remember something Ray Palmer had once mentioned... spontaneous portals opening to other dimensions. They weren't a common occurrence, the chance of a human encountering one, much less falling into one, was less than 1 in five hundred thousand every fifty years... like tectonic plates, the seams of the multiverse were continually shifting and slipping, and random shearing was one of the products. You could never predict where in the multiverse a portal was going to open up, but due to some manner of quantum particles that interfaced with neurons, you could subconsciously gain some degree of control of where you were going to land. Tim had done decently well. The Cave was the only decently safe place he knew of. It made sense to want to be there, even if he'd had to fall a few feet from his exit point and black out deep within the Cave... ...Something was off about Bruce. He had almost forgotten the inter-dimensional part... "...You're..." /Words, Drake./ "Yes." That monosyllabic word told him most of what he needed to know, even if he'd already deduced most of it just from being in the Cave. Yes, the man above him was Batman in this universe, and yes, he was Bruce Wayne by day, and yes, he was still a master conversationalist. Tim allowed himself to relax, if only a fraction. He was glad he hadn't landed in some freakish dimension where Bruce was Two-Face and Harvey Dent was Batman, or something weird or creepy like that. He would be safe here, at least until he could find a way to get home. --- This version of Bruce was no carbon copy of the one he knew. That, he figured out quickly. He'd taken a spatial hop - not a temporal one - yet this Bruce had significantly more gray in his hair than his counterpart. What's more, something about him was desperate... afraid in a way that Bruce typically wasn't. As if something beyond his oath were constantly troubling him, making it almost impossible for him to get any work of value done. Actually, nothing he had done so far had been troubling to Tim persay, but it was obvious Tim wasn't allowed to leave the Batcave, and no answers were forthcoming when he tried to ask why. This Batman rarely left the Cave all night in any case (what were the criminals of Gotham doing, he wondered?), but when he did, the familiar face of Alfred was there, watching over him as if he were some kind of criminal. Yes... he was definitely in unfamiliar territory. --- Dick's voice was steady, but tense across the vid link. "Bruce, you've given me everything I could ask for, and in return I gave you my loyalty. So I'm asking you... don't do this. And can't he hear you right now?" Bruce switched his view to the camera over the medical cot, Tim was peacefully resting... "He's asleep. We can talk." "You mean you drugged him." Dick murmured. He wasn't surprised. At this point, he was rarely surprised at how far his mentor would go for safety and stability. And how much farther... he needed to know. "You going to introduce them? Are you sure it's a good idea?" he asked. Dick remembered then why he'd walked out of the Cave and never looked back, the day he was fired. He couldn't question Bruce's actions - the time for that had long past. But it wasn't right to leave him to his own devices like this, not when other people were involved. "It'll be fine." the Justice Lord whispered, with the certainty of a man who found some notions of morality to be futile jokes in the face of fate. "In fact, I think it's just what Tim needs." --- "What happened to them?!" Tim couldn't understand the glass cases lined in a neat row in front of him. They were much like the one back home that held Dick's old Robin costume, but these were much more... sterile. One held the familiar black and blue Nightwing suit... the next, Barbara's Batgirl costume. The final one gave the eerie sensation of looking in a mirror - it was his Robin suit, looking like it had been placed there yesterday. One terrifying thought immediately surfaced and settled in his mind, and it was more disturbing than he wanted to imagine. But it would explain why he hadn't seen them around the Cave, and why Bruce and Alfred acted so strange... no, they couldn't all be... The Lords had lived without compunction for the past few years, but Bruce was a man of logic and reason, and could see moral decay. He knew what it was and why his compatriots had been admonished by Superman Prime and the rest of the League. He could see consequences. What he couldn't foresee were his own fears. "They're all alive. Retired." "Retired..." Tim whispered, as if it were a fate not quite as bad as death, but just as close. "I need you to follow me." His tone brooked no arguments, and Tim did as he was bid. The elevator was something Tim had found infinite joy in, his first days in the Cave - everything about the place was magical. Other kids dreamed of Disney World, Tim dreamed of the Batcave. Somehow he knew it would have something utilitarian enough to be there, but still close enough to an amusement ride to be fun and amazing, like a figment of his dreams. That was where the man led him. The floor code he entered, though - it was unknown to Tim, and required two extra passcodes and a fingerprint besides. Tim couldn't help getting chills - what unknown secret of the Batcave was he about to be shown? It could be where Bruce kept experimental weapons or the next generation of the Batmobile or even some kind of tunnel system that ran under Gotham, which Tim was certain Bruce was hiding somewhere. Tim counted no less than eight levels passing by before the elevator stopped at what he presumed must be one of the lowest sub-basements the Cave had to offer. /Keep it together, Drake.../ To open the door at this level, of course, required a 20-digit code (without which the elevator would no doubt ascend to the main Cave with alarms blaring), but before entering it, Bruce spoke without turning to face Tim. "You should know that I have a dimensional transporter of my own design that will get you home." It must be down here, Tim deduced. Only something that precious to Batman would have such high security around it. Good 'ol Bruce... always had a solution, even when things seemed to be at an impass. It was an exhilarating relief - with no answers, Tim had spent the past days questioning how in the world he was going to get home, when he wasn't sleeping deeply... "All right! Thank God. ...Bruce must miss me by now. My Bruce, I mean." The man turned and granted him a soft smile, the kind Tim wasn't used to seeing from Bruce. There was something in it... something like pity. "Just... wait, Tim." Bruce keyed in a 20-digit code that he obviously knew by heart and the doors parted on what looked like a short promenade, leading up to an impenetrable-looking door. Tim was reminded of a panic room. This was something he could see Bruce building, a safe bunker some three miles underground with a dimensional door to escape without a trace. He could practically burst with the James Bond coolness of the whole thing... An advanced-looking biometrics scanner verified the biorhythmic signatures and DNA of two humans known to the Batcave's system, likely to thwart androids, aliens (the villainous kind), and Clayface, thought Tim. This was going to a lot of trouble, even for something like a dimensional transporter. Which you wouldn't want in the wrong hands, but still, Tim thought. Bruce punched in a final code that seemed considerably longer than the others. The door buzzed quietly, unlocking for its verified visitors, and rolling back like the door to some advanced bank safe. It really looked a lot like a bank safe, Tim thought, the entire door was some four feet thick and composed of some alloy that was most likely fireproof, bulletproof, bombproof... anything-proof. Not only that, but a series of complex mechanisms on the opposite side of the door seemed to imply that not only were the contents of the chamber protected from unauthorized access, but that there was no way to open the door from inside... What was on the other side of it, though, was not what Tim was expecting to see. He'd prepared himself for some futuristic vault, centered around this awesome-looking portal that could access any dimension in the multiverse. Instead, the room he was met with had a relatively low ceiling, recessed lighting including an area that looked like some sort of artificial sunlight, and thick but aesthetically pleasing walls all around. It looked like a strange apartment suite, with an open sort of floor plan. There was a small but well-stocked workout area off to the right, and nearby, some sort of workbench with what looked like circuits spread all over it and tools placed here and there. A very, very large flat screen television graced a significant part of a wall, the shelves around it littered with DVDs and video games of all kinds, from the retro to the cutting-edge. Discrete cameras and sensors were integrated into the entire space, likely providing full video and audio to the Cave's computers. The place was minimalist and Spartan, but wide and spacious in its own way; Tim felt a strange sense of belonging in the place, as it seemed to contain most creature comforts he could ask for, and though it was quiet and homey enough, one thought flashed into Tim's puzzled mind. /"Someone actually /lives/ here?"/ Who would Batman keep locked up under the Batcave? Would it be a dangerous criminal? Maybe this was his only way to keep a positive eye on someone so dangerous. But to go to all this trouble for one person? Before he could think any further, the obviously lone occupant of this strange domicile emerged from an alcove on the left, a soda in his hand, a seemingly shocked look on his face at the sight of his visitor. Tim didn't have time to be shocked, something pricked into his arm and everything shortly went black. --- The drugs wore off him like a heavy fog. Consciousness eventually surfaced, but his head was still swimming. He had to convince himself that what he had seen was real. But it couldn't be. Oh, yes it could. Tim desperately didn't want to open his eyes to it, but he needed to know the truth. /Up-and-at-em, huh.../ Forcing heavy eyelids open, he stared up at the solid-looking ceiling despondently. Sitting near him... "Oh my god." Tim croaked. Yes. Now he really was face to face with himself. It was too strange. Maybe this was all some horrible, nightmare-induced hallucination. Bruce was nowhere in sight. His... counterpart... had seated himself on a small ottoman near him, but not too near. Tim realized he was lying on a soft couch, likely the spot where Bruce had placed him before /leaving/ him down here. No explanation. Nothing. Then he'd have to simply fill /himself/ in on what was going on. At least his host seemed mentally stable. But Tim remained wary. This version of himself could be dangerous - locked away, where he couldn't hurt anyone. The idea gave him uncomfortable thoughts and chills... "Hey." the doppelganger greeted shyly, and Tim immediately rejected the fact that he sounded that way. No way was he that quiet or tentative, either. (Right?) "You... y-you're me." Tim mentally slapped himself for the ridiculously cliche words that had just fallen from his mouth. What else do people say when they meet their counterpart from another dimension? The boy snorted softly and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I should be so lucky." At that point, as he had with this strange version of Bruce, Tim felt he could relax. His double at least had a sense of humor, and that he could work with. Silence reigned over the two, but Tim was bursting with questions. He just couldn't decide what to ask first. The doppelganger then took the initiative to ask him something. "You want a soda? 'Cause... I can get you one..." Still racked with questions, it took only that much to get Tim to fall suddenly into helpless giggles at the absurdity of the whole thing. /I passed out in the bunker-safe-thing of my double from another dimension and when I woke up he offered me a soda.../ Once he was able to breathe again, Tim felt he was able to look at him truly now, eye contact, no fear. "Um, no. Thanks. I don't need a soda right now. But I do need to know what the heck's going on." Immediately, the figure opposite him tensed and fidgeted, suddenly defensive, withdrawn. Then he shook his head as if clearing it. Tim suddenly became concerned as to the relationship between Bruce and Tim in this world. Were they enemies? But he was Robin. Or used to be. Had he made some horrible mistake? Was this his punishment? "I-I guess it doesn't matter now. You might as well know. I'm guessing he didn't tell you anything about... this." "Good guess." "He told me you're from Earth Prime. That there was a freak accident. Is that true? Or did he pull you from somewhere?" Tim blinked. "No, that's all true. I'm here by accident." As far as I know, Tim thought. The double looked somewhat surprised that he hadn't been lied to, and Tim could understand. Bruce wasn't always honest, here or at home. It wasn't all that surprising. "Huh. Well... from what little he told me, you're here for the same reason as I am." Now that was just too cryptic. "Wait." he blurted. "You're retired from being Robin. Is this your retirement? Aside from other concerns, these are some sweet digs! Is this supposed to be like your sanctuary?" The look on the doppelganger's face was too grim for that to be true, and Tim felt a sudden chill of what was unknown and unspoken about this room. "No." the boy said slowly. "No. This isn't Robin's sanctuary. It's a gilded cage." --- Upon close inspection, Tim found that his double had not only every NES game worth playing, but every SNES game, too. "This must be what takes up most of your time." The kid shrugged. "A little of this, a little of that, and I get by. He doesn't want me to get... bored." The words were said bitterly, and slowly Tim began to understand their implications. If there was more to know, he decided it would be better to simply know it. "You didn't retire." he said slowly. "He fired you. And Dick, and Barb too." "Yeah. And Green Arrow fired Red Arrow, and Superman fired Supergirl, too." Tim started. "What?? You're telling me everyone fired their sidekicks - er, partners?" "All the ones under 25, anyway." "But... why?" The boy frowned deeply, averting his eyes. He mumbled a tense response. "Because of the Flash." "Um... what does Wally have to do with any of this?" "That's right..." Those haunted eyes widened for a second. "You don't even know..." "Then back up. Tell me how it got to this point." The double's eyes seemed to look right through him, far away to some past time. "It was... two years ago. I guess our world used to be a whole lot like your world. Steven Drake was my dad, Bruce took me in after dad skipped town, and I was 13 then. I remember fighting the Scarecrow, Klarion, Clayface, the Creeper, the Joker, Poison Ivy and... well, the rest. Those were the halcyon days... but, nothing good can last. Things really started to sour when Luthor was elected president..." "Wait, /Lex/ Luthor? /The/ Lex Luthor?" "One and the same, unfortunately. The Justice Lords worked behind the scenes, trying to keep him from taking things too far. Superman believed he could be reasoned with, but in the end, it was a losing battle, and Luthor was mad with power. When the Flash foiled one of his plans, Luthor decided to personally shut him down. For good." The Justice Lords. Bruce had told Tim about them, that they were an alternate version of the Justice League, but he had withheld all these details. That was the dimension he had landed in, the same one that the League had visited. "And after that..." "After that, Superman... repaid Lex in kind." The doppelganger's voice wavered. Superman was his friend, one of the world's greatest heroes. Tim couldn't imagine the Clark he knew killing anyone, even if it was Luthor. "That's how the Justice Lords were able to take everything to the next level. Instead of killing most of the supervillains, though, Superman... lobotimized them." "Please." Tim said quietly. "Just... I'd rather not hear any more about Superman." The double seemed relieved. "Tell me about Bruce." "Batman was the only one of the team who believed that they weren't necessarily doing what was right. But he changed, too. After what happened to Wally West, he recanted all previous beliefs in having younger partners."

Tim knew what was coming, and to spare his alter self pain, decided to finish the tale of woe for him. "So he fired you, Nightwing, and Batgirl." Beyond one nod of the head and misty eyes, the alter Tim could not answer. "To... to keep anything from happening to us. And that's the purpose of this room, too. If you think this entire room is one big vault, you're right. No one can get in..." a look of defeat, misery, "...and no one can get out. I think he intended on having three total of them down here, a personal "utopia" for Dick, and one for Barbara. But... they won't go anywhere near him now, so I guess they're free from him for now. He could bring them down here if he really wanted to, though. Trust me, he's serious about this. This entire room is custom made. It's not supposed to be a cell, though it functions as one. Bruce does everything he's supposed to do to make sure I don't get bored or go insane down here." "D-does it work?" Tim found himself afraid to hear the answer. The double swallows, eyes downcast. "I hope so." They desperately needed a subject change, so Tim asked "Doesn't he worry about your health?" "Yeah. A little too much. I'm supposed to be safe from bacteria down here, but my immune system isn't what it used to be since I haven't had exposure to crowds or germs in general. Bruce didn't know he was carrying a pneumonia germ... but, it was enough. I got sick. I was sure I was going to die... that was the only time he let me upstairs, so he and Alfred and Leslie could care for me. When I recovered, she recommended I get some fresh air. That was the last time I've been outside. But..." "What'd he do, tie you to a post or something?" Tim still had hope that this was some cruel joke. "Worse than that. He carried me..." A strange expression, somewhere between fondness and vulnerability. "Wouldn't even let my feet touch the ground. Bruce is different now. He knows what he can lose. He'll never let it happen to me, not as long as there's still a breath in his body." "...You've gotta leave." Tim said with finality. The doppelganger smiled bitterly and shook his head. "I don't even think about it any more." "But your Bruce has taken things way past protecting you. This is practically abusive!" "I have everything I need here, and I'm absolutely safe. Look, I didn't think Heaven would be this far underground, but... for Bruce, I'd live and die here, if that's what he wants from me. He gave me the best years of my life, and I owe him peace of mind in return. It’s a loyalty issue. For me, it's a small price to pay - " "Oh, is that what he calls it? Dude, it's the ultimate price to pay. Sounds like he's been gaslighting you pretty bad. Maybe he's not all as sane as you think!" "You do know about the cameras, right?" "Who cares." --- [Scene not written yet - but prime!tim convinces lordsverse!tim to escape, probably by getting Bruce to open the door and then getting past him by distracting him somehow. They escape and have some adventure finding another dimensional transporter - possibly Superman's? lordsverse!tim gets injured by guards or something and decides not to go to prime!verse with Tim. They have a tearful goodbye of sorts. Bruce turns up to recover the injured doppelganger.] --- Almost. Just a few more seconds, and it would have been... another tragedy. Like Mom and Dad. Like Flash... He ties another stitch off and steadies his shaking hands over Tim's side. No more blood, and no more bleeding. The Flash. So damn young when he... Children, they were all children... no place in this mad game. He'd promised himself, never again. He'd promised. Ties the last stitch off, and bandages the wound. Tim's unconscious from the drug again, and he should stay that way... for now. Why couldn't he put them all in stasis? Find some way to seal them in glass cases. Guarantee their safety and happiness... Bruce gently rests his hand over Tim's hand. "Nothing's going to hurt you." he whispers. ---

[Insert ending here... probably involving prime!tim assuring batman that he'll always play it safe]

#starspatter #specs fic #i'm home so i have access to my old files #well you asked for it now you've got it #geez this fic is so messed up i didnt want to post it

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