#not tagging this anywhere else because antis can fuck off for all i care

[voidy-vibing]

This is probably gonna be my last post about the Zerum drama but here is a full breakdown of what happened and what I understood! Thank you @obbystars for showing me the tweet and screenshots. (also sorry for the tag)

So.

Zerum, the co-creator of Pressure, who's sona is canonically married to Sebastian has been getting constantly harrassed, bullied, and been given death threats.

There have been alllegations in which they are anti-selfship, transphobic and ableist.

To start off bit by bit.

Zerum was NEVER anti-selfship/oc x sebastian. In the Official Pressure discord server, there is a rule where people are not allowed to show ship art with ANY of the Pressure characters as all devs aren't comfortable with it. While they do not allow it in the official discord, they are not BANISHING shipping as a whole and people are allowed to do whatever they want.

People have been calling Zerum possessive, insecure, and a hypocrite because their reaction to people thinking 'Sebastian x Zerum is a joke not canon' was a pretty bad one. It was not professional, and people were right to get mad about their behavior but responded A THOUSAND TIMES worse. They sent Zerum countless death threats, insulted them, and they also griefed the Pressure Fandom Wikipage (the unofficial one) with a Sebastian x Zerum divorce fanfic (its fucking crazy).

People took the fact that Sebastian has a wedding ring as something to SPITE the Sebastian shippers, but to me it really seemed like setting in stone a thing that was already meant to be canon, as many ppl thought it was a joke.

The transphobic allegations came from the fact that Zeal made Zerum post a rule that Sebastian art with him in a dress isn't allowed. This was a rule ZEAL wanted, and they only banned it on the official discord server, and do not care for anywhere else. They just do not think it fits Sebastian's character ig. Its kind of weird to me, but its whatever.

The abelist allegations came from the fact that Zeal, when adding the deaf accessibility setting, didn't take on some tips from the deaf community. This I don't know a whole lot about so I'm not gonna delve deeper into it rn.

And finally, people think that the devs are mischaracterizing Sebastian by making him more snarky lines, or the ability to kill you, as a way for Zerum to 'fend off' the simps. This is not true, due to the fact that the voicelines for Sebastian killing you was recorded BEFORE there was the huge popularity for Sebastian. This is not something that was per say targetted at Zerum, but Sebastian has TOLD that he has been forced to help the Players. He doesn't help the Expendables because he is caring- he helps out of being forced to ans out of NECESSITY. It says in the wiki that Sebastian gets the data from the Expendables for blackmail (or probably something whatever in regards of escape ofc), and he simply sees the Players an easy means to get said data. Just because he is snarky because you literally flash his eyes fucking dry does not mean they are changing his character. He is still funny and sarcastic, but there are consequences to your actions and that'll be him getting mad ar you if you annoy him too much. It is very fair imo.

So no, perhaps in canon, Sebastian would not care for the players but it doesn't stop anyone from shipping or simping. He just manipulates us into thinking he cares in the game yes, but fandoms such as ourselves really shouldn't need to be mad or necessarily care over this aspect. This new update shows Sebastian's true colors VERY WELL and it is infact in-character for the game's story context. This does not mean you can't change it to your own liking, self-indulgence comes with being in fandom, and no one is gonna shame you for that nor should you shame someone else. I understand if people are upset over these new stuff about him, but I can make a seperate post to speak about this more clearly, I only wanted to try and explain it.

So yeah.

I really truly hope this does not seem like I am attacking, targetting, or hating on someone. If allegations with the devs or Zerum change, they'll change, but it's important to take every perspective and keep an open mind.

[sugarrspice]

HELLO i havent read all your fics yet but i did binge-read your antiaverage ones! they are so good! i personally am a big fan of antistein, if i could get "stop pretending that you care" with anti and henrik? bless you, youre a brilliant writer

((Oh, goodness, yes, I've seen your tags in my activity. I fully admit I may have giggled over one or two. You're very kind, thank you!

As for the piece: warning for emotional manipulation, overall not a very healthy relationship.))

Henrik doesn't bat an eye when the lights flicker. Cool fingers brush against the back of his neck, a whisper of touch, and he flips another page, scribbling a note down in the margins.

Anti cocks his head, and listens to the way his heart picks up. 63 beats per minute. 72. 75. 75. 75.

"You're a shit liar," he murmurs, letting his voice tip just that side of mocking, and drapes himself over the doctor's shoulders, studying his profile. Henrik, as Anti knew he would, grimaces at the intrusion into his space, bristles at the tone. There they go. "At least where it matters."

"You're a pest," Henrik returns, dryly. "We can't have everything."

"You can't, maybe." He watches with no small amount of glee as Henrik's jaw tightens into that familiar line. Hard to read, his ass; Henrik can't help but wear his heart on his sleeve, hard as it claims to be. Scrape it even lightly, and it'll bleed, angry and red, and Anti wants to lap up every last fucking drop. He'd bleed Henrik dry for another taste.

"They call this insanity, you know. Slamming your head against the same wall because you can't admit I've won."

Henrik, carefully, puts his pen down. He's still not looking at Anti, and it itches at him. "More fool you are, then, for assuming this is victory."

Anti is genuinely caught off guard by how deeply that statement amuses him. Henrik's clever, but he's not always smart. It's something about the stubbornness- like Chase, how he can't seem to acknowledge the clock ticking forward. A laugh bursts out of him, sharp and bright, and it startles Henrik into looking over, for the first time.

"This is victory, Henrik. Do you want to know why?"

In one fluid motion, he twists to sit on the desk in front of Henrik; their knees knock together, and Anti leans in, close enough to count each fleck of green in Henrik's eyes.

"Jack's not home. He's not waking up. You can breathe for him and pump his blood but there's not a single spark up in his head. I'm not going anywhere. You brought me here and gave me the key to shut the door behind me. But you know what else?"

He lets his words hang in the silence for a moment. Let him stew, let him think. Henrik's heart is beating loud enough for both of their words; if he reaches out, he fancies he'd feel it, hammering away under paper-thin skin.

"I have you, now," he purrs, softly, and this time, he does reach out, tracing the scar that cuts just over his jaw, thin and silvery. Henrik is frozen, still under his touch. Then, slowly, he reaches up and curls a hand around Anti's wrist, stilling him.

His grip is iron; hard as his eyes. That's nice, really, Anti thinks, idly. He's gotten bolder. Catching up to Anti at his own game. Or he thinks he is, at least, which is half the fun, following the breadcrumbs that Anti's laid out for him.

Anti lets his grin curl just that fraction wider.

"Careful, Anti," Henrik murmurs, eyes flinty. His fingers tighten; he's going to be seeing those bruises for days. "I might think you're starting to pretend to care."

Anti rolls his eyes, and hooks his legs around Henrik's waist, pulling his chair closer. Neither of them could leave if they wanted to.

Well, Anti could. He knows exactly how much pressure he'd have to apply to snap each of those fingers, that Henrik's ring finger never healed right and would take just a pound or two less of pressure. But where's the fun? "You're really impressively dense, for a thrice-named doctor. You're alive, Henrik. That alone should be your first hint."

"How flattering," Henrik murmurs, eyes unflinchingly meeting his. Bravado, pride; all armor which Henrik wears like a second skin. It's just such a shame that he knows the soft, squalling thing underneath it all, that wants to be wanted, needed.

"Isn't it?" Anti rolls his neck; there's a faint echo of an ache. Not the most comfortable position to be stuck in. "Count your blessings, doctor. I like interesting things. I like it when they stay interesting. And you're starting to get tiring."

Slowly, slowly, Henrik releases him, and he leans back with a smug hum; there's a faint ring of red marks around his arm. Only fair, he supposes. He'll have to pay him back for it, later.

He braces his arms behind him, and cocks his head as he rakes his eyes over Henrik, slowly, cataloguing him with a lazy smirk. "So I'm here to make you an offer."

[disdaidal]

This post made by @lovebillyhargrove really got me thinking about the people who actually cared about Billy in the show.

1. Heather. The moment when Billy's elbow starts burning in the sun, and he leaves his spot all sweaty, swaying from side to as he walks, knocking over some guy's drinks, Heather's the first one to actually ask him:

"Billy, are you okay?"

She follows him to the showers too where Billy showers with all his clothes on, collapsing on the floor and screaming in pain, and she crouches in front of him, with an actual, worried look on her face. And asks him if she should call him an ambulance.

It's fucked up that Billy was already possessed at that point and couldn't control himself because I can't help but think about the possibility if they'd actually become friends. Like honestly, Heather was literally concerned about him and his well-being, and it's just... oh my God.

2. El. Yeah, so she's a psychic and all, so she can read his thoughts and sees some things in his past that others can't - the painful memories that he keeps hidden inside and tries to block from his mind so hard.

The fact that El gets angry at Billy's father in his memory, even though the Neil in memory can't obviously see her and she runs after the child Billy too.

Not to mention the painful last scene we're all familiar with where she touches Billy's cheek even though he's hurt her and is about to sacrifice her to the MF. Because she can actually see and feel what he's felt, and cries for him because she knows his pain. (I mean they've both lost their mothers, El just knows.) And her touch alone awakens Billy from his possession, makes him cry and stand up and... yeah, thanks a fucking lot.

3. Max. So Billy and her didn't have the best relationship in s2, and Billy was really shitty to her at times. But something happened between them, between s2 and s3 (we don't know what, thanks to Duffers for never explaining it, just like they didn't bother explaining why they moved from California in the first place), that changed their attitudes towards each other.

And Max also starts to show real concern towards Billy after they suspect that the MF has taken control of him. During the sauna test, she tries to talk to her, tries to comfort him when he's crying and trying to explain to her that it's not his fault, and she cries with him too. She cries in the last episode when Billy dies, when he says his last words, "I'm sorry" to her. And after his death, she even sits in his room, on his bed and clearly mourns for him.

So honestly... This show had entirely three (3) characters that actually cared about Billy in the end - and what's fucked up is that two of them were actually children. None of the adults seemed to show concern for him - his pain or his safety. The one who should've raised him love and care and disciplined him when it was necessary (but without the unnecessary force), was the one who decided to beat him up and his mother instead, called him a pussy, a faggot and God knows what. And this jackass gets to live and get away with it.

I mean, what Billy did in the last of episode of season two was fucked up and shouldn't be excused. He might've misunderstood some things, being pissed off because of his father and because Steve lied to his face, but beating him up like that (pushing and threatening Lucas too) was simply going too far. He was old enough to understand the consequences of his actions, so that makes him fully responsible, even though he was only seventeen back then.

But pretty much everything else? He'd gone through so much shit in his life already, that I'm not surprised that he turned out the way he was. What he needed was therapy, for fuck's sake. He showed signs of anger and violence already as a child, after his mother left him with his father, and that should've been looked into.

If that had been me, I might've turned out just the same as him.

And the fact that he actually had some people caring about him but he wasn't given enough time to get to know these people, wasn't given enough time to even show he might be capable of change... That just fucks me up honestly.

[marley-manson]

Anonymous asked: if you had to write a new episode for mash to fit in anywhere in the narrative, what would it be about?

Thanks again! I’m not a very creative person lol but this was a lot of fun!

So my pick would definitely be something in the first three seasons, focused on Trapper and Hawkeye, especially Trapper. To be vague and generalized it would feature Trapper heavily and Hawkeye supporting him, anti-military sentiment, and there’d be some kind of gay subtexty parallel between Trap and Hawk and another romantic relationship.

Okay I’m gonna throw out two ideas because I was brainstorming last night lol and I like both. One silly and fun, the other more dramatic and angsty.

Silly:

That occasional gag where Hawkeye and Trapper are framed as the counterpart couple to Frank and Margaret, writ large.

Both couples are fighting over something extremely petty. Let’s say a new surgeon is around. Margaret and Trap like him, Hawkeye and Frank hate him. Frank hates him bc Margaret instantly started flirting with him, and Hawkeye hates him because... idk, something dumb like they got off on the wrong foot and accidentally insulted each other, while he and Trapper had the opposite type of introduction and surgeon does something that makes Trapper think he’s really cool or whatever, idk, it’s cute sitcom stuff. This is too thin for a full plot so meanwhile Klinger gets a fun escape attempt subplot or something.

Frank and Margaret reconcile when Margaret discovers surgeon is already married. Hawk and Trap reconcile when Trapper has a minor crisis wrt a patient or a letter from home or something, nothing super important but enough to make him fret and for Hawkeye to immediately drop the silly feud to support him. Throughout the episode there are a bunch of funny parallels between the two couples and Hawkeye and Trapper are portrayed as the genuine relationship compared to Margaret and Frank’s shallow relationship of convenience. There’s also a funny scene of Trap and Margaret both hanging out with the surgeon and competing for his attention and Frank and Hawkeye bitching about it together before realizing they’re in agreement about something and abruptly leaving in separate directions.

It ends with Hawkeye gritting his teeth to try to make nice with the surgeon and the surgeon pissing him off again so Hawkeye’s like fuck it I’m out. Dude leaves in the tag bc this was only a temporary fill-in assignment or he just gets transferred again bc that’s how episodic sitcoms work who cares about realism.

Angsty:

So Trapper bonds with one of his patients. Patient tells him about his sweetheart back home, says his near death experience has proved to him what’s really important and he’s going to marry her when he gets discharged. Patient gets sent back to the front, where he gets shot again, and this time he doesn’t make it and dies during triage. Trapper finds a letter to his girlfriend in his pocket and tries to find her address so he can send it for him, but can’t. He knows the city she lives in bc dude mentions it in the letter, but that’s it. In the course of seaching he discovers that Patient is married to someone else and didn’t live in the same city as gf. Maybe to make it seem more romantic lol mention that his wife is like, the mayor’s daughter or something and gf is poor, w/e. Point is they know he was planning to leave his wife for her. Anyway Trap and Hawkeye bitterly talk about it and Hawkeye mentions how Patient might not have even had a chance to kiss her goodbye when he got drafted.

Hawkeye is there helping every step of the way, there’s a touching scene where Trapper is upset and Hawkeye is empathetic and comforting, all that good stuff.

Eventually when they have to give up on sending the letter Trapper crumples it and says something like it doesn’t matter anyway, the letter didn’t even say anything important that she wouldn’t have heard a million times before and anyway what’s the point when she can’t see him face to face? Or maybe Hawkeye says it to reassure him. We hear the letter read in voice over near the end and it’s just kind of light and sweet with nothing that sets it apart from any other generic war letter, but it mentions stuff like, ‘i could never make it through this without your support,’ ‘i can’t wait until we’re back together and i can tell you everything i feel in person’ and whatever other generic sweet sentiments can also neatly apply to Hawkeye and Trapper lol.

And of course this slots in near the end of season 3 and contextualizes Trapper’s departure in Welcome To Korea.

Also it’s written really well and somehow balanced out with humour so it fits the season tonally lol and doesn’t feel like a lost season 9 episode.

send me a topic + ☕️ emoji and i’ll tell my honest opinion about it!

[scuttling]

Bully

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 2,249 Tags: SFW, Pre-relationship, Supportive Aaron Summary: A case in Chicago means the team is introduced to someone from Sophie's past. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 0-6 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to AO3 or read below! “Alright, we’ve got a case in Chicago,” JJ says as they gather in the briefing room on a Wednesday morning. “The detective there is… how do I put this? He’s a real asshole, but they need our help, so just prepare yourselves for one of those.” She passes out the case file, and Cortes tenses beside Hotch, a shift in demeanor he can almost feel, though they are sitting a foot apart.

“Please tell me, just to ease my mind, JJ—it’s not the 54th precinct, right?” She looks up with a grimace, and JJ nods.

“Sounds like you know the guy. Detective Jeffrey?”

“Fuck. Yes, I know him.” She puts an elbow on the table, leans her forehead into her hand, sighs. “He’s like the anti-Hotch: cruel, impulsive, hotheaded, blames his failures on his coworkers. This guy is going to give us grief the whole way, especially if I’m there.”

“Is there a reason for him to be aggressive toward you? Did you pass him up for promotions, accolades?” he asks, and she looks up at him, frowns.

“He’s a misogynist, and a racist, for starters. Wanted a spot on the tactical response team and didn’t get it because he can’t take orders, which had nothing to do with me, but you know how narcissists project.”

“Nothing is actually ever their fault,” Reid says, filling in the blanks.

“Exactly. I was the most convenient target for his anger. So, of course I want to do my part, I’m just letting you know there’s a lot of hostility there so you aren’t blindsided.” The team seems collectively a little more tense—no one messes with one of their own—and Hotch nods thoughtfully.

“You’re with me while we’re there, then. If he wants to give you a hard time, we won’t make it easy.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She exhales, turns back to the case file, and JJ continues with the briefing.

He takes her aside once they’re on the jet.

“Can we talk for a moment?” he asks, standing by the open seat next to hers, and she gestures to it.

“Sure. Is it about what I said earlier, about Jeffrey?”

“Yes and no. I trust your judgement; if this guy is going to be a pain in our ass, I want to have a game plan going in so things move as smoothly as possible.” She closes the folder in her lap, nods, gives him her full attention. “First and foremost, you can not let him get to you.” She leans back against the window, sighs.

“I know. It’s just hard, like going back to high school and facing your old bully.”

“I get it. From what you’ve told me, this guy is going to have all of us on edge, but you know the precinct, the area, some of the officers; the team is going to look to you a lot while we’re here. You need to be firm, authoritative, but not antagonistic. Most importantly, you need to be confident. Don’t second guess yourself because of this jerk we’re dealing with.”

“I know that giving in and getting mad is what he wants, so I’m going to try my damndest not to give it to him.” She laughs a little, like it’s easier said than done, and he maintains eye contact, wills her to see how much he really does trust her with this. “I really appreciate this, Hotch.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“I know. But you show your faith when it really matters, and not everyone in your position does that. You should know how much it means to us.” Her words warm his heart, and not just because it’s her who’s saying them. He knows he comes off like a drill sergeant sometimes, but it’s all for good reason. He just wants to take care of his team, keep them safe.

“Thank you. The job is tough; I try to support you guys anyway I can.”

“It shows. Thanks for having my back,” she says softly, tilting her head, and then she sighs and smiles, sits up in her seat. He’s known her long enough to be able to tell when things are getting a little too heavy for her, knows she’s looking for lightness, now. “If we have time for drinks after this case, we have to go to Tito’s, just putting it out there.” Morgan hears her, leans over from his seat across the aisle.

“Tito’s! I haven’t been there in years.”

“Neither have I. They have the best portobello tacos in Chicago. Drowning in chimichurri,” she says to Hotch, and he smiles a little at her excitement. “Give me a Corona and lime and a plate of tacos and I’ll forget all about Douglas fucking Jeffrey.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” he says, and he spends the rest of the trip sitting between the two of them as they reminisce about their favorite things about Chicago.

He actually really enjoys it.

When they arrive at the precinct, she is decidedly less jovial, and Hotch immediately understands why, when he introduces himself to Detective Jeffrey.

“Cortes, good to see you again,” he greets, while his expression tells a different story entirely. “Are you his... assistant?” He pretends to be confused, and JJ bristles beside them at the implication, but Sophie remains impassive, doesn’t even look tense. It’s possible his pep talk had more impact than he thought.

“She is no one’s assistant, she’s a supervisory special agent with the FBI just like me, and she will be taking point on this case. I expect you to defer to her expertise,” Hotch informs him with no room for misunderstanding in his tone. Again, if she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it, just continues reading over the case file provided.

“No offense, but this is a serial killer we’re talking about. It’s worlds away from chatting up a meth addict CI in a McDonald's parking lot.” She does close the file at that, and it appears to him that she can handle personal insults just fine, but that jabs at her work are where she gets defensive.

“You wouldn’t have closed half of your cases if it weren’t for my CIs, and you know it. But I’m not in Intelligence anymore, I’m a profiler, and I’m good at what I do.” She crosses her arms, exhales, and turns away from him, a clear dismissal. “Hotch, Prentiss, and I will go to the crime scene. Reid and Gideon will meet with the second victim’s wife, Morgan and JJ will work victimology, and we’ll reconvene here.”

“You got it, boss,” Morgan says, taking a seat, and in times like these he is really proud of his team. He knows as well as Sophie what it means to show Jeffrey that an alpha male like Morgan will take her orders, and Morgan took them and ran. He hides a smile.

They are unfortunately stuck with the detective when they are rerouted to a new crime scene as another body is found, but Hotch isn't worried. It will be a great place for her to show him what she can do.

“What do we know about the victim so far?” Sophie asks Jeffrey, her posture open.

“Sheila Lapinski, 27, hooker.” Prentiss rolls her eyes behind his back. “No one has reported her missing, no next of kin anywhere we can find. Coroner puts her time of death between 3 and 5 AM.”

“Does she have a record?”

“Osele’s pulling it now,” he says with a sigh, and she stops scanning the scene, looks to him with a cocked brow.

“Then how do you know she’s a prostitute?” He chuckles, puts out his hands like the answer is obvious.

“You know where we are. They’re like fleas around here, infesting, multiplying.” Cortes crouches down and lifts the sheet covering the victim, who is wearing a cardigan, pencil skirt, and flat shoes.

“She dressed like a prostitute to either of you?” she asks, looking up at Hotch and Prentiss, and he shakes his head, though he’s not sure why he’s surprised; the detective may actually be worse than she described him. Prentiss bends down, looks like she’s trying not to smile.

“No. She looks more like a school teacher, actually.”

“I’m telling you, they call this—pardon my French—” Sophie stands, crossing her arms, and cuts Jeffrey off.

“Pussy Alley. I know what guys like you call it. But you have no evidence this woman is a sex worker, and if she’s not, it’s extremely important that we find out how and why she was dumped here.” An older, bearded detective walks up to them, notebook open, and he smiles at her.

“Hey, Cortes. Nice to see you again, though not under the circumstances.”

“You too, Osele; these are Agents Hotchner and Prentiss. I worked with Osele in Intelligence way back when.” They all shake hands, and she nods to his notebook. “You have her record?"

“Yep, she’s squeaky clean. Not so much as a parking ticket.” Sophie shares a look with the both of them, and Jeffrey splutters.

“That’s—that’s not possible.”

“I think you’ll find that plenty is possible when you open your eyes, Detective,” Hotch can��t resist replying. Cortes crouches down again.

“There are no signs of a struggle. The bottoms of her shoes aren’t worn. Her clothes are clean, not cheap; hair done recently, not cheap.” Jeffrey puts his hands on his hips, all but rolls his eyes.

“Ah, there’s some hard hitting detective work.”

“You’re not even attempting to prove your theory that she’s a prostitute, so we’re disproving it for you,” Prentiss explains, pulling out her phone. “Easily. Garcia,” she begins, and she steps away from them to talk to the tech.

“What else do you see?” Hotch asks softly, meeting her on her level. “Anything that indicates occupation?” Her eyes are focused as she scans the victim, lifts her hand to examine her nails, her lip to examine her teeth.

“She has ink smudges on her hands, so she could be a teacher, but she could also be a receptionist, writer, accountant, secretary, bank teller… any type of administrative professional. She’s got a fresh manicure, teeth are in good health, so I’d bet she’s got insurance or has had it recently. No wedding ring, she’s too old to be on her parents’, so all signs point to a steady job.”

“Okay, there is no god damn way you can tell if she’s got health insurance just by looking at her.” She stands, and Hotch follows, covering the body with the sheet.

“No, you’re right, I can’t. It’s an educated guess based on analysis and not snap judgement. Do you have any insight into this case, aside from the fact that you think she’s a sex worker because of where she was found?”

“There’s not much to go on. Sometimes these cases go unsolved.” It’s then that Prentiss returns to them, and this time she is smiling.

“I had Garcia run our victim’s info, and it doesn’t look like she’s currently employed—no recent bank deposits, appears to be living off of her savings.”

“So not a teacher after all,” Jeffrey states, looking smug, and Hotch waits patiently, because he knows there’s more.

“Not right now, but she just moved to the area from a suburb called Evanston, and she was a third grade teacher there for two years. Private school, really nice place. Great insurance.” Sophie looks at her like something she said clicked, and she pulls out her phone.

“The ink on the heel of her hand could be from a newspaper; maybe she’s job hunting.”

“Wasn’t our first guy unemployed?” Prentiss recalls. “We should have Gideon and Reid ask his wife if he’s been job hunting. Could be a connection.”

“I’ll call Reid.” The fact that the victims were job hunting is what breaks the case. They work late into the evening, but they’re actually able to find the unsub—a man posing as a prospective employer only to people who are new to the area—relatively quickly once they put it all together.

The officers who remember Sophie from her time in Chicago are all clearly impressed with her and the team, and it makes him very, very proud.

Jeffrey clearly hates how quickly they solved the case, and he enjoys that, too.

That night, they do make it to Tito’s for drinks and Mexican food, and the team goes around the table and talks about their ‘Jeffreys’ in honor of Sophie showing up hers.

Morgan buys them all a round of Coronas in her honor as well, and later, Sophie offers to buy another; Hotch heads up the bar to help her carry.

“Since we’re here another night, is there anyone you’re going to try to see? Catch up with?” he asks while they wait for a few of the drinks. She smiles softly, tucks a hand under her chin thoughtfully.

“No, there’s nothing for me here anymore. Coming back, facing Jeffrey, was my last battle to fight, and you made that possible, so thank you.”

“It was my pleasure to see him knocked down a peg… and to watch you shine.” She reaches out, covers his hand with her own, which he did not expect, and nods back to the table with the rest of their coworkers, their friends.

“Come on. We’re going to have to rein them in soon. I could use a little back up.”

“Any time."

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

TLDR: the present sucks, I can’t wait until we get to the future.

[I make a lot of posts by starting with one idea and just following my train of thought wherever it takes me. If you’ve been following me for any length of time, you may have noticed I tend to rant and meander and make posts with no real point other than for me to say what I want to say (just look through my “rant” tag), and this one is no different. I have just been seeing a lot of political posts today, and I needed to vent. I don’t know, it’s a fruitless endeavor, I’m just some rando shouting his opinions into a canyon and hoping I hear an echo, but it makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something, so by God I’m gonna a keep doing it]

Is anyone else actively waiting for The Revolution™?

Like, I’m operating under the assumption that “shit’s gon go down” in the near future. 2020 was but a taste, a glimpse of the horrors to come. I guarantee you something much, much, MUCH worse will happen in 2024.

I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m waiting for the final straw to break the camel’s back. The country is a glass of grape juice balanced precariously on the edge of a counter right above new white carpet; it’s going to fall, it’s just a matter of when.

I don’t WANT war. I don’t WANT unrest. A lot of people will die in the conflict, I cannot condone it, but I often feel as though we’re otherwise helpless. Staying the course won’t change anything, but last years’ protests demonstrably worked; a lot of the calls for change were just talk, as politicians haven’t committed anywhere near as much as they promised to, but the protestors managed to ensure #45 remained a one-termer. Protests give people agency, they let them have an active role, it gave them some power or at least a feeling of power.

Nothing short of revolution will effect substantive change in this country; politicians aren’t just going to suddenly agree to stop making things worse and start making them better. They will only concede when the personal pressure is too great for them to continue. Change only happens when they let it happen; we can’t change anything unless they’re on board, and the only way to get them on board is to make it impossible for them to be off board. Southern conservatives opposed the 1964 Civil Rights Act, but LBJ strong-armed them into passing it anyway. He put pressure on them, and they relented, not because they had a change of heart and wanted to do right, but because they knew doing wrong would be personally detrimental.

We need to make things expensive for the cops and capitalists and conservatives. We need to make them want to stop investing time and money into opposition. We need to break their spirit, crush their morale. It’s a war of attrition, and we need to push them and push them and push them until they’ve had enough and finally sue for peace.

I’m a 24 year old white kid preaching about La Resistance™, I am the embodiment of entitlement. Who am I to talk? Who am I to ask other people to fight when I’m not willing to do so myself? I don’t think of myself as unwilling, I think that given the opportunity I’d be able to fight, but that’s just it, I’m making excuses not to fight in the moment! I keep insisting that I can’t do anything right now, that maybe I’ll be able to do something later, which proves I’m a hypocrite! If I actually cared, I wouldn’t be posting about it to an echo chamber of a couple dozen users I’ve never met on tumbler dot com. If I actually cared, I’d be radicalized by now. I’d be part of a movement, I’d have used my privilege to put my money where my mouth is (I don’t have A LOT of privilege, but I have enough, more than most people, that I could be using it for good)

I feel like posting about this in a public forum is counterproductive. All it does is paint a target on my back for the NSA or FBI or CIA to monitor my movements. If I really cared, I’d go underground and join an actual group, but the problem is that left-wingers don’t really HAVE any groups! Antifa isn’t an organization, it’s an ideology! There are no left-wing militia groups, no splinter cells, no Resistance! Only right wingers do that sort of shit, and they do it with impunity because the feds will never look into them until it’s too late, whereas the feds will nip any left-wing movement in the bud before it sprouts.

I want to be part of something greater than myself, but I’m a coward. I am disillusioned, but there’s no constructive outlet for me. The last thing I want to do is get recruited by some death cult, as happens to a lot of white men my age. I don’t want the message of this post to be that there should be left-wing versions of all the right-wing terrorist groups we ser, I’m not saying I would want to join a liberal version of the proud boys or whoever else (they don’t exist, and I wouldn’t join even if they did), what I’m saying is I want agency in my life. I want to believe I can be in charge of my own destiny, without living in fear of federal and state and local government hurting people. I’m relatively safe, I’m a cis-het white male, I’m not gonna be targeted by extremist groups, I’m not gonna be assassinated by cops for driving with my hands at 9 and 12 instead of 10 and 2. I’m not afraid for my future, I afraid for the future of others with less privilege than me.

I really don’t want to come across as sounding like a libertarian. Like, I don’t fear the concept of government, I fear THIS government specifically. I don’t fear taxes, the exact opposite, I would increase the marginal tax rates to their pre-Reagan levels, I would raise corporate taxes and then put heavy sanctions on any of them that tried to leave the country to avoid paying them, I’d gladly pay more from my own minimum wage paycheck if it meant other people could have the resources they need. I find myself in the green quadrant, but I am by no means a libertarian by the American definition (fuck the Libertarian party, they’re just secular Republicans)

Most American politicians are in the upper right blue quadrant. Yes, even the Democrats. Even so-called Democratic Socialists like Sanders and Warren are closer to the center than actual left-wingers in any other country. There are still communist parties in Europe, but they will NEVER be anti-capitalist parties in the United States. The best we can hope for from our leaders is to keep them from going up or right. If third-party candidates were viable, I’d be a Green, but they’re not, so I’m begrudgingly a Democrat (derogatory).

I just want people to prosper. I don’t want anyone to suffer, I don’t want people to get hurt, I want people to be safe. That shouldn’t be too much to ask, but over the last 250 years we’ve had to fight tooth and nail just to get to where we are today, and this is nowhere NEAR a good place to be.

For the right, the best society was 50 years ago. For the left, the best society is 50 years from now.

There is no end to history, we’ll never reach some cosmic finish line and be like “we did it, we’re done, we won and everything will be good forever,” no, we will always need to keep fighting to drag ourselves further and further towards progress. I find the carrot-on-a-stick to be a very comforting analogy; sure, we’ll never reach it, but we’ll always be moving forward. The carrot isn’t the goal, the destination is the goal. We need to understand that whatever we’re striving for now will look primitive and backwards in ten or twenty years time, so we need to constantly look towards the future instead. Everything changes with time, and we need to get ahead of it, we need to be ready for it, we need to accept and embrace it. If we pick a goal and reach it, we need new goals, we can’t just celebrate victory in the moment and pretend like we’re done. We kept fighting after 1776, and 1865, and 1964, and 2020; there will always be greater milestones to achieve.

[pennyserenade]

FIRST LINE GAME

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

tagged by my favorite domestic slut sister: @astroboots

PUBLISHED WORKS: 

scenes from a marriage (javi fic): The designs of misfortune carve themselves in the woodwork that is Colombia, marking and scarring a beautiful country for the sake of one man’s empire.

(a/n): i wrote this on a whim one night while just trying to write for the sake of writing and look where it’s got us.

freedom is just another word (frankie morales fic): Sometimes, Frankie could not stand himself. Really, despise himself. 

(a/n): i did this one because i’m cruel and a slut for angst

ungodly hour (agent whiskey fic): Her knees rest on his forearms, and she pushes his shoulders into the ground beneath him, earning a groan as his head bounces lightly off of the ground. 

(a/n): i wrote this one because i just wanted to write but i didn’t wanted to take a break from scenes. also, i was listening to the ungodly hour album and it makes me feel like a bad bitch so i had a desire to character a leading character that was one.

NOT PUBLISHED WORKS:

the world is yours (maxwell lord fic): Step ahead into the past. It was a meaningless, get-rich sentiment stamped on the box of each Polaroid camera they sent out, one that she’s seen a million times before but never felt the depth of until now; Maxwell has said it, willing away the accent she loves, and she knows that this is exactly what they’ve done: They’ve stepped back into a joyless, oppressive past in order to preserve some inkling of a meaningful future. 

(a/n): this will probably make a debut after i finish scenes and get somewhere with freedom. the step ahead into the past bit came from a poster at my work that i saw while i was on break. this is gonna be a fic exploring the beginnings of maxwell’s desire to be something, and i hope it covers the struggles he goes through a bit better than the film. also, i’m not gonna make him the villain as much as i am going to make him the anti-hero, because who can deny that michael corleone wasn’t a baddie once or twice hm ?

strobe lights (unpublished maxwell lord fic): It was a concoction of heavily artificial music--the sort that drips in materialism and would bling if sound was tangible--and Maxwell’s insistent stare that made her do it.

(a/n): this will probably never see the light of day because it has a no real meaning, but it’s older than any of the other stuff i’ve written for the p. characters. it was made before i created this blog, and just something that got the wheels in my head turning again.

scenes from a marriage (a very very early draft that i didn’t end up liking, javi fic): He had forgotten. Or she thought he had forgotten. She couldn’t be sure yet, but the hours kept ticking away, and he hadn’t shown up yet. Javier wasn’t ever the most timely man, but he was never this late.

a/n: what are my fics, if not angst preserving?

mama, you’ve been on my mind (a fic not belonging to the pedro fandom at all, but a story about two characters that my friend created): Something had gone taut inside of Henry the day he found out that Mari had gone missing. He’d worked hard to conceal it from Stella, expressing adequate amounts of concern and worry and frustration, but he never showed the absolute panic that rattled him to his very core. He didn’t want to upset her. Stella was a great woman, but no one could stand the shade of pale he would get when he was by himself, or the way he sobbed quietly thinking about her at night in the bathroom when he was alone and Stella was asleep. He hid it from her, something he had never, ever done with Stella, because he knew that this grief was more personal than he ever wanted her to know about.

(a/n): my friend gave me henry to write with her, and we attached pedro to his face to him, but the main story is about mari, a girl who henry had married when he was a younger. they divorced later on because they both came to the conclusion that mari loved women more than she ever would love him, but he never, ever stopped caring about her. mari eventually ends up getting murdered by one of her patients (she’s a therapist) because she rejects his advances, (but i promise the story doesn’t end there, because mari is very, very cool and my friend is such a bad ass writer, i just don’t want to give it all away). anyways, this takes place shortly after mari has gone missing. at this point, it has been about tenish years since henry and mari have split and he’s remarried to stella, a woman whom he loves dearly. henry and mari remained friends, and he’s not taking it well.

untitled mando fic: His first words to her had been these: It had to be done. They were muttered with such commitment and unwavering faith, she knew that he was a man who truly believed in whatever dogma he abided by. 

(a/n): this was the first thing i was gonna publish on here but everything i wrote felt odd and out of place, and i think i need a bit more time to set on this one before it goes anywhere.

let it be: (a story i was writing for a school contest but never finished): There came an awful, tightening sensation in the middle of her chest, so strong it felt like she was about to double over there, in front of all of these strangers.

(a/n): this was gonna be a story about a young woman who has just found out she was pregnant. i set it during the day that the beatles played there rooftop concert because i liked the idea of this young woman being surrounded by many people who’s eyes were glued to the sky because the beatles are playing their brand new fucking album, and she’s just coming undone. this is gonna expose me as a beatles stan and that’s okay.

diane’s a friend of mine (a story i didn’t remember writing until just now, doing this): It had all started with Diane, a woman who had loved him so passionately that he’d dated her twice. Diane was an intelligent woman with the tendency to date men who were far below her, and he wasn’t the exception as much as he was the rule. He remembered the way she didn’t mind his desire to be and do nothing on Sunday mornings, and the kind way she would trace his nose and smile approvingly before saying, “You’ve got the nose of greek gods, Francis.”

(a/n): this must’ve been written during my al pacino phase a couple of months back, and i think, as i scan over it, this is the story i wanted to write about an actor who has spent his entire life as someone else, just a plethora of different characters, so when he eventually retires, he begins to struggle with who he is. i think i wanted it to be told through the stories of women he’s loved during those years, because it’s the only time he remembers being himself. 

untitled roman sionis fic: roman sionis reminded frankie terribly of fredo corleone. he was void of that pure innocence—that essence of goodness that made fredo such a lovable character—but he had the stupidity. it was a stupidity that stopped him from being something more.

(a/n): i have written about thirty roman sionis drafts but none of them amounted to anything. i think the character is neat, and had a very big ewan mcgregor phase. 

an untitled fic set after the events of the panic in needle park, if anyone of you has seen that:  This is where I am. This is where my stuff is. The wind was biting this morning, reddening Bobby’s cheeks as he stood on the sidewalk waiting for Eileen.

(a/n): this was definitely during my al pacino phase, it’s about how bobby gets clean and has started life with another woman because he couldn’t stay with helen because they enabled each other too much. if i’m ever gonna do anything for any of you please let it be to turn you onto al pacino’s movies in the ‘70s. all of them are fantastic, and the panic in needle park the first installment. this movie lead to al giving his famed role as michael corleone later on, and it covers a lot of topics i didn’t expect, like drug addiction and poverty and i just think al pacino is amazing in it. i cannot believe that his first movie. here’s the link to the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watchv=0ahe2zepONg&ab_channel=JulienPinault. drug tw and needle tw.

okay i think that is all i have and i know it’s not twenty but i can’t find any more.

tagging: @mourningbirds1, @disgruntledspacedad and anyone else who wants to do it because i think you’re all neat and lovely. 

[cornfedcryptid]

This will quite literally be the only post I make in terms of the current fandom drama in DA, that only came to be after seeing this post @kunstpause posted as well as what @wardenari tagged me in and the mass of new followers I have gained from it. I only know bits and pieces of what's going on, only by those I know who are directly effected by it...so what I'm about to say may be the wrong thing to say or fall short of my intended plan.

I'm conflicted as to whether or not I should put all of this under a 'Read More' or not...or even if I should post this...or even if I should add my voice to the sea of voices, inevitably shining the light on me as well. Ah well.

Regardless what I'm about to say may be triggering to some people as it involves suicidal thoughts.

Dragon Age was first introduced to me by my 'ex' a number of years ago. During this time I was at the lowest point of my life, off and on anti depressants and ADHD meds left at right, in the vain hope that my 'ex' and I would become more than what we were. Those that are on the types of medications that alter the state of your mind know that shit ain't something you go off and on of at whatever whim strikes your fancy. To this day I can't remember 99% of what happened between when I was 24-28ish. But I digress.

At that time, I had no access to internet and only had the DA games on PS3. In them I was able to escape from the nagging voice in my head that told me everything would be so much easier if I killed myself. It's been a voice that's been following me around for over 15 years. But when I played Dragon Age it was quiet. I was able to pretend I was someone I wasn't. Happy. Whole. Not a waste of space. Loved unconditionally. It was a stark contrast to the life and relationships around me.

Once I had some semblance of internet access, I had come back to tumblr after being away a few years and fell into the fandom. It was my first ever experience in a fandom, and I had so much fun hanging out in the fringes reading what people wrote, seeing what they drew, the meta posts...all of it. It was as if I had found a safe haven from the bullshit of my life. Even met some amazing people whom I still cherish to this day, regardless of whether not if I still talk them.

Dragon Age became my oasis in the shitstorm of mental health that is the fall/winter months for me. It's become an oasis for many people, young and old. Telling someone what they can and can't do in terms of self-care is no different than any person who's offered unsolicited advice on how to deal with your mental health. It's lowkey downright insulting.

The whole reason why I'm making this post is because I am a 30 year old woman who has ADHD, and upon seeing the post while I was initially angry at the utter shittiness of the asks and disregard towards those of us with ADHD, Aspergers, and those of us that are older, I am more disappointed and sad for the person who felt the need to send them...and every other person involved in spreading the hate. I'm saddened because life, the world, those who raised them, etc. have been so unkind as to teach them that this is okay to do for whatever reason and/or the only response to something they don't agree with. The world's already a fucked up place. The pandemic only compounding it...and I understand the need to direct that feeling of hopelessness, stress, etc. upon something. But not like this. This is just hateful, toxic, and solves nothing. I understand it is easier to go this route...to direct the negative shit in/around you at someone else. It can feel cathartic. But all this does it help keep the ball of negative emotions, thoughts, whatever you want to call it within you where it grows like a cancer.

I should know...I did it in the past. I had left the fandom for the most part a couple years ago, and when I came back I saw the person who was a source of my anxiety, reason for leaving out of fear, self-doubt, and things I do not wish to divulge was still around and a prominent face. I was angry that this person got to continue doing what they were doing while I and others dealt with the effects of their insecurities. And I was scared because I feared them sending a witch hunt after me because they didn't want to see me in their space. I helped feed into the idea of calling this person out and exposing them for what they were because they had their claws in someone else. To this day it is still something I deeply regret. Not only for the stress it caused on those associated with that person, but because it marked the beginning of the end of a friendship with a person I dearly love. Because by feeding into it we let the tumor that was our anger and insecurities grow to the point it consumed us.

We were fortunate this never gained any real traction and therefore we didn't suffer any outward consequences of it. But just because it didn't go anywhere/had no real effect, doesn't mean there weren't prices that were paid.

But let me also be very clear this does not mean I do not think any of the people spreading the hate and anything else in The Mess(in all its variations) shouldn't be held accountable. We are all responsible for our actions and must hold accountability for ourselves. We must also each be aware that just because something someone has made or thinks doesn't agree with our beliefs, religion, etc. does not mean they are inherently wrong(with a few exceptions. But that is besides the point)...as well as if something goes against any of the stated above and is therefore something we can't or won't interact with doesn't mean that is universal. That type of thought is no different than...well, the Trump supporters a majority of tumblr makes fun of.

And I know taking accountability is hard. No one wants to admit they're at fault, and that it's easier to come up with a continuous list of reasons why we're right and they're wrong, even if they're ludicrous. We have been taught that in doing that it is no different than signing your own death warrant, that there is no chance at redemption. It took me a long time to realize that I played a part in the cancer that infected my friend and I. Even typing this out I feel at unease writing this on the off chance they see this and have all of that shit brought back to the forefront.

But from the sea of voices that are speaking, I do not think there is one that is speaking to you that was in a similar situation. That knows how hard it can be to just be 'Yup, I fucked up. I see that now and I'm sorry. I will try harder in the future. Please bear with me because this isn't easy for me.'

But it's okay to admit when you're at fault, because you'd be surprised at the number of people that are forgiving and understanding once you do. It's okay to let go of the negativity and anger. Don't use it as a shield, you'll only burn yourself in the long run. Don't let your ego control you. It'll only be your downfall.

And to the person I have mentioned in the paragraphs above: If you see this, I am sorry. I see now that I let my anger and fear feed into the cancer that fucked us both, and helped ruin our friendship.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

Can I rant about something? I hate how this fandom acts like you can't say anything bad about Clem or else you're a "toxic fan". Or how if a character is mean to her then their suddenly bad. It's annoying.

[I’m putting these two asks together because my answer is pretty much the same for both]

Trust me, I completely get how frustrating it is to still see stuff like this because you’d think that we’d be tired of arguing by now. 

I won’t lie, it bothers me when people put Clementine up on this pedestal, ignore any and everything bad thing she’s ever done, and then attack any person or character that so much as looks at her wrong. It’s an insult to the complexity of her character and you’re just making a fool of yourself by behaving like a tantrum-throwing toddler. 

I’ve given a whole rant of my own on this subject, but to reiterate: 

Clementine is not a perfect character. She has done shitty things. Things that we as the player had no say in. 

My favorite example is from ANF where she shoots the guy who traded her bad bullets then asked Javi to lie for her. Did she mean to shoot that asshole? No, but she knows better than to point a loaded gun- I don’t care if she didn’t think the bullets would shoot or not- at someone without the intention of hurting or killing them. 

Lee taught her that, remember? 

But y’know what? Y’know why Clementine is such a great character? 

Because she’s not perfect. 

Clementine risks her life to protect AJ and everyone at Ericson, she’s strong, brave, and incredibly smart, and she has a real charming sweetness to her in the quieter moments. But, she doesn’t always do the right thing, she makes mistakes which she learns from, she’s killed numerous people without much thought, and she can be an asshole. 

We love her because we’ve been with her through four seasons. We’ve watched her grow and we helped shape her to be the best she can be. We’ve discussed her character and gushed about why we love her so much. A lot of us are incredibly protective of her, and that’s were this dumbass “If you are mean to Clem, you have to die” mentality comes from in certain people. 

Mitch threatens her with a knife after being traumatized by witnessing Marlon’s? God, hope he dies, that asshole. 

Ruby and Omar vote for Clementine and AJ to leave because they’re confused and upset and scared? What a bunch of shitbirds. 

Louis wants Clementine and AJ to leave after the literal murder of his best friend? Oh yeah, fuck that guy for having an emotional reaction to his best friend’s death. 

Violet’s pissed off at Clementine after being taken by the delta which results in two days worth of mental torture and betrayal? What a bitch, hope she stays and blows up with the rest of them. 

I could list more, but you get what I’m saying.

Anyway, if you try and defend Mitch, Louis, Violet, or anyone else who gets upset with Clem when it comes to these types of people?

Yikes. 

Which, okay, look... I get it. 

We all have our favorite characters and I’m not necessarily talking exclusively about Clementine. I’m talking about Louis, Violet, Kenny, Luke, and every other favorite within these games. We have our favorite character that we gush about and praise and plop down on the perfect pedestal. 

So when we see someone else say something negative about that character? Maybe it’s not even anything mean or with ill-intention behind it, but more of a critique of the character. Regardless, some people take a personal offense to that. 

And when someone does say something horrible about our favorite character? Or when a character in-game threatens this favorite character? 

Some people get nasty. 

Listen... you are allowed to like a character and still acknowledge their flaws. You don’t have come fight with people and justify the terrible things a character does. You don’t have to like or agree with everything you’re favorite character does. 

I love Louis to death but I’m not gonna sit here and preach that he’s perfect and never done anything wrong in his life because that is false. Louis is at that school because he caused his parent's divorce and I have no justification for that. That was a shitty thing of him to do and I’m glad that he realized that. 

I’m not gonna make an excuse for it, just like how I won’t make any excused for Clementine killing that asshole when she should’ve known better, or for everything she did at the ranch to get AJ back, or for any of the other bad shit she’s done. 

Because that’s what makes their characters complex, interesting, and lovable. 

Does that long ramble make sense?

Anons, all I can say is if you come across someone, whether it be on Tumblr or anywhere else, that is just nasty and always looking for a fight and that’s ALL their account is, just block them. Seriously, make use of your block button. I have. 

I’m here to discuss and chat and answer asks with long rambles no one asked for, not fight with others. If I see an anti-louis blog, or an anti-violet blog, or a whatever-anti blog that makes me feel gross when scrolling past their posts in the tags or whatever, I eventually get sick of them and hit block. I don’t need to see that shit. 

I would love for this fandom to be kind and eager to discuss these characters, but unfortunately, there’s always a handful who gotta be jerks. The best we can do is stick together in our own little community. 

Did this help, anons? Hopefully it did haha 

[pandoraborn]

Aegrescit Medendo Chapter 4

----

There’s a fire burning, raging through him. He can’t move, trapped still, in some empty darkness. He can hear voices, and just beyond the flames, he can make out two silhouettes. He’s never seen them before in this hellscape, but he already knows who they are. They’re trying to whisper something to him, but he can’t make out their voices above the crackling fire, nor can he make out any distinct figure. He’s trying-- he’s trying! All he can do is stand in place, choking on the flames. Is the fire raging all around him or has he ignited the intial spark, and is burning alive from the inside out? Marvin doesn’t know, and it doesn’t matter. It’s a choking, burning torture that leaves him open mouthed and screaming in agony.

Through it all, he can only vividly make out one visual: a pair of green eyes, seen just beyond the darkness. Glowing, almost, and focused entirely on him. Marvin has the feeling that no matter where he hides, those same green eyes are always going to be staring at him.

He’s awake, twisted in his blanket. Even though he’s too warm with his body screaming at him to de-tangle himself, Marvin’s shivering. He’s had that dream almost every night for several weeks straight, and it’s reaching a point where he’s feverish, trying to figure out what meaning his mind is trying to thrust at him. It’s not just the obsession he’s stuck with, there’s an uneasiness that comes with the end of this nightmare each time.

There’s someone, or some thing, watching him.

Marvin forces himself to relax. He can’t stop trembling, but he can try to release the tension in his muscles long enough to pull himself free from his bed. The air is chill, goosebumps immediately covering his arms. He makes no attempt to hug himself as he stares into a particularly dark corner of his room. He’s sure he can almost make out two faint green dots, but with a flipped light switch, there’s nothing to be seen, just his mind playing tricks on him.

The unease only grows from here. It’s different tonight, there’s something clearly off. The dream had never been so vivid before that he could make out his parents, and he can’t shake those green eyes. He’s sure he’s being watched, but even a glance out his window reveals nothing. With teeth chattering, Marvin starts inspecting his room. He could chalk it up to Jackie sleepwalking into his room again, but that doesn’t feel like the case. There’s an aura here, definitely. He knows someone was in his room.

It’s going to drive him crazy, because no matter how many times he shuffles things out of place, he’s not going to find anything It’s probably best if he leaves the stifling aura behind, let his room ‘air out’ so to speak. Grabbing his phone, he steps out into the hallway. Closing the door behind him, Marvin feels an instant sense of relief. That feeling is already fading, though now he’s too awake to walk back in and face that dread all over again.

He checks the time - it’s only four in the morning. He’d be okay with being awake at this time normally, but he’s still uneasy, finding some company sounds better than trying to shake off a ghost.

Instinctively, he heads for Chase’s room. If there’s one person he can count on to help him feel better, it’s Chase. He’s barely able to grab the handle when he hears a yell, a series of thumps, and the sound of glass shattering. Marvin jerks back from the door, staring, as if he could see through it, but the sounds didn’t come from Chase’s room.

They came from Jackie’s.

Jackie’s door is flung open, and he comes barreling out just seconds later. He’s still in his pajamas, though now with a mask on his face. His fists are up, and his eyes are glowing bright blue, focused on his room. Marvin’s heart his thumping, and his own fists come up, green magic encasing his hands as he braces himself for a fight.

“Jackie?” Marvin presses, stealing a glance toward the hero. “What’s wrong?”

“There was someone in my room,” Jackie snarls. “I woke up to some asshole leaning over me.�� Jackie is still not looking toward Marvin, he’s now walking back toward his room. “How the fuck did someone get in, Marvin? You have the place warded.”

“Are...are you sure it was someone? You weren’t dreaming?” Marvin isn’t sure why he’s so skeptical of Jackie’s claim, he himself had left his own room because of an uneasy aura. It’s the possibility, he tells himself, that they’re really being stalked.

“Positive,” Jackie says shortly. “There was someone there, leaning over my bed when I woke up. I swear that person was glowing.” He finally looks sideways at Marvin, jerking his head toward the room. Marvin knows what Jackie’s insinuating. If this is a work of magic, since clearly, this stranger is able to get past his wards, then Marvin needs to take the lead this time, not Jackie.

“Alright.” Marvin lets out a sigh as he steps closer. He can feel that aura again, this time far stronger than the one in his room. It’s as if someone had dumped ice cold water on him, because he’s shivering again, unable to move anywhere. He can’t enter the room, nor can he find the strength to back out of it. It’s overwhelming, and suffocating.

To ground himself, he clutches the frame, reminding himself that it’s just an aura, it can’t physically do anything to him. Marvin is sure it’s terror, over any actual threat. “Jackie,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “Get the others up. Make sure no one’s lingering in their rooms.”

“You think-”

“Someone’s been here,” Marvin says, finally confirming Jackie’s fear. “They were in my room too.” He pushes himself into Jackie’s room, flipping on the light so he can look around. Jackie’s nightstand is turned over, and his window is broken. What baffles him over anything is the shattered glass is on the inside, rather than outward. With a deep breath, he crouches down and picks up a glass shard with his magic, careful not to touch it with his fingers.

There’s nothing particular interesting about the shards, there’s no magic he can detect. Perhaps the glass just shattered at random, with a few shards having fallen inward by chance. He pokes his head out the window and looks down at the yard below, where the majority of the glass can be seen reflecting the moonlight.

“What’s going on?” Chase’s voice has Marvin jerking back inside, whirling around to face Chase. He’d nearly forgotten about the others being there, and he almost feels guilty, as if he’d been doing something suspicious. Jackie’s not standing in the hallway, which tells Marvin he either went to Henrik’s room or downstairs. It’s just Marvin and Chase, now.

“We have, or rather, had, an intruder,” Marvin explains. “He was in both mine and Jackie’s rooms. Jumped out the window, it seems.” He waves his hand toward the shards on the carpet. “You didn’t feel anything off, did you? Like some weird aura?”

“I can’t sense auras the way you can,” Chase says. “If there was someone in my room, you’d be able to tell, wouldn’t you?” He bites at his bottom lip with that statement. “But then if that’s the case, how would-”

“That’s what I wanna know,” Marvin interrupts. “I don’t know how someone was able to get past my wards. The aura I felt kinda matches with what Jackie told me, too.” He crouches back down, now carefully picking up all the shards inside, letting them swirl around in a lazy circle. He doesn’t want to touch them at all, but he’s willing to see if there’s any hidden magic that he could detect.

“Marv, it’s too fucking early for you to be cryptic or mysterious. Can’t you just talk normally?” Chase yawns, stretching his hands above his head. “All I’m really getting is you guys think our guy has some sorta magic. Do you want me to get you a bag?”

Marvin sighs. “Yeah. There’s something else I haven’t told you guys though.” He turns around to face Chase, gaze dropping to the floor.

“Uh, I don’t like...Marvin what the fuck are you not saying this time?” Chase is crouching down too, making himself eye level with Marvin. “I might be half awake, but I’m still here.”

“The issue isn’t just that we have an intruder,” Marvin mumbles, letting the glass fall back to the carpet. “The issue is, I think I know this person.”

“What do you mean, you think you know this person?” Chase is frowning, eyes narrowing in a sudden suspicion. He’s radiating concern, and Marvin’s only flinching away.

“I’ve been having the same dream every night for over a month.” Marvin takes in a deep breath. “And every night, I just see a pair of glowing green eyes.”

“Okay, why haven’t you told any of us this before?” Chase asks. “Henrik can help you if you’re having trouble sleeping or getting back to sleep.”

“That’s not the point,” Marvin says. “I don’t think it’s a dream.” He shakes his head. “Nevermind, I’m not making any sense, you can go back to bed.” He stands up, turning to leave the room. He wants to gather up the glass in a bag so he can study it more closely.

“No no, you don’t get to drop that on me and walk away,” Chase argues. “What are you talking about?” Chase is standing upright too, grabbing Marvin’s arm. “Talk to me, bro.”

With another sigh, Marvin turns around. The aura he felt earlier is already fading, leaving him feeling tired. “Chase, I think someone’s been actively watching me for over a month. This is just the first time he was inside.” He pulls his arm away from Chase, not wanting to talk anymore. “So yeah, surprise. I’m being stalked by someone else who has magic.”

With that bombshell, he leaves the room.

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

TAG LIST:

@immabethehero @ari-trash @autumnrambles @honestlyitsjustkenna @southern-septic @obsidiancreates @blitzindite @lildevyl @10th-no-name-person @taikeero-lecoredier @spudmcloughlin @averyancora @henrik-von-schneeplestein @antis-gauge @pmaismydna @coffee-bean-boi @nocturnofshadow

[disaster-dan]

Winterspider ABO AU Omega Clinic

Bucky works in a Omega specialized clinic in which omegas are admitted if their biological levels are not met balanced which can lead to serious health issues. Young Omega Peter is admitted unknowingly after his aunt notices that her early presented nephew has lost his scent and seems to have skipped heats without suppressants for nearly a year. Peter does not know why he is there, only that he is ‘sick’. Bucky is assigned to Peter and what else is there to say.

OR: a poor excuse for smut

Words: 5k

Tags: extreme dub-con, sexual content, inaccurate biology, ABO dynamics, fluff so much of it

It was only a few days, according to Aunt May but now Peter wasn’t so sure it was just ‘a couple of days’. When May and him arrived at the Center, it didn’t seem to Peter as a place where people stayed ‘for a couple of days’. Peter didn’t even know what type of people stayed there, but if the sign outside with ‘Omega’ gave him any clue- he was in for more than just a few days. 

Aunt May didn’t tell him, which he couldn't blame. If she had told Peter, he would be fleeing the city then. The people inside, a few dressed in scrubs and mostly betas telling by the hardly there scent it seemed like a place where Peter would get probed for hours. The very few alphas he noticed as he walked didn't make anything better. 

The friendly shoulder touches did nothing, their soft calm voices explaining the areas inside, the schedule, the stays and visits, Peter was just a shell of an omega knowing absolutely nothing about what was going on. It had to do something with him, he knew that. But the more he thought about it, the more realistic his guesses became and the scarier reality was. 

And finally to a room. A small dorm. There was a TV, a nice looking bed, small knick knacks that Peter guessed were for the omega patients. There was a bathroom in that room. So that indicated he couldn’t leave the room unless it was on the schedule to leave the fucking room. 

Peter did not react much for his and May’s sake. He gave a small smile to May who hugged him, showering him in apologies and promises to check in. Peter hugged the woman back and giving her an assuring “I’ll be alright, May. I’ll be just fine.” Peter was lying to himself in the process. 

He never felt more alone until that moment. His bag falling to his side, the door closing softly behind him, the room before him and a checklist for a staff to scratch to. A small plastic bracelet wrapped around his wrist. 

Maybe, quite possibly, he wasn't the healthiest of all omegas. But to be where he was taken to? His thoughts weren’t helping.

Some hours passed by. Peter familiarized enough with the room. A distraction for what he was awaiting.

The door knocked.

“H-Hello?”

Peter watched as the doorknob turned and a man peak his head through. Alpha. Grown man. Tall. Strong. Very strong-

Peter was in trouble now. 

“Hey.” the man said, entering   the room and closing the door behind him. “I’m your caretaker for your stay. I’m James Barnes, but call me Bucky.” he smiled kindly, his eyes were blue.

“I’m...I’m Peter.”

“Do you have any questions for me, Peter?” He asked, removing his jacket and setting it by a nearby chair. Peter felt chills run up his back. “Anything I should know?”

Peter shook his head and with every move that Bucky made, his heart sank lower and lower. 

“N-no.”

Bucky’s arms lifted and tied his hair back with a band. Peter could have ran through the wall if he could. 

“If you want to stop during anything, we stop.” the alpha said calmly, following protocol, and walked to the bed where Peter sat against the headrest. Peter could just watch as the alpha got closer, listen as he was told to lay down, hold his breath when the man crawled on the bed-

The boy immediately starts wailing. 

Bucky flinched back, and he’s grateful the building’s rooms are soundproof because anybody right now would think he’s doing something horrible to the omega. Bucky didn’t even touch him yet.

“Hey, hey, quiet down. I’m sorry. What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t want to!” He screams, hands fisted on either side of his pillow. “I don’t want to! I’m scared!”

“Baby, that’s why we’re going slow.” Bucky explained, still keeping his hands from the young omega. Oblivious to what Peter was thinking.

“I’m scared!” The omega repeats, big tears falling from his frightened eyes. “I’m not ready! I don’t want to mate, please! I don’t want to get pregnant! Please!”

Bucky flinches back further, his brows creating a crease of confusion. 

“Get pregnant?”

“I don’t want to, please. Please please please please Idontwanto-“

“Hey-” Bucky cuts off, waving his hand, “who said anything about getting you pregnant?” Who said anything about mating?

Peter suddenly hiccups and stares at Bucky with the equal confusion his face displays. “Huh?”

“Who said you’re getting pregnant here?” Bucky sits back on his heels and he cocks his head. He’s a staff alpha and even he’s confused. “We don’t do that here. Or any clinic anywhere for that matter.”

“I’m n-not?”

“No.” Bucky climbs off the Omega carefully and sits at his side. Peter sits up as well, staring confused and terrified at the alpha before him. “We don’t do that.”

“It’s..n-not what I’m here for…?” Peter seems to half understand the situation. He only sniffles, trying to catch his breath.

Bucky searches the room for a warming pillows with special scents meant for stressed omegas. And he finds one in a distant shelf. A vibrant soft blue. Bucky runs for it and brings it back to Peter who’s breathing hard through his mouth. 

“Peter.” Bucky whispered with concern and brings the pillow to Peter’s chest. The omega smells the scent and quickly hugs the pillow close. He inhales and his eyelids nearly drop and his shoulders sag. It makes Bucky sigh with relief, Peter buries his nose in the soft material.

Bucky sits by, closely observing the young man and making sure he isn’t retreating to a near panic attack. It’s a couple of minutes and Bucky reaches for the pillow and tugs it to get Peter’s attention. The fear in his eyes breaks Bucky’s heart.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Often, many of the omegas there did not know why they were admitted or by who. That was something Bucky always had an issue with, the consenting protocols and if there even was any when a patient was admitted. For what anybody knew- Peter would have developed some internal or emotional complications at the state he was in if he didn’t get admitted. 

But Peter likely didn’t know why he was even there. Or what the clinic was. The clinic was a rehab. Many omegas would go years without mating and drowning themselves in suppressants. The clinic helped with returning their bodies to healthy normal.

“Yes?” Peter answers, clearly not knowing what he’s there for.

“Your file says you presented very early. You didn’t mate or frolick when time was appropriate. You ignored pre heats, went on consuming suppressants and then injections. You’re not scented by your parents or anybody in your family. You’ve used way too much anti-scent lotion to cover your scent glands, which are clogged by the way. Your slick stopped producing months ago and you did not see a doctor for it.” Bucky studied that file well. 

Peter blinked, a small tear rolled down his cheek as he did so. 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “That’s why you’re here.”

“I thought...”

“Thought what?”

“I was sick.” Peter said, clutching the pillow. 

“You are.” Bucky said, “your internal bio levels aren’t where they’re supposed to be. And that’s dangerous.”

“I thought...” Peter doesn’t finish his sentence but a look from Bucky pushes him to continue with hind fear. “I thought getting pregnant fixed all that.”

“It does. But your body is pushed back far and so that would only make you hurt.” 

The omega’s eyes widen and they’re watering again. His lower lip starts to quiver and it’s just a sad image. Bucky doesn’t touch him yet, the boy might react worse to it. 

“I d-don’t want to mate.” He whispers, holding the pillow to his chest more as protection and not comfort. 

Bucky sighs and reaches to drag the pillow up to Peter’s nose. “You’re not mating either.” He said narrowing his eyes. “You’re not getting pregnant or mating.”

“But you’re going to- do stuff.”

“Because it’s a start.” Bucky points out. “That’s all we do here. Stuff. And it’s to help omegas get better, not for our pleasure.” Peter’s eyes dart to the corner of the room and he inhales the pillow’s scent. Bucky sighs and looks at the floor.

Consent is something Bucky has to get from Omegas. Both legally and clearly. He has to do his job, either getting their consent to continue the therapy or work his way up along the days. Bucky is aiming to get Peter’s consent that same day. He’s read the entire file and the doctor’s notes along with the Aunt’s input to be concerned enough. Who knows what might happen if he waits any longer. Peter’s body doesn’t have time to work his way with Barnes.

“Peter.” Bucky speaks, getting the boy’s attention. “Everyone in this clinic cares for patients. We all want you to get better. If you’re scared about a male alpha I can clock in a female if you’d like.”

Peter shakes his head and tries to blink away his tears. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. You know that, right? I won’t hurt you, but I won’t let you keep getting worse either. If you don’t let a staff help you we’re starting with the medical therapy instead. And that’s not easy nor does it feel good.”

The medical therapy included multiple injections in a day. Various vaginal or anal check ups with medical rods that reach far enough to the slick glands. And those are far in an omega. Certain liquids would be administered through tubing needle. No privacy whatsoever. The patient always has a staff keeping an eye on them when in their room, when on lunch or activities, when using the restroom or showering. Any heat is drowned away by certain substances, but it is extremely exhausting to go through that.

He could explain that in detail, but he was sure Peter was told about it sometime back telling by his expression at ‘medical therapy’. The physical therapy was the best by far for the omegas that preferred it.

Peter pouts and he looks away. 

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Bucky asks quietly, waiting patiently for the young omega to come to his full senses. And Peter just shrugs, squirming as he sits. “Do you want anything?”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. But I promise it won’t hurt, I won’t let it hurt.”

Peter knows that it’s essentially the only option he has if he wants to get better. And he does want to get better. But that being his last option still scares him. He just wants to get better. Why does he have to go through this? That was the exact reason he got himself to how he is now, to avoid any of that stuff. That backfired badly, didn’t it.

“Do you want to eat or drink anything?” Bucky asks, and his voice is soft and low and Peter does not want to trust that voice.

“No.” he mumbled, being sure he might throw up the contents just out of fear. Bucky keeps his eyes on him and Peter can’t do anything but pull the pillow from his nose and slowly set it aside. He wants to cry again. But he nods as a green light to start.

“Are you sure? You know why we have to do this, okay? Nothing bad will happen to you. I’ll do everything so it won’t hurt.”

“What am I going to feel?” Peter felt a bit ridiculous. Being the age he is, it was comedic he still hadn’t done anything. 

“Good.” Bucky says simply. “I know you’re scared but I promise it’s going to feel good.” Bucky nods at him and puts his hand for Peter to take. “I’ll go as slow as you want me to. Okay? I’ll explain everything.”

Peter blinks and slowly he raises his hand and lays it on Bucky’s. He’s still hesitant. But Bucky smiles and it makes Peter’s heart flutter. 

“This isnt just sex with an alpha, okay? There’s more, but sex is part of it and I’m sorry it causes you distress.”

“I can do it.” Peter says, voice shaking, but he nods.

“Want to lay down for me?” Peter sniffs and he does lay back again. His hand absently reaches for the pillow but quickly pulls it back to his chest. 

Peter is situated on the soft bed and Bucky doesn’t climb over him yet. His eyes travel down Peter’s frame and to the loose pants he was provided. Bucky looks at Peter and points at them. “I’m taking your clothes off, okay?” to which Peter nods and he holds a wince as the alpha’s fingers hook under the band and drag the clothing off. Bucky folds it and sets it aside and then his hands reach for Peter’s shirt. Peter collaborates to remove it and again Bucky sets it aside. Now he’s left in his white briefs.

“Do you touch yourself?” Peter blushes and nods. “What gets you going?” Bucky asks, shifting on the edge of the bed to slightly loom over Peter. It’s not meant to be a lewd question. But the way his voice formed the words- Peter’s mind fogs.

“Alphas.” he mumbles, his face heating up and remembering his secret blog and the dirty sites he’s visited before. 

“What about alphas?”

“Two of them.” Peter’s hands want to hold something, fumble with it. They lay besides Peter’s head.

“Like a threesome?”

“No. Just two of them. Doing it.”

Bucky’s brows raise and he blinks. “Oh. Two alphas going at it. Males?”

“Either.” Peter says, his eyes going to Bucky’s hand that is now resting on his hip.

Female and male alphas both had that similar aggressive and hyper dominant personality. A female alpha could easily take over a male alpha and vice versa. But seeing them battle for dominance as they have sex is something Peter can drown in. The constant growling back and forth, the sudden whimpers that are magic to hear coming from an alpha, their sex being far from soft and slow. It’s competitive, fast yet long lasting when it comes to reaching their orgasm. Seeing them bring each other to a brink of an orgasm is what makes Peter spill as he’d touch himself while watching videos late at night.

“It’s quite a show, ain’t it?” The alpha asks, and Peter nods shyly in agreement. “Okay. Why don’t you think about that as I touch you. Can you do that? Wanna close your eyes?”

Peter nods and he gasps when a big palm lays itself on his groin. Peter winces and closes his eyes. His mind runs through images and videos of alphas, the noises they make, the typical strong muscled body they all have. And Bucky’s hands moves, softly rubbing his prick and Peter feels embarrassment swallow him as he feels certain warmth travel to his sex. Bucky is simply minding as he touches the tense omega. His careful hand seems to do the trick. Under his palm he feels the small prick twitch and gaining some hardness.

Peter shifts and whimpers, not wanting to get aroused. But he has to.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Slow, remember?” Bucky’s voice is like music, smooth. Peter nods, yet his body absently trying to abstain from pleasure. “This is only the start, baby. You gotta let go a bit.” And his hand lowers in between his legs.

Peter winces, feeling his closed eyes burn with tears. He forces his hips to relax and he reaches for the comfort pillow. He inhales deeply, still thinking of the dominating alphas that linger in his dreams. How big they were. How strong.

Lips start kissing his flat belly and he looks over to see Bucky looming over him and leaving small kisses. His prick jolts and Peter whines. Bucky’s hand responds by adding pressure, increasing the warmth there.

His kisses travel from side to side. When he reaches Peter’s bellybutton his kisses go directly down from there. But those are slower, they drag more on his skin. And Peter’s legs tremble.

“Gonna use my mouth on you, okay?” Bucky murmurs against his skin. He continued moving down slowly. For a moment he nibbles on Peter’s hip and Peter does not want to moan. So he whimpers loudly, the feeling of teeth on him foreign.

Bucky’s lips are on his covered erection and Peter’s hold on the pillow tightens. His hips jut and his knees lock. Sound escapes his mouth and Peter blushes more at his submissiveness.

Bucky mouths the small prick, his breathe quickly heating up Peter and he travels lower. His lips reach Peter’s small sack and he plays with it, nosing and mouthing. He feels Peter’s hips thrust. With a small growl, Bucky’s hand pushes down on the omega’s hip and keeps him still. The growl was enough for Peter to freeze entirely and open his legs wider with a quiet whine.

“Good boy.” Bucky whispered, his fingers tugging at the boy’s underwear. They come off and Peter’s hardened cock is pink and twitches when Bucky’s breathing brushes against the skin. “I’m going to suck you and finger you, okay?”

“Is it going to hurt?” Peter asks, hugging the pillow impossibly tighter.

“It’s going to feel good. You tell me if we have to slow down. Okay, baby?” Bucky’s eyes are staring straight at Peter and there’s some red in his blue irises. Peter shakily nods. “Slow, okay?”

Peter complies with staying still, not wanting to annoy the alpha or be rude. But feeling something wet and warm lick up his cock makes Peter cry out and buck his hips. He shivers, never having felt something like that in his life.

The alpha let Peter move around for a while. His tongue ran along Peter’s cock, feeling it pulse and twitch with sensitivity. Peter whined, holding back from pushing the alpha away or wanting to do things he had never thought about doing before. Like- what would it feel like to fuck an Alpha’s mouth? Peter’s body betrays his efforts and he thrusts enough to move Buck’s licking coordination. Peter’s small cock is hot and leaking, much to his embarrassment.

The omega shudders when he feels Bucky’s lips wrap around his tip and his tongue swirl on his slit. Peter watches Bucky and from that view the alpha is deep in concentration. Peter tilts his hips, his body restless and needy.

Bucky then holds him down and his mouth sinks down on the omega’s cock. It’s small, Bucky does not struggle with it and he slowly moves up and down. Peter writhes under him, his whines accentuated and his eyes begin to feel moist again.

Having done this type of work before for a long time, Bucky knows small tricks and tips to help the omega under him feel deep pleasure. He takes his time with Peter. He’s slowly as he moved his head up and down the small shaft. His hands don’t touch Peter’s genitals much until Bucky feels a small squirt of precome inside mouth. His fingers just tease the small space between Peter’s balls and his hole. With a less critical omega, that would’ve aroused slick. But since Peter isn’t yet producing that, Peter just moans and moved his hips continuously.

Bucky sinks down as low as he can. His nose touched against the barely there pubic hair of the omega and he sucks. Hard. Upon hearing moans from the boy, Bucky hums and the vibrations travel down Peter’s erection. The omega nearly shouts, his knuckles white, mouth hanging and his legs want to slap closed if it wasn’t for the alpha holding him down. The pretty noises Peter makes is enough to send signals down Bucky’s groin.

“Bucky-” Peter calls, small tears threatening to fall from his golden eyes. “I want to come. C-can I…”

Bucky heard and he pulls away. Peter whines at the loss and he throws his head back.

Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not yet.” He responds, and Peter is staring at the red in Bucky’s eyes that has spread in the blue. “Gonna do more stuff.”

“What stuff?”

Bucky responds by pulling a small bottle from god knows where and Peter raises an eyebrow.

“Lube.” Bucky mumbles popping the cap. Peter does not miss the small ‘extra’ on the label.

“W-what are you doing?” Peter asks, already knowing what’s going to happen. But his tears are falling now and he is terrified again and he’s naked in front of an Alpha who’s about to fuck him.

Bucky looks at the omega and he leans down to face him. “Peter, it’s okay. You’re fine. Remember, I won’t let it hurt.”

Nothing else is said when Bucky is coating his fingers with the warming lube. It's between Peter’s legs once again and he presses his finger pad against the rim. Peter jerks and shakes his head.

“I can’t -”

“Yes you can. I’m with you.” Bucky pulls back and carefully he pulls off his shirt. It does the trick in silencing Peter. The omega stops to stare at the alpha’s body and a certain blush rises to his cheeks.

“That’s it, pretty, look at me. Everything's okay. Just look at me.” Bucky coos and his fingers is coating the tight muscle. Peter squirms and he does his best to not break down. But the alpha’s hand reaches to one of Peter’s hands and brings it down to his cocklet. “Touch yourself. Look at me.”

Peter complied and his small hand wraps around his small erection and he relieves himself as Bucky works the very tip of his finger inside him. Peter’s eyes leak tears but he keeps concentrated on his alpha’s body and jerking his leaking cock.

Bucky’s entire index fingers is inside and he thrusted back and forth. Peter does not feel pain, but the discomfort is enough to make the omega quietly sniffle and his pretty face be traced by his tears. Bucky ignores and he works his middle finger. It’s a noticeable stretch but the omega does not fuss and he whimpers when he feels a change. His hand moves faster on his little cock and keeps his eyes trained on Bucky’s body.

“Good boy, you’re okay. You’re doing great, baby.” And the words tug at something inside Peter.

Bucky’s own biology wants to reach him. His own cock fills and hardens at the view of Peter under him, whimpering and pleasing himself while being fingered. Bucky kneels on his knees and his free hand reaches to his own erection and he rubs. A quiet moan spills from his lips as he looks from the omega’s thin blushed shoulders, down his small perked nipples, his pale smooth stomach and his pink dick.

Peter is able to smell the aroused scent from Bucky and his breathing hitches. Because it smells good.

“Al...Alpha?” Peter whines, and it captures Bucky’s attention. Bucky looks up to see Peter’s eyes dilated and they’re begging for Bucky. Bucky recognizes his look and leans down to the omega. Peter wraps a free arm around his neck and his nose plasters to his neck where the smell is stronger and he moans. His hand moves with boldness and the fingers inside him begin to spark something unknown.

Bucky blindly unbuckles his belt and his pants and drags them down as best he can. Peter does not notice much until Bucky pulls away and Peter’s eyes stop at the hard alpha cock, standing proud and red. His heart nearly stops.

“You with me, Peter?” Peter nods slowly. Bucky pulls his fingers from the tight omega hole. “Open your legs for me, babe.” And Peter does so. Bucky can’t help the bubbling excitement when he sees the virgin pink hole. He pushes Peter’s legs to his chest and Bucky is amazed by the flexibility of the omega. So bendy and able. He holds them down, a firm hand under Peter’s knees and the omega begins to fuss. He shifts, whimpers, small cut off sounds of distress.

“Everything’s okay, Peter.” Bucky assures quietly. Peter’s eyes catches his gaze. “You’re going to be okay.”

Peter understands, but when he feels Bucky’s cockhead press against his rim it makes Peter whine loudly.

“Bucky!” Peter sobbed, the length of Bucky slowly sliding into him with ease.

“There we go, kitten. There we go, good boy.” The alpha above grunted, sliding in until his hips hit the omega’s soft ass. “Good boy. You’re doing good, baby.”

Bucky gave small thrusts until he decided he was fixed well enough to fuck the omega. Peter sobbed underneath, his hips being held from twisting around by the older man. He wanted to move to his own accord. He wanted to pleasure himself.

“Stay still.” Bucky hissed, and Peter hiccuped as he listened to the order. He went pliant, slacking himself. The alpha thrusted steadily, every thrust pushing a pathetic sound out of Peter.

“I can’t.” Peter sobbed, “Bucky, I can’t-”

Bucky halted and breathed deeply. Peter below covered his face and cried quietly. Bucky could feel Peter’s body responding. His body wanted what it wanted. Peter was a different factor.

“Baby, we have to get through this. Slow, but we have to.”

“Just wait.” Peter cried quietly. “Please.”

Buck listened and slowly lets Peter’s legs down. Peter moved his hips and whined at the feeling of the alpha’s cock inside. Bucky held himself up above Peter, hands on either side of Peter’s head. The boy looked at him, eyes teary, but they switched from Buck’s face and his body. He moved again, hips shaking and moaned quietly. Bucky saw what he was doing.

Bucky pulled Peter up until he was seated on him. Peter balanced himself, holding Buck’s shoulders and staring down at where they joined. He closed his eyes and shifted his hips, making him shiver and groan.

As the omega fucked himself on the alpha, Bucky’s hands laid on his waist, keeping him steady and something to hold on to. Something to hold him from slamming Peter back down and ruining him.

His chest flushed, nipples perked. Bucky’s mouth latched on to his right peck. Peter squirmed and whimpered at the new feeling. It felt good. Bucky moved and shifted inside him, keeping Peter full and worked.

Peter’s cock dripped, rubbing between his and Bucky’s abdomens. Bucky knew he was hitting a spot inside the omega that should’ve had him crying and thrashing around. Peter was still mindlessly riding Buck. They would need sessions for that to happen.

“Can you-..” Peter winced and laid his head on Bucky’s shoulder, shuddering.

“Can I what?”

“Touch me.” He whispered, and grinded his hips hard. Both moaned and Peter continued the pace. “P-please?”

“Anything.” Bucky granted and his hand wrapped around the small thing. Peter yelped and froze. He tried his best to not acknowledge the act, he wanted to ignore that he lost what he for so long tried to keep. Tears bubbled in his eyes and he sniffed.

“I’m- sorry…” Peter said to himself, “S-sorry…”

“Peter.” Bucky called, “Kiss me.” Peter pulled back and his reddened eyes looked at Buck’s. “You’ll feel better, dolly.”

Slowly, the man closed the space between the two and Peter woefully moaned into their kiss. Bucky was right. It did make him feel better. Buck’s lips were warm, he could feel Bucky’s stubble against him. His scent.

A firmer hand reached and grasped Peter’s ass. The omega whimpered as the hand moved him down on Bucky’s hard and moved him up, then back down. Peter kissed Bucky harder, ignoring what was happening below. The feeling never before experienced, the warmth that suddenly overtook Peter.

Peter rode him for a long while. His little cock wept but he had not come. There was something that Peter couldn’t get to go away, it made him feel good, but no matter how hard he fucked down nothing happened. Bucky wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist and huffed at every thrust. He really wanted-

He couldn’t think of patients like that. No.

“I can’t…”

“Peter?”

“I feel something I c-cant make it go away.” he sniffled, burying his face in Bucky’s neck. “I can’t make it feel more…”

“We’ll get there, baby.” Bucky assured and kissed his temple. “Right now, make yourself feel good.”

Bucky groaned when Peter pushed himself down, his virgin hole taking in nearly all of Bucky.

“M-my fault…”

Bucky took Peter’s chin and kissed him hard. His hand wrapped around Peter’s erection and tugged. Peter whined into his mouth, his riding nearly stopping. His small hands wandered the alpha’s body, mind blurry, a wet dream he wasn’t sure he wanted. But it felt good. And he felt safe. The skin his hands touched was smooth and muscles toned.

Peter recognized the signs of upcoming orgasm. His balls tightened, warmth piled to his groin and something inside kept pulsing. Peter didn’t know what that was, only that it felt good and wanted Bucky to touch him more.

“B-Bucky…”

“You can come, baby.”

“But- you.” Peter whined, feeling embarrassed at his words. He rutted against Buck’s abs and groaned quietly. “You…”

“I’ll knot you, baby. Nothing bad is going to happen I’ll just knot you. Okay? We don’t have to.”

“Can we?”

That was enough. Bucky laid back and brought Peter with him. Peter was confused until he felt the man thrust up, fast, and hard, and he cried out. Bucky held Peter against him, Peter’s cock trapped between them. Peter’s cock was leaking but his hole entrance wasn’t leaking slick. Bucky wondered how good it would smell when Peter begins to make slick again.

Knowing that there was no danger in mating or impregnating Peter, Bucky didn’t hold back in making both of them come. Peter sobbed above him, tears rolling down his cheeks and to Bucky’s shoulder, shuddering and moving his hips when he could. Dirty and sweet praises were whispered to him. It only sent hot signals to his sex and he was extremely close from spilling.

“B-Bucky...I’m going to…”

Bucky nodded against him, kissing his cheek and breathing hard.

“Do it, dolly. Do it for Alpha.”

That did it.

Peter’s body tensed as his orgasm piled and strongly ripped from him. His cock shot spurts and his hole clenched down on the alpha, making him growl deeply. Peter nearly shrieked, one last pulse inside him ringing out a feeling inside. He rode down his high, crying as pleasure slipped from him with ease.

“Alphaaa.” Peter sobbed, his legs and waist slumping. “Alpha, please!”

Bucky gripped his waist and thrusted inside deep. Peter shouted and suddenly something began to fill in. Expanding.

“Oh- Fuck!” Buck cursed, his knot expanding the tight omega hole and shooting in his own release. “Fuck!”

Peter whimpered, the feeling strange and waking something else. Feeling Buck’s cock pulse inside him made Peter’s small cock shoot another weak load. Peter only cried and shifted as much as he could to ride it out.

The two laid where they were. Bucky breathed hard and Peter hiccuped above him. That being the strongest orgasm he’s had. Bucky could hardly believe the tightness of the omega. Clearly- Peter never wanted anything inside him. Nor did it seem he tried.

“Peter?”

“Bucky…”

Bucky nodded and kissed his face. “You did great, pretty. You’re okay.”

Peter weakly nodded and kept his face against his neck. Where it smelled really nice. Bucky on the contrary, couldn’t smell anything. Peter had no scent yet.

“Sleep. I’ll clean you and then you can eat something.”

Peter nodded, out of breathe, doing his best to hold his sniffling and hiccups. Bucky didn’t seem to mind. His hand caressed his back and another one held his ass firmly. He liked that.

“Well done, baby. You’re okay.” Peter felt safer at the words and snuggled closely. After a few minutes, Peter’s breathing went even and he slept peacefully on the alpha. 

Tag: @twink-peter, @jimkinkk

part 2 if my soul cooperates

[spectralarchers]

There's a new post in the Laura Barton tag, that's anti-Laura and uses the phrase "Both Laura and Nat want is to have a normal life with kids and a husband?! Like that's not how women work" and it was recommended to me, on my dash, because I follow the Laura Barton tag.

And, at first I dismissed it because I was like "I don't need this" but it just kept sitting at the back of my head how this person assumed that wanting kids and a husband was "not how women work".

I know that a lot of females on Tumblr dot Com do not want the life of a stay-at-home mom with a husband and a bunch of kids running around, and I understand it 100%. Kids are a fuck yes or hell no scenario, and I honestly don't care what you do with your body and your ability to procreate as long as you're happy with the life you're living.

A husband, I mean, I am an ace and aro person who wants a platonic life partner to grow old with. I don't care what their gender is, but I do imagine myself having a husband I can have kids with. If it turns out the person who finds me and thinks 'I can grow old with her' isn't male or male presenting, then... I mean, I'll have someone to grow old with. And have kids with.

Four little babies, to be precise.

Because, ever since I was seven years old, I've wanted babies of my own. Small children to love, cherish and care for, with all my entire soul - someone I could watch grow into a whole new galaxy of thoughts and who could be a sunshine in at least one other person's world. If many of my friends don't want kids of their own, they're going to be aunties and uncles to mine instead.

So, when I see Laura Barton and Clint Barton living that domestic life, with their two children, and in the case of Age of Ultron, one more on the way: my heart and my soul aches because I have never felt more represented in a character than both Clint Barton and Laura Barton.

Was the introduction of the family handled like it should have, storytelling-wise and politics-wise in the Era the movie came out? Absolutely not. Laura deserved to be introduced as a character rather than a plot device, and the established relationship between Clint and Natasha deserved its own storyline to be acknowledged. That's on Whedon and Whedon only.

But if you're going to tell me that Laura wanting a husband and kids is bad, because "that's not how women work", I am going to be angry at you because that's how I work. I want nothing more than a partner, whom I can go to the beach with and watch as our children build sandcastles and shriek over a startled crab skidding along the waterline.

I want nothing more than a partner, whom I can moan at, in the middle of the night and tell "babe, it's your turn" when the baby wakes up and cries for someone to come hold them.

I want nothing more than a partner, who can hold my hand and tell me we got this, as we watch precious little human beings run around on the lawn, on the pavement, on the sand or anywhere else little humans are allowed to run around.

So, to the person who put that in the Laura Barton tag: you don't speak for me. You don't get to decide whether or not other women want or don't want kids and a husband. You don't get to do that.

Get your anti-Laura shit off the Laura Barton tag and into the anti-Laura Barton tag.

Laura Barton is a wonderful, amazing, beautiful person and as much as the MCU fucked her over, I will not let Fandom and fans trample over her because she represents something that's simply having a husband and kids, because that's all the representation I ever wanted.

I just wanted a happy husband, a happy wife and happy kids.

That's all.

Note (because I know this is going to be brought up) : Natasha's storyline is entirely different than this whole post. I don't have an opinion on it and I don't want to discuss it. This is solely about Laura Barton and not Natasha Romanoff. Thank you.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

The Notion of The End

A Stitched Story

JSE Fanfic

Don’t be fooled by the title, this isn’t anywhere near the end of this AU! It’s been forever since I updated this story, and this chapter jumps right off a cliffhanger from the last one, so I highly recommend you at least re-read the other season two stories first. And if you’re new, welcome! You should probably start at the beginning because this has continuity! Anyway, JJ’s missing, so the others have to go find him. They find Anti, shit happens, things get...oh boy, things take a turn. ;) Also! This is a REALLY LONG one! And I mean REALLY LONG. Fair warning!

Tagging @septic-dr-schneep for inspiring this AU with this post.

Read where it started: Stitched Together | Season One

Previous season two stories: No Strings on Me | Nightmare World | Normalcy

Chase burst through the apartment door, skidding to a halt. “We have a problem!”

“Yeah, I got your text.” Jack, who’d been anxiously pacing the length of the living room, stopped and faced Chase. “What happened?” His eyes flicked toward the open, empty door just before Chase closed it. “Where’s JJ?”

Chase made a strangled sort of choking sound. He didn’t say anything, just shoved something toward Jack, who stumbled at the force of the push before he caught it. He looked down at the item in his hands and suddenly felt very cold. Jameson’s mask. The one he hardly ever took off, and definitely never in public. He wouldn’t leave it behind. “Oh god,” Jack whispered.

“What is happening?” Schneep stepped into the living room from the kitchen area, hand resting on the wall.

Jack looked over to him. “I-I don’t know, something happened to JJ. He...lost his mask, somehow.” He crumpled said mask in his hands, twisting the fabric nervously.

Schneep’s eyes widened. “He would not lose that.”

“I know!” Chase cried. He bit his lip and pulled his hat down further. “Th-there’s something else, I—I felt him, Jack, Hen.”

Jack stared at him, his heart about to stop. Schneep gaped, suddenly seeming to stumble and lean against the wall. “Are you sure?” Jack breathed.

“Of course I am! I’d recognize that!” Chase started rubbing his wrists, the unconscious movement only drawing attention the the way he was shaking slightly. “You—you know what this means? H-he—he has him. I left him alone for fucking five minutes and he got taken!”

“Is not your fault, Chase,” Schneep said fiercely. “He was quiet for too long, he must have been planning this for a while.”

Chase looked away and remained silent.

“We...we can get him back, right?” Jack asked.

Chase broke his silence with a hysterical laugh. “How?! Jays found us, remember? He saved us, remember?! Because he’s the guy who suddenly got magic that can do just about anything! How can we help?!”

Jack took a deep breath. His heart was already racing just at the thought of getting anywhere near that demon again. But if Jameson had come for him, then damn it, he was going to return the favor for his friend. “Well, we know where his lair is, right? We know how to get there?”

“What are we going to do once we’re in there? That place is a maze, you’d get lost immediately!”

Jack made eye contact with Chase. “But you wouldn’t, right?”

Chase stumbled backward until he hit the wall. He’d gone white. Jack felt a curl of guilt in his stomach for playing that card, but it was true, wasn’t it? “...yes,” Chase said softly. “But it’s not just that. The walls have eyes, literally in some places. He’d know we were coming.”

“My fucking god, Chase!” Jack jumped as Schneep, who’d been quiet for most of the conversation, exploded angrily. “Jameson is our friend, we are not leaving him! We are not leaving anyone again! And since you feel so awful about everything that happened to you and what you did, why do you not do something to make up for it?!” Schneep closed his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths. Then he turned around and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Jack and Chase exchanged glances. There was a sudden clatter from the kitchen, and the two of them hurried to follow Schneep.

A few loose plastic plates had been knocked from the dirty dish pile on the counter down to the floor, and a cylinder of various kitchen instruments had been tipped over. Schneep was feeling around the counter, until his hands found the knife block, which he pulled toward him.

“What are you doing?!” Jack cried. 

Schneep turned in the direction of the voice. “Jack, I know I’m fucking useless, but I have to try and do something to help, even if I end up failing!”

Jack felt a twist in his heart. “You’re not useless.”

“But dude, can you maybe step away from the knives?” Chase asked nervously. “They’re sharp.”

“I am not an idiot, Chase, I know that. But damn if I am going to confront that monster unarmed and alone.” 

Chase paused, watching silently as Schneep felt around the knife handles. “You’re not going to be alone.” The words came out small. He straightened and repeated, firmer this time. “You’re not going to be alone. I-I’m coming with you. You’re right, we’re not leaving Jameson. I...I want to help.”

Jack gave Chase an encouraging smile. Chase was still pale, but he now looked determined. “We’re going to get him back,” Jack promised. “All of us. But, uh, Schneep? Maybe don’t grab the knife? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Schneep scoffed. “I am not going to accidentally stab myself.”

“Okay, maybe, but, uh, I’d rather you didn’t take that chance.”

Schneep turned in Jack’s direction and glared. Jack quietly concluded that, even if Schneep wasn’t actually looking at him, that didn’t deprive the glare of any of its scorching power. “Or...at least let me help you,” Jack offered. He hadn’t been too fond of knives, not ever since October, but he’d been getting better. He thought he was comfortable enough to make sure Schneep didn’t slice himself up.

“Okay, fine,” Schneep grumbled. “Chase, do you want to take one?”

Chase shook his head. “No. I...I still know where my gun is.”

Schneep was silent for a moment, then nodded. “That would work. You two know how to get to his place where he hides?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Jack said, looking at Chase.

“Definitely,” Chase mumbled.

“Then we should not hesitate too long.”

And so it was that only an hour later, Chase, Jack, and Schneep had wound their way through city streets to the industrial edge of the city. They stood in front of a low concrete building with wires and cables snaking around it. None of them moved closer to it. Jack and Chase were plagued with phantom memories of what had happened within, and Schneep, while never having been there before, could still feel the angry, hostile atmosphere the building seemed to give off.

After a while, Chase took a deep breath, checked the safety on his handgun, then said, “Well. We’ve come this far.”

“And we’re not leaving anyone behind,” Jack agreed.

Schneep didn’t say anything, just merely nodded, adjusting the kitchen knife he’d borrowed in his grip.

And the three of them stepped inside.

— — — — — — —

“Not much to s͝͞à̛͢y? What’s wrong? Cat got y̷̵ơ͏ur͢ t̸on͏̴g̕u̧e? Oh no, it was a ne̕e͟d͢͝l̴̵̕ę̸̕, wasn’t it?!”

Jameson’s head hit the metal wall with a sickening crack. He dazedly tried to blink the sudden burst of bright white out of his eyes, but wasn’t able to completely clear his head before a hand grabbed the back of his shirt collar and pulled him back. He choked, instinctively trying to pull away, but his struggles were subdued by the arm that wrapped around his torso, and the tip of a knife that poked against his throat.

“Aw, no m͟ag̡̢̀i̶͢ç͝͞, huh?” Anti’s voice was quiet, but the bitter hatred in it transcended volume. “Guess it’s not that u͏͏͠s͝͝ęf̸̨ul, then.”

Jameson swallowed as best as he could with the blade so close. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been trying to summon it. But the magic didn’t seem to want to respond, no matter how desperately he cried to it for help. Maybe it was because of Anti, whose half-solid, but strong, body gave out a constant buzzing vibe of dark magic. But Jameson thought it was something else. The magic jumped to action whenever his friends were in danger, but it didn’t seem to care about his desire to protect himself.

“You know, I ḿ̶ig̡h̷̴͡t have actually ú̶̴n͏d͢͠er̸̨̕es̨t̀i̡m͏a̷͏͏ted͠ you,” Anti said. The knife point began trailing upwards along Jameson’s neck. Anti laughed at the way he stiffened, and started tracing idle patterns with the point against his cheek. “I thought you’d gi͠v͠e̢͝ ͞͝u͟p̸. If not after the stįt͞c̡h̕i̶͠͠n̡̧g, then after all the others were m̪̗̰̣̕ì̲͔̳̖ͅn̟͈̬̦͕̘̟͞͠è̴̗̗͞. But no. You just h̶͝a̵̸͞d́ to keep going, just h̴a̛͟d̵ to become some sort of...mą̕̕g̷͟i͟c̨i̶̧̢a̶͟͝ǹ̨͡.”

The blade stopped dancing across the surface of his skin and instead cut where it traced. Jameson shuddered as he felt warm liquid drip down his face. That wasn’t the first injury. He’d only been here a short time, but Anti had made the most of it. There was hardly a spot that wasn’t bloody or bruised. Anti seemed to know about his fear of needles as well, and Jameson had lost track of all the tiny puncture wounds.

“Well... you'll ̀g̢i̸̵v̧̛e̵͟ ̧up ́eve̴͠ǹtuá̵ll̢̢y̨̛͞.̀” Anti seemed to shrug, then pulled the knife away. The reprieve didn’t last long, as the blade then started tracing the line of stitches across Jameson’s mouth, catching on the threads but never slicing through. A small part of Jameson hoped Anti would cut through them, but he knew that was too good to be true. Or if he did cut the stitches, it would only prelude something worse.

Suddenly, Anti stilled, the knife falling away and his grip loosening. He looked to the side, as if he could see beyond the metal walls of the small room. A grin split his face. “Ha. Seems the others are r͡i͏g̛h̴t̨ ͏on͞ ti̷̴m̵é͢͡.”

Jameson’s head jerked up, hoping he’d heard that right. The others were here? His joy quickly turned to sick fear.

Anti seemed to catch the widening of his eyes. His grin grew. “You stay hę̀̕r̡͝e͠ while I d̸̴͠e͢al̵͡ with them.” He shoved Jameson roughly to the floor, too quick for him to catch himself. Jameson cried out, the sound muffled as always, as the fall aggravated the injuries he already had.

Jameson lifted his head and watched as Anti crossed the room to the heavy metal door. He watched as Anti pulled it open and walked through—and then jumped and scrambled backwards as the world seemed to jolt and shudder and suddenly Anti was right in front of him again, the shadows on his face twisting, knife in hand. “On second thought, ju͝st ̴̢̢t̀͞o̷ ̴̕m̡̨a̸k̀e̵ ̨̨́şu͠r̨̀͞e...”

Anti’s hand darted forward. Jameson instinctively ducked his head, holding up his arms to shield himself, but then he felt fingers wrap around his ankle. And then—

He screamed. He couldn’t help it, he had no other way to react to the sudden fiery agony that burst, shooting sharply through his ankle. His legs jerked, and he pulled them close to his chest, but that didn’t stop the wave after wave of solid pain.

“Don’t shriek like that, you’ll t͞ęa̕r̸ right through the stitches,” Anti said calmly, wiping down the blade of his knife with his sleeve. “And I worked s̵̢͢o h͝ard͡͠͞ on them.” A smile flashed across his face, and then he was gone. “I’ll be s̴ȩe͠͝i̷̕͟ń͝g̕ ͡͏yo̧͠ú,” came one last echo.

Jameson half-wished the others would just turn around and leave. Half-wished they wouldn’t find him. After all, could a trap be sprung if the bait was never taken?

— — — — — — —

“Everything looks the same,” Jack muttered, his gaze tracing along the metal walls, casting about through the red light.

“Well, it’s not,” Chase said, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “It’s built like a maze, but there are hidden patterns that he uses to get around. On the floors, mostly. Eventually you memorize which patterns go with which sections.”

“It smells like metal,” Schneep muttered. “And electricity. Are those part of the patterns, too?”

“Smell patterns?” There was a slight trace of a laugh in Chase’s voice. “Nah. It’s just visual. You’re...you’re still back there, right?”

“Chase, I am holding your hand, I do not think you could lose me.” The contact alone sort of worried Schneep. Because if Chase was scared enough to overcome his aversion, that meant he was extremely on edge.

For a moment, everyone was quiet. Then Jack said, “Actually, this doesn’t look the same. The—the walls are different than last time. They don’t have...” he shuddered. “...eyes.”

“That’s a different section,” Chase said calmly.

“Wait, you were not joking about the walls having eyes earlier?!” Schneep asked, alarmed.

“No, I wasn’t, they did have them, but...not right now” Jack said slowly. His brows furrowed. “But last time...the walls had eyes right up to the exit. Entrance. Whatever. But anyway, if we came through the same way, then shouldn’t we see the...you know, eyes?”

“Oh, uh, no.” Chase, in the lead, looked back over his shoulder at Jack. “When I say it’s a different section...well, it’s kinda—you know, there’s a reason why this maze is usually so difficult to navigate?”

Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to ask, but he did anyway. “What’s that?”

“Well, the sections—”

There was a shaking. It traveled down the hall, past the group of three, and continued on, rattling the metal walls and throwing around the red lightbulbs that dangled from the ceiling.

“What was that?” Schneep asked, tightly gripping Chase’s hand and the kitchen knife.

Chase had suddenly gone very pale. “Fuck.” He laughed, sounding a bit manic. “See this is what I was talking abou—”

Another rumbling shake, like a contained earthquake. The floor bucked and kicked like a wild horse trying to throw off its rider, and slowly, you could see seams in the metal pulling apart. Jack staggered and fell against the nearest wall, only to feel it tilt a bit.

“The sections move!” Chase shouted, just before another wave of shaking threw him off his feet and onto the floor. “Brace yourselves!”

But it was too late. The whole hallway was juddering in its frame, tremors severe enough to throw the three around. Parts of the hall tilted and rolled, others fell through to a deeper level of the maze. The air was filled with the metallic chorus of a thousand clattering metal sheets.

When the rumbling finally stopped and the hallways settled into a new configuration, Schneep uncurled himself from the ball he’d rolled into to stay safe. At some point he’d dropped the knife, but more importantly, he’d also dropped Chase’s hand.

“No no nein no nein nein—” Schneep fought off a wave of sheer panic and terror. The idea of a shifting maze was bad enough already, but he didn’t even have the benefit of a visual cue to tell what changed. “No, think! Denk nach, jetzt!”

The floor felt roughly the same, made the same sound as his footsteps had when he pounded on it with his fist. When he used the wall to pull himself into a standing position, that felt the same as well. But any number of things could be different, and he’d have no idea. And where were Chase and Jack? Half-leaning on the wall, Schneep took a few hesitant steps forward, sliding his feet along the ground. “H-hello? Are you there?!” he called.

There was what sounded like someone banging on the metal walls and floor. Schneep jumped. He hadn’t expected that sound to be so close to him. Then there was a voice: “Henrik? Oh god, you’re alright!”

“Yes, I—” Schneep stopped short. Yes, both Jack and Chase sometimes called him ‘Henrik.’ But that wouldn’t be their first instinct; both of them usually preferred ‘Schneep.’ And in a stressful situation like this, people would be going to their first instinct. He narrowed his eyes. “Who is there?”

Silence.

“You were ál̷ẁ̨͢aý̶̧ş̕ the s̴̕m̸͢a̸̷r̨̕t͡ one.”

Schneep cried out and backed up. That broken voice could only belong to one person. And if he was judging the distance correctly, that meant Anti was right in front of him.

“Oh, scared, d̛ò̡ct́͟o̶ŕ̷?”

Anti laughed as Schneep whirled around. Now the voice was behind him! But—that laugh was next to him? “Where are you?!” Schneep cried, head turning wildly.

“Ev̵e͢r͏y̕͠wḩer̨̕e͡. Ņow̶̧ḩere̷͞͞. All around at͝ ͝on̷c̢͢͡e̶.” Anti’s voice bounced around, coming from behind, then in front, then seemingly right in his ear. Schneep couldn’t keep up with the movement, stumbling and scrambling away from wherever the source was, half-raising his arms in front to protect himself from whatever was bound to come. The next time Anti spoke, he sounded amused. “Whose i͏d̡͠͞e̵à̢̛ was it to bring a blind guy to a f̴͏i͢͏͞gh̷͝t?”

Schneep growled, suddenly feeling anger rise. “I decided to come myself. I will not let you get away with this!”

“You won’t?” Anti’s voice settled, sounding like he was in front of him, if a few feet away. “Then fucking d͏̨o̴͢ ́̕͞sò̶m̡͝͏e̴t̷̕h̸͟i̡͞n̴̸͏g̶͞͝ to stop me. I doubt you even c͞a̛͡n̸.͏”

“You—!” Schneep couldn’t help it. He lunged forward, toward the source of Anti’s voice. But after only a few steps, there suddenly wasn’t ground under his feet, and he cried out as he toppled forward, falling some ways before landing hard on the metal floor. He struggled to recover his breath, struggling to his hands and knees while Anti laughed.

“Oh, didn’t I ţ̡è̶l͡l̨͞ yo͟ú̵͝ there was a hole there?” The world shivered with static, and then Schneep felt hands grab the lapels of his sweater and pull him upward. He grasped at the wrists and tried to pull away, but they might as well have been solid. “How ṕ̧̭͎̖͖͠a͇̰̻͕͕t̟̖̤͖̫h͏̭̰̝͍̫̗ͅe̡̛̜͍̩̱t̖̱̝̘͈i̭̖̘̳̮c̴̡̞̪̰̬,” Anti spat. “You were a f̸̶̛a̡i͝ļu̷̢ŗ̀e̴ before this, now you’re just e̡̡n̡̨t̵i͏̷̕re͝ĺ͠y͏ ̛uş̶͞e̵͟l̸̢͠es̴̶̀s̷̨.”

Schneep flinched a bit. Anti always seemed to echo his worst thoughts back at him. “I...I am not—” He cried out as something sharp pierced his side. A warm stain began spreading across his sweater.

“Really? Then do something to ş̡ţ̷óp̵̀͠ ͢͞m̡è̡!̵͢ Just t̨͞rý and g̶e̡t͢͝ ̴̨a̸͡ẃ̡̨a͝͏͝y, why don’t you?” Anti suddenly let go, dropping Schneep. But before he could hit the floor, Anti grabbed the back collar of his sweater and began dragging him across the ground. Schneep choked, pulling the collar away from his throat so it wouldn’t strangle him. With his other hand he tried to find some purchase on the ground, legs scrambling as well, but there was nothing to catch on.

After too long, Anti stopped, roughly pulling Schneep close to him. “N̶̕o͏t̴̶̷h̵i̵̧ng,” he hissed. “I don’t know why I even b̴́ot͞h̕͟͏e̢̡̛r͠͞e̷d with you. You two h̀̀a̛v̵̸e̸ ͞͡f͏u̡̕n̶ while I find your friends.” There was a metallic clunking sound, then Schneep was thrown forward, skidding across the floor. Before he could recover, something slammed shut, and everything went suddenly cold.

“F-fuck,” Schneep muttered, getting into a kneeling position. Really? There was no point during that encounter when he could’ve done something? He couldn’t have even—wait. What had Anti said? ‘You two’...someone else was in here, in...what was presumably some sort of cell with him. Or maybe that was another trick, but what would be the point of tricking him twice? “Hello?” Schneep called. “Is someone there?”

For a moment, nothing. And then the slight sound of something shifting. Schneep’s shoulders raised, a bit guarded. “I-I cannot see anything, where are you?” He paused. “Jamie...is that you?”

A slight moment of nothing. And then there was a clanging sound, like someone banging their fist on the metal floor. Followed quickly by a shorter sound, then two more the same length as the first. Schneep recognized that deliberate pattern. Morse code, the letter Y to be specific. ‘Y’ as in ‘yes.’ Morse code as in the way Schneep and JJ had been communicating for the last month or so. “Oh my god,” Schneep muttered. “Jamie, I am coming, keep making sound so I know where you are.”

Another Morse ‘Y,’ then a steady stream of sound that seemed like JJ was hitting the floor repeatedly. Schneep was hesitant to stand up, so he began crawling toward the sound, hands searching the area in front of him in a wide sweeping pattern, in case there was something in front. It didn’t take too long for them to run into something warm and soft. The sounds stopped. “...Jamie?” Schneep asked softly, patting the soft thing. Yep, that felt like a person.

A hand wrapped around his wrist, and he felt the fingers tap out a pattern. Two long, a pause, one short. Me. 

 Schneep realized there were tears filling his eyes, but he didn’t care. “J-Jamie,” he gasped. He clumsily lifted Jameson into a sitting position and pulled him into a tight hug. “W-we were worried...I-I didn’t know if I could...but I had to try! Are you okay?”

Jameson wrapped his arms around Schneep in turn. His hand made another tapping pattern on Schneep’s back: long short, pause, three long. No.

“Ah. I see. I suppose it was too much to hope for that he wouldn’t hurt you.” Schneep pulled away and began patting Jameson down. He made note of the spots where the cloth of his clothes was ripped and wet, and the spots where Jameson flinched if he pressed too hard. “Is there anywhere specific I need to know about?”

Ankle, Jameson tapped out, fingers drumming on Schneep’s arm. Can’t walk.

Schneep frowned. “I need more. Did he do something to it?”

Yes. Cut it.

“Does it hurt a lot? And when I say ‘a lot,’ I mean extremely. Does it feel like fire?”

Jameson shuddered. Yes.

“Fick alles!” Schneep swore. “He maybe sliced your Achilles tendon. That will take a long time to heal, and you will definitely not be able to walk.” He chewed his lip for a bit as he thought. “I can help you, but you will have to help me too. I will be your legs if you can be my eyes, okay?”

Ok, Jameson tapped.

“Alright. Get ready, I am going to stand up now, then I will try to get you up too.” Schneep climbed to his feet, keeping hold of Jameson’s hand. After a moment to breathe, he said, “Get ready,” and leaned down, grabbing Jameson’s arms and hauling upward. He heard the sound of shoes on the metal floor, and then Jameson’s muffled, pained yelp. “Left or right ankle?” Schneep hurried to ask. He heard a few whimpers, then felt a short-long-short tap pattern, the letter R. Schneep nodded in response, throwing Jameson’s left arm over his shoulder, bracing himself as Jameson leaned most of his weight against him.

“Okay...okay, we are upright, that is good,” Schneep breathed, speaking mostly to himself. “Now. Where is the door? I know there is one, I heard it shut.”

It was slow going, with Schneep having to accommodate Jameson leaning on him while still trying to pay attention to the messages he was tapping out. They quickly developed a system: L for turn left, R for turn right, S to stop, and F to move forward. It took a few minutes before Schneep reached out and felt the solid metal of the door. He glided his and across the surface. “I am assuming there is no doorknob?”

Is none, Jameson tapped. What to do?

“I...I am not sure.” He felt around some more, reaching the edges of the door. The seam between the metal door and metal walls wasn’t even large enough to squeeze his fingers into. “Maybe there is nothing I can...” Schneep stopped himself. The words he was saying...they reminded him of Anti. Anti, who mocked him for being unable to do anything, for being useless. And even if parts of himself agreed, he wasn’t about to prove that monster right. He gritted his teeth. “No, there is something. There is always something!” He banged against the door, throwing his whole weight into it. Once, twice, then—

Schneep cried out as he stumbled forward, the solid weight of the door suddenly gone. Jameson stumbled with him, crying out as he presumably put weight on his injured ankle to steady himself, and gripping Schneep tight to stop from falling. “I got you,” Schneep said, righting himself and then grabbing Jameson to help right him as well. After that was taken care of, he swept his arm around, expecting to hit the door again, but finding nothing. “What...what was that? What happened?”

Jameson began tapping wildly. Schneep tried to interpret it at first before realizing it wasn’t meant to be a message, just frantic confusion. “Okay, okay, stop that,” Schneep said. “Simple questions. Did the door open?”

No.

Schneep frowned. “Did...did you do something? With your magic?”

A hesitation, then another No.

“But...we are outside that room, right?”

Yes. A pause. Later? The word was marked as a question as Jameson traced the mark out.

Schneep shook his head. “Good idea. What matters is that we are free, and we need to find Jack and Chase. They came with me to find you, but we got separated. Can you do that tracking spell thing? The one you used to find them in this place before?”

Silence for a long time. And then, Schneep heard a slight humming sound, which gradually grew in volume until it leveled off. Then, the sound wandered away. Yes, JJ tapped. Follow.

“Okay. Hold on.” Schneep secured his supporting grip on JJ, then started down the hall. Hopefully Jack and Chase were close, he and JJ weren’t exactly the fastest people in the world in this condition.

— — — — — — —

Jack opened his eyes. The world had finally stopped shaking. But Chase had been right, everything had been switched around. Jack was now huddled against the wall, sitting near a turn in the hallway that hadn’t been there before. The red lightbulbs, previously dangling overhead, were now set in the ceiling. And he couldn’t see Chase or Schneep at all.

Jack sat up straight, catching sight of something gleaming nearby in the red light. It was the kitchen knife Schneep had decided to take. Jack hesitated, then grabbed it, holding it as far away from his body as possible without it being awkward. “Hello? Guys?!” He called.

“Jack!” Chase’s voice, followed by the sound of footsteps. Chase rounded the corner of the hall, skidding to a halt as he came face-to-face with Jack. “Oh thank god, you’re okay,” he said, slumping in relief. His hand, which was holding his gun at the ready, slowly lowered.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Jack looked around the corner, then down the long end of the hall. “Where...where’s Schneep?”

Chase paled. “I don’t know. Maybe—maybe he was on one of those pieces that ended up falling to a lower level.”

“We lost him, too?!” Jack asked incredulously.

“No!” The word was more a shriek. Chase closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, his voice was much calmer. “No, we’re going to find him again. And we’re gonna find JJ too.”

“The place fucking shifted around!”

“It can only change into so many shapes! I just—I just need to walk around for a bit so I can figure out which one we’re in now.” Chase sounded slightly desperate as he looked around, turning in circles. After he made the decision to come, he was hoping there was a way to salvage this, and that he wouldn’t turn out to be right about how impossible it was.

Jack took a deep breath, then nodded. “Okay. Okay, you lead the way.” After all, they’d worked up the courage to come here, might as well make the most of it.

Chase nodded, turning back around the corner. Jack adjusted his grip on the kitchen knife and followed.

And it was...quiet. Too quiet. Jack’s head darted back and forth between looking behind him and looking in front. There was just more endless hallway. Occasionally there would be a section that branched off, but Chase would glance down those only briefly before continuing forward. Jack didn’t like those branches. Anything could come out of them. He still remembered the sudden wave of static that had chased them out of here last time.

After who knows how long, Chase suddenly stopped in the middle of a T-intersection. Jack looked at him. “What’s wrong? You don’t know where to go?”

“Jack.” There was panic in Chase’s voice. “I can’t move.”

It was like he’d suddenly had a bucket of ice water dumped on him. “You what?!” Jack asked.

“I can’t move!” Indeed, Chase was standing perfectly still. He didn’t even turn his head to look at Jack, just moved his eyes. “I-I-I’m trying, I can’t walk or raise my hand or-or anything!”

Jack scrambled for an idea. “Maybe I can help?!” He ran to Chase’s side and pushed him. Chase staggered forward before catching his balance, but didn’t walk any further, just stopped in a new position.

“Jack, please!” There were tears gathering in Chase’s eyes that he couldn’t blink away. “Do something!”

The red lighting flickered. A laugh echoed down the hall to the left, brushing past the two of them. And then, there was a figure standing there. Nothing but a shadowy outline of static. It started to walk closer.

Jack yelped. “No no no, we have to run!” He grabbed Chase by the arm and started to run down the hall to the right, only for Chase to only follow for a few steps before suddenly becoming a statue again. Jack looked back over at him. “Chase?!”

“I-I can’t, I can’t, it won’t let me move my legs!” Chase’s voice rose in panic as the static figure grew closer, getting more detailed with every step it took, squares of its appearance filled in and becoming more solid. “Just go, just get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving you! I’m not leaving anyone!” Jack tried in vain to pull him once again, then tried to push, but Chase wouldn’t budge. He might as well have been a statue.

“Th̶̢̕a͢t̡’s the Jack we know and l̨̡͞o̶v͡e̴̸!” The static figure had filled in, and now Anti grinned at the two of them as he closed the distance, distortion breaking apart his body that wasn’t all there. “Always so ready to do a͡͠͝n̴̵͠ỳt̵h͏̷įng̸̶ for his precious f̷́ri̷̵èn̶͝ds͠. I see you got a replacement.” Anti tapped the area by his right eye. “I liked it better when there was no̧̕t̨̀hi̡͏͞ng̨͠͏ there.”

Jack froze up. The memory was there, as vivid as ever. The sound of Anti laughing, making some comment about how blind Jack had been to believe he would keep his promise. The desperate struggle to get away from the strings that seemed to come out of nowhere and wrap around him. The feeling of Anti’s hand against his head, holding his eyelid open, the approaching blade—

“Or if you w̴̧͞a͏̨n̡t͢͠ ͏̵i̢͡t̸̨ b͠a͡ck, I still h̶͡a͠v͟͞ȩ it.” Anti smiled as if this was a perfectly normal thing to offer.

“You’re a sick fuck!” Jack cried, snapping back to the present. “What did you do to Chase?! Let him go!”

“Or I could do ex͠͡a͝c͢tl̛͟y̷̴͢ ̢͢n̵̡o̧t́͡ ͢t̵̡͝h̛́͝a̛͝t̸.” Anti snapped his fingers, and Chase collapsed, falling to the floor like he’d suddenly lost all his bones. Or like he was a puppet whose strings had just been cut.

“No—!” Jack dropped to the floor next to Chase, turning him over onto his side. Chase’s eyes were still moving, wide with horror. He was practically trembling with effort as he strained to move, to no avail. Jack tried shaking him, but that did nothing.

“Oh come on, he’ll be f̧i̡n̵͞e̢̕.” Anti rolled his eyes. “I just exploited some of those holes left in ḩ́i͢s̡̀ ̶̛̀so̶u̧͞ļ̶͠ from my̨ st̶̛r͏͠i͟n̷̛g̢̕s to get him ó͞u̶t̴͢ ̶͞o̷f ̶̧̀t̨͞ḩe̛͟͞ ͟͞ẃay̵͠.” He chuckled. “Good to know they’re still room for strings to go ri̡g̴h̷̡t̵ b̢ac̶k ̧w͟her̶̷ȩ̕̕ ̸́t̡͠h̕e̶͠y w̕er̴̕̕é͢.”

Holes in his what? Jack looked down at Chase. Impulsively, he closed his left eye, activating that weird sort of vision that made the world lose color, except for the balls of light he could see in people’s chests. He hadn’t found a use or explanation for that yet, but now...he was starting to have a feeling. Chase’s yellow light had some strange...grooves in it, that he couldn’t quite understand. And now, Jack could see that some of those had been filled in with green and blue static. Was...was this vision...was he seeing people’s souls?

“Y̸͡o̕͏u̢͝, on the other hand.” Anti stepped closer. Jack scrambled backwards until his back was pressing against the wall. “Yơ͏͝u͡’̷r͞e̡ not going to be fine. Do you miss the month we had together? I̶̢ ͏͢ḑ̀̕o.”

“Shut up!” Jack remembered the kitchen knife, holding it out in front of him defensively. Then he started to wonder...he closed his left eye again. In this new vision, Anti looked...strange. His body was transparent, filled with static the way you’d fill a balloon with water. And in the center of his chest, where most people had their light...there was a broken mess. Shards of red and blue, faintly glowing individually but together adding up to the usual amount of light people had, all held together by thin green strings. Strings that wove in and out of the light, wrapping it in a ball as they stitched the shards together. Or...maybe it was only one string.

“Is that t̢̧͟h̶è b̴͟e͞s̡t͞ you can do?” Anti looked down at Jack and tilted his head. “Try better n͏̵e͝x̢̡́t̴͟ ̸tí́͟m̧e̶͞. And get something better to defend yourself, too.” Anti’s hand glitched, and he was holding a knife as well, though with a much bigger, sharper blade. He smiled. “R̶͠è̕a̴̷̛dy̷̶ f̨o͠r ̸̸r͡ơu̡ņd̸͏̵ ̨͟t͢ẃ̵o̵͟͞?”

Jack could feel his heart pounding a rhythm on his ribcage. He looked over to Chase, still limp on the floor, then back to Anti. His hand was shaking, but he still held the kitchen knife out. If he was going out, he’d go out with a fight this time.

The smile widened. “W̶̢̨ȩl̷c̡o͡m̴̕e ̢b̨͠ac̸k.” The blade streaked downwards—

—and reflected off a shield of blue light.

Anti actually stumbled back with the force of the deflected blow. “What?!”

“Hey motherfucker!”

Jack’s head darted to the side and caught sight of JJ and Schneep, the former leaning on the latter, stumbling down the left hall toward them. They both looked awful. Schneep’s side was stained red and he was paler than he’d ever been. JJ was covered in various cuts, including one on his cheek, and without his mask the stitches across his mouth were on full, painful display. But Schneep’s eyes were full of rage above their scars, and JJ’s hand was outstretched, wrapped in glowing blue circles.

Anti was genuinely surprised. “How did you get ou—”

“We wouldn’t tell you even if we knew!” Schneep yelled. “Now get away from our friends.”

Anti looked the two of them up and down, then looked over to Jack, still hidden behind that magic shield but now grinning triumphantly. A smile curled across his lips. “No, I d̀o͏̷n͏͠’̨͞t̨ ̨͟thi͢n͏k̶̴ so̡. You look half-dead, what can you do to ś̨t͟o̢p̸͏ ̢̢̛m̸̷͡é̵?̸̛”

“This.”

BANG!

Jack gaped as Anti’s head suddenly jerked to the side, a spray of red coming from the side and a look of total shock on his face. Slowly, he processed that neither he nor Schneep had said ‘This,’ and that neither of them had a gun to make the gunshot sound. He looked over. Chase’s hand was outstretched, his fingers wrapped around his handgun. He had lifted himself onto his elbows, and though he was pale and shaking and struggling to stay in place, his eyes were narrowed in determination.

Schneep had frozen in place, looking partly confused and partly on edge. JJ was so surprised that he ended up dropping the shield he’d cast around Jack.

“Y-yo-ou li-litt-ttle-le—” Something was wrong with Anti. Blood was leaking from the wound in his head. His form was glitching, coming apart and changing from static to solid and everything in between in the blink of an eye. But he wasn’t down. “Ho-how-w d-di-id yo-you-u—” His voice was breaking as well. It sounded like three people—or was it only two?—talking at once.

And when Jack closed his eye and looked at him through his soul vision, he saw the shards in Anti’s chest were pulling apart, the green string struggling to hold them together.

He jumped to his feet. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, but he had the strangest feeling he needed to do it. Gripping the kitchen knife firmly, Jack ran towards Anti and plunged it into his chest.

Anti shrieked, trying to push Jack away, but his arms turned translucent and passed right through him. The knife also clattered to the ground as his chest did something similar. But the blade had left a sizable open wound.

Jack hesitated for only a slight moment before shoving his hand into the opening in Anti’s chest. The inside felt...not at all like how he expected. It was mostly an itchy, tingling feeling all around, like sparks biting into his hand but without the pain. Jack reached until his hand found the cluster of red and blue shards, held together by string. And though he instinctively knew he shouldn’t be able to do what he did next, it happened anyway. Jack grabbed the green string, and yanked it out of Anti’s chest.

A triple-layered, electric scream escaped from Anti the moment the string was pulled away. His body flashed wildly between red and blue, chunks flying away until, with a flash of green light, it burst.

Jack blinked the light out of his eyes, staring at a spot where, only a few seconds ago, a monster had been standing. He looked around. JJ and Chase were wearing identical expressions of complete incredulous astonishment. Schneep just looked confused. “What happened?” He asked. “Is-is he gone?”

Chase slowly stood up. He examined his own body, flexing and moving his arms and legs effortlessly. “I...I think Jack just killed Anti,” he whispered, as if the fact would become untrue if he said it louder.

“What?!” Schneep gasped.

“I...I think...” Jack looked down at the string in his hand. It wasn’t...fully there, more resembling light than anything. Yet he could feel it. It stung a bit. He watched as it wrapped around his arm and squeezed. Not too tight, just tight enough to know it was there. “I think he’s gone...”

Schneep stumbled, almost falling until he remembered he was still supporting JJ and had to right himself. “Mein Gott...” he whispered. “Is it ov—”

There was a pair of small thump sounds from further down the right hallway.

Everyone immediately tensed. Jack leaned over and picked up the knife again, and JJ reactivated his circular magic. Chase checked the safety on his gun. “I...I’m going to check that out...” he said slowly. “If anything happens, I’ll yell.” He edged down the hall, gun half-raised in preparation. The hall curved at the end, and he vanished around the corner.

After a minute of awkward silence, Jack asked, “Do you think we should go—”

“Oh my fucking god!”

Jack jumped, JJ tensed, and Schneep called, “What was that?!”

“Dude!” Chase yelled. “You’re not gonna believe this!”

“You two stay here,” Jack said. “I’m gonna go check.” And he ran down the hall.

Once he turned the corner, he saw Chase standing in the doorway to a room. Chase turned around and looked at Jack, eyes alight. Alight with joy. “Jack...” he said, smiling. “I...I hoped but I never really thought— Jus-just look, man. ”

Jack pushed past him, staring into the room. It was tiny, barely bigger than a closet. There were two people inside, huddled in the corner. Jack took a moment to curl the green string—which was oddly floating away now, almost straining to get into the room—into a ball and shove it in his hoodie pocket. Then he looked back up at the two people. The room was lit by a single, surprisingly not red lightbulb, so he could tell what they looked like. One was wearing a blue shirt and a black cape. The other was wearing a red hoodie. They had their arms wrapped around each other, so tightly that they almost looked attached to each other. And then Jack saw their faces. He blinked. There was no mistaking them.

“Marvin? Jackie?”

[ilovemygaydad]

Friends in Dark Places [ch 5]

pairing: eventual moxiety, eventual logince, background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: mentions of needles, mentions of antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds, mentions of self harm, mentions of depression, guilt, food mentions, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter@band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: so i have to repost all of these in a different format! yay fucking me!!!! please consider reblogging these if you’re a fan of this series because it’s all fucked up now

first - previous - next - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

-

Every few hours, a nurse would come in to check Virgil’s vitals and blood pressure and to ask questions about his mental well being. Each time a nurse entered, Virgil tensed. He was terrified that he could say something wrong--that one tiny misstep could see him shipped away to some mental facility where he’d be poked with needles all the time. Luckily, Patton was still there, keeping him grounded and in control of his thoughts. He was extremely grateful for that.

After a particularly intense meeting where they’d asked about self harm and pushed far too hard for his comfort, Patton pulled a small gift bag out of his backpack.

“I had Logan and Roman pick this up from the gift shop yesterday, but I decided to save it until you really needed it.” Pat placed the bag onto Virgil’s lap and watched expectantly. Virgil pulled away the tissue paper and gasped. There was a tiny cat plushie inside, which he took out with careful hands.

“This is awesome, Patton. Thank you.” A hint of a smile spread across his face.

“It’s no problem, kiddo! Now, why don’t we listen to some of that sweet music of yours? I know it calms you down.” Patton reached for the phone, but Virgil stopped him.

“Aren’t you missing a ton of school to stay here, Pat? Don’t get me wrong; it’s nice to have you around as moral support, but I don’t want you to fall behind.” He rhythmically squeezed his new plushie in an attempt to stay calm.

“Roman and Logan will bring me my school stuff tonight, and I can access lessons online for most of my classes. Don’t worry about me, kiddo. Worry about yourself.”

“Alright…”

---

Over the days, Patton and Virgil fell into a simple rhythm. There were three check-ins before lunch, three before Logan and Roman showed up at around 4, one before dinner, and two before Logan and Roman left for the night. Even though they had to stay an extra half-day “just to be sure,” the schedule stayed the same, and Virgil didn’t really worry about it. When he was finally discharged on Saturday morning, the doctor had offered to prescribe antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication.

“It might help with your suicidal ideations,” he’d coaxed. He had the same sugary sweet twinge in his voice that the nurses had as if he was trying too hard to be genuine.

“Um, that’s okay. I don’t think I’ll need them.” Virgil’s voice was shaky. He didn’t want to take any medicines that messed with his brain, especially ones that had a higher chance of addiction. He didn’t need anything like that to top off his pile of problems.

“Alright, but if you ever decide you do, here’s my extension so you can get a prescription.” The doctor handed him a slip of paper. Virgil just nodded as he watched the doctor leave. He’d already changed into his normal clothes and makeup, though his normal hoodie had been swapped out for a deep purple one because his normal one was had been covered in blood and deemed a “biohazard.”

Virgil pushed himself off of the hospital bed and cringed at the loud smack his high tops made when his feet hit the ground. He grabbed his backpack from the floor and waited for Pat to gather all of his things. Roman and Logan had taken the suitcase back to Patton’s house on Thursday, so there were only a few things left to be taken. When Virgil glanced back at Patton, all he saw was a pile of blankets and cardigans walking towards him.

“Um, Pat? You need some help?” Patton’s head popped up from behind the pile.

“Nope. I just need you to push the buttons of the elevator and open the doors for me!”  Virgil opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself. Better to not ask any questions.

As soon as they hit the ground floor, Virgil let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t have to be in this damn hospital anymore, nor did he have to answer the invasive questions from the staff, and he certainly didn’t have to eat the gross hospital food (that soup definitely wasn’t made with chicken). Plus, he didn’t have to take the elevator whenever he wanted to get anywhere.

“Hey, Young and Menace,” Roman greeted as the duo got into Logan’s car.

“What’s up, Fancy Pants?” Virgil quipped. It wasn’t his best remark, but he cut himself some slack after being in the hospital for four days.

“Logan,” Patton whined, ignoring the squabbling. “Can we pleeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaasssseeeee go get pancakes? Pleeaaaaaassseeeee?” He sounded like a toddler who was trying to beg his parents to buy him a new toy that he seriously did not need.

“Didn’t you just have breakfast an hou--”

“But Logan! It’s a special occasion!”  Logan glanced back at his friend in the rearview mirror, and it was obvious from his face that he’d caved.

“Fine.”

“YES!” Patton screeched and hugged Logan around the seat, much to the latter’s dismay.

After stopping for takeaway pancakes, Patton and Virgil were delivered home. Once again, Pat took a giant mound of things in while Virgil only carried his backpack. He’d had tried to convince Patton to give him some of the items, but he was only met with refusals. Defeated, he shrugged and made his way into the house.

“I had my parents set up a room for you near me. I think it’s all ready, if you want to head upstairs! It’s the door across from mine,” Patton said with a strange hint of excitement. Something was definitely up, but Virgil couldn’t quite think of what could be waiting for him.

Together, they maneuvered around the maze house and climbed the stairs. Before Virgil could open the door, Patton shyly said, “I should probably warn you that I have a surprise for you. It’s nothing big, so don’t worry about it at all, but I wanted to make sure.”  Virgil highly doubted that it was “nothing big” since nothing Patton did for his friends seemed small, but he turned the knob anyway. He looked back at his friend before pushing the door open.

Virgil wasn’t much of an exaggerator (okay, maybe he was sometimes), but he literally lost his breath for a moment when he saw the room. Inside, the room had been painted dark grey, with black and purple sheets, a metal desk, a black dresser, and even a few movie posters hanging on the walls. It was incredible.

“Patton, you had this done for me? Seriously? That’s so fucking cool!” Virgil walked in and sat down on his bed, discarding his backpack on the floor.

“Of course, kiddo. I have one more surprise, so wait right there while I get it.” Patton literally dropped all of the stuff in his arms onto the floor and ran into his room. Virgil rubbed his hands on the blanket on his bed, and he found the sheets had an incredibly soft texture no matter which way he ran his hand across it. He was so busy examining the blanket that he hadn’t realized Patton had returned.

“Here’s your last surprise, Virge!” he exclaimed. Virgil snapped his head to look at what Pat was holding.

“Is that… a paper chain?” The teen on the bed was thoroughly confused.

“Yeah! While we were in the hospital, I was researching things about depression and anxiety, and I stumbled upon this thing called the Paper Chain Project. Basically, you add colorful rings for every day you go without self harming, and if you relapse, you add a white chain, but continue the chain each day after without self harming. It’s supposed to show you that if you’ve resisted before, you can resist again.” Patton held out the three-link chain to Virgil, who hesitantly took it.

The first chain was made of light blue construction paper and had “Wed, April 26. To Virgil, From Patton. I hope your journey continues with happiness and success.” The other two, made of purple and pink paper, had nothing on them. Tears welled up in Virgil’s eyes

“I… I…” Virgil’s voice trailed off into a sob. He was so lucky to have been found by Patton that night. For once, he actually saw a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel.

The mattress next to Virgil sunk down as Patton sat. “I know, kiddo. I know.” Patton’s arms wrapped around him, anchoring him. He took his arms and returned the hug, crying softly into the other’s shirt.

“’When Rome’s in ruins, we are the lions,’” Patton sang. He must’ve been subconsciously learning the songs Virgil had played during their time in the hospital. “’Free of the coliseums. In poison places, we are anti-venom. We’re the beginning of the end.’”

Patton sang until Virgil’s tears had finally dried out. Virgil pulled away and hastily wiped at his eyes with his sleeves.

“Thank you, Patton. For saving me, twice, actually, and for staying with me and for doing all of these really incredible things for me. You’re an awesome friend. Like, the best ever.” 

Patton’s normal smile only grew larger. “That’s what friends are for, Virge! Now, I’m sure you want to spend a little time alone, so you’re free to roam the house if you want to, or you can use our extra laptop to go online or do homework. It should be in the desk drawer.” Patton stood up and gave a quick wave before heading to his own room.

Virgil sat on his bed for a few more minutes, twisting the paper chain around in his hands, before standing up to find the laptop. He hadn’t contacted a single one of his teachers about his absences, and he dreaded having to explain that he’d been in the hospital for four days. He pulled the laptop out of the desk, along with a pen and a few sheets of looseleaf paper.

There was no password on the laptop, luckily, so he easily booted it up and opened Chrome, signing into his school email account. He had about fifteen emails from his teachers. Most of them were “Hey! I’ve noticed you haven’t been at school for the past few days, and you hadn’t been planning a vacation, so here’s your homework you’ve missed,” but the ones from his Graphic Arts teacher really stood out.

From Anna Miller (millan@westview.k12.fl.us)

To Virgil Thomas (thomvir@westviewstudents.org)

Subject: April 24

Hey, Virgil! I noticed you were acting a bit down today and wanted to make you’re doing alright. I’m really excited to see your design for the banner project, by the way!

See you tomorrow,

Mrs. Miller

From Anna Miller (millan@westview.k12.fl.us)

To Virgil Thomas (thomvir@westviewstudents.org)

Subject: April 25

I noticed you weren’t in class today, so I hope you don’t mind me checking up on you, Virgil. After yesterday, I’m just a little bit worried about your well being. I hope to see you tomorrow; you always bring a good dose of sarcasm to class, and I’m beginning to miss that.

Mrs. Miller

From Anna Miller (millan@westview.k12.fl.us)

To Virgil Thomas (thomvir@westviewstudents.org)

Subject: April 26

Hey, Virgil. You’ve been missing for a few days, and it’s starting to worry me. I tried to call your parents, but neither would pick up. I’m sure you’re okay, but I just want to make sure. You’re a really good student, but I’m sure you know that. It’s been very hard to keep class on track without your witty remarks.

Mrs. Miller

From Anna Miller (millan@westview.k12.fl.us)

To Virgil Thomas (thomvir@westviewstudents.org)

Subject: April 27

Virgil, although it’s against my better judgement, I’ve decided to stop emailing you after this one. I’m very worried about you, but sometimes people just don’t check their emails. The lessons from these past days are linked below. There hasn’t been any homework since we’ve just been working on banners. There isn’t a lesson for tomorrow, so don’t worry about that.

Mrs. Miller

Virgil immediately clicked the reply button on the last email.

From Virgil Thomas (thomvir@westviewstudents.org)

To Anna Miller (millan@westview.k12.fl.us)

Subject: Re: April 27

Mrs. Miller,

I’m really sorry to have left you hanging these past few days. Yes, I’m okay. I had an accident on Tuesday that put me in the hospital for a few days. I’ll be back tomorrow, but I might be a little out of it. I’ve had my living arrangements be mixed up as well, so I’m trying to get used to the change. I might need a few days to catch up as well, since I don’t know if I’ll be able to do 16 lessons worth of stuff in two days.

Virgil Thomas

Send. Virgil let out a breath that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. It had completely slipped his mind that Mrs. Miller would be worried that he’d suddenly disappeared, especially with how close they were. It left a little pang of guilt in his stomach, but he knew there wasn’t much he could do about that. At least he’d eventually gotten back to her.

He clicked around through the emails, collecting assignments and downloading lessons. Virgil was already feeling overwhelmed by the work. He had at least thirty math problems for each day that he’d been gone, plus the ones he’d neglected on his birthday, fifty pages of reading for AP Gov, and he needed to make the set designs for the upcoming show for his Theatre independent study, since they were beginning production soon. He decided the set designs would be the easiest, so he started on that.

They were doing Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Cinderella Enchanted” for their spring musical, which was really exciting. Although Virgil was all doom and gloom, he really enjoyed making fantastical sets for the shows that really packed a punch for the whole atmosphere. He’d been told they’d have backdrops for the village and ballroom, but they’d need wall pieces for the house and the outside of the house in the garden scene. He needed to pick out furniture when he could actually see what they had in the shop, but pieces they definitely needed to build were a fountain for the village center, the carriage, the pumpkin patch, and the flower arch for the kiss scene outside of the palace. It wasn’t too intense, but it was still a lot. Virgil made rough sketches of some basic layouts, adding labels for clarification.

When he was finished, he felt very accomplished, even though the plans were pretty plain, and the more definite details would need to be discussed once building began. Virgil looked over his work and set them to the side. He checked the time on his phone and was shocked to see that it was already 3:30. He had been so sure he’d spent only an hour at most on the designs, not three. A sigh escaped from his mouth. Might as well go to check in with Patton.

He tidied his desk just a bit before heading over to the opposite room. Virgil lightly knocked on the door and waited to hear a response. After no reply, he knocked again, slightly harder this time. He heard some rustling behind the door, and then the door suddenly opened to show a slightly disheveled Patton standing in front of him. Virgil was slightly taken aback.

“Um, Patton? Are you okay?” He made a sweeping gesture of Pat’s messy hair and clothes.

Patton smiled. “Of course! I’m just having some trouble with some of my Physics homework.” It seemed to be more like a lot of trouble, but Virgil really couldn’t blame him for struggling. Missing four days of school would be hard on anybody.

“Do you need help? I had physics last semester and got a pretty good grade.” Virgil didn’t mention he’d gotten perfect scores on every test, nor that he never missed an assignment due date or extra credit project.

“Oh! Sure, kiddo. That’d be very nice of you. Thanks.” Patton stepped out of the way and gestured inside his bedroom. The two took seats at Patton’s white desk and worked on trajectory and resistance problems until Pat’s dad had come to tell them that dinner was ready.

next

[dontfeedthebabytigers]

Star Wars TROS thoughts

ooft

I’ve seen a film where so much is happening all the time yet nothing happens. This film sums up a lot of what I don’t like about studio blockbusters these days. It was entirely too afraid of pissing off the fans who didn’t like TLJ that it did everything to placate them to the point where it felt like they had a bot read the “anti-TLJ” tag and made that into a movie. I think a lot of people think that TLJ says that Star Wars doesn’t matter, but it doesn’t. TLJ stripped away all of the surface level things that people like about Star Wars and played with the larger ideas of legacy, morality, and hope. TROS just abandons that and it feels lifeless because of it.

I like to start off reviews with positive notes, so here ya go

There were some things that I did enjoy. Poe was wonderful, as always, even though I didn’t really need the part about him being a drug runner in there, I would have been fine with Finn being constantly confused about how Poe just knows a bunch of shadey shit because the Resistance can be Like That. Adam Driver had a wonderful performance, and I think if it had been done better Rey taping into the knowledge of the past Jedi would have been a beautiful moment.

Some of the things I think were the worst decisions

1) All the Leia stuff: Why did they do this? I’m genuinly curious because if anything it felt disrespectful to Carrie Fisher to just try and shoehorn her in to any scene that they could with her CGI body and hair. We didn’t need to see her, and her insertion into scenes felt synthetic because she was acting for those specific scenarios. I am on my knees begging hollywood to stop deep faking dead celebrities into films.

2) The TLJ retcons: Look, I get it, a lot of people didn’t like TLJ. Still, it’s pretty shitty to just act like it never happened, or worse, to do some narrative loopholes around major TLJ decisions. Like Snoke. I enjoyed Snoke’s death in TLJ; because in the end, Star Wars villains aren’t the scary emporer, they are Vader’s and Kylo Ren’s of the series. Snoke didn’t really matter because Palpatine didn’t really matter. It removed the fake villain to give Kylo Ren more agency over his own decisions. He wasn’t Snoke’s puppet; he chooses for himself. But then in TROS they just had to show us who Snoke was because that was a major complaint. Then TROS just went and made him even more pointless by showing that he’s just a clone. There’s also the whole Rey’s origin thing. I like Rey’s parents not coming from anywhere because I personally find it insulting to insinuate that we can only care about Star Wars characters because they are related to other Star Wars characters. Star Wars is about making decisions for yourself, not letting a bloodline dictate who you are. For Rey’s parents to have given her away for gambeling money shows that you can come from nothing and still become a hero. That’s a beautiful message to me and shows how we can have Star Wars characters who have their own stories that aren’t tied to anyone else. But TROS saw that and said, “we see your move, Rian, no special parents, HOWEVER, you said NOTHING about her GRANDFATHER” Why can’t Rey make her own story and be incredibly powerful without being tied to a prexisting character? Also, it is fucking heretical to sideline Rose like that. How dare you.

3)TO MUCH PLOT: Jesus Christ, JJ, you don’t need that much plot in one film. After a while I just felt myself go numb to it all. It was a grab bag full of fetch quests and WAY too many lightsaber battles.

I guess I’m just trying to mainly say that this film was a reaction to the line “Let the past die. Kill it if you have to.” It constantly tried to remind us of the flashy parts of Star Wars and tie itself to the past films because the fans felt like that line said that Star Wars doesn’t matter. But, people forget that line was spoken by a villain who got his ass whopped very shortly after. Star Wars shouldn’t forget the past, and Rian Johnson never said that people should, he wanted people to look past the superficial elements of Star Wars and remind us of what we really love about this franchise, and what TROS forgot about. The Legacy that Luke, Leia, and Han left behind with the reistance. Morality how the world isn’t black and white, and how you are the one who makes your decisions, not a man in a chair or a famous parent. And Hope, how if you stop believing in the Sun when it’s gone you’ll never make it through the night.

[murios-archive]

———  BASICS! ♡

NAME! ♡     satan / cris / that bitch over there,  whatever PRONOUNS! ♡     she/her. ZODIAC SIGN! ♡     taurus (sun) / gemini (moon, rising) TAKEN OR SINGLE! ♡     single 

———  THREE  FACTS! ♡

1! ♡     i’m a single mom with a full time job and sometimes i wonder how the fuck i make time to actually sit down and write but i do !  ( sometimes )

2! ♡     i have a birthmark on the waterline of my left eye and i rarely wear makeup so it  ALWAYS  looks like i have some leftover eyeliner there that i forgot to wash off.

3! ♡    i once ran into seth green in nyc,  and by ran into i mean  ran into  because my little brother was running on the sidewalk and i was chasing after him and literally  collided  with seth green as he got out of a cab and he was super nice about it but i’m still mortified to this day.

———  EXPERIENCE! ♡

PLATFORMS USED! ♡     tumblr, discord, livejournal,  twitter

———  MUSE  PREFERENCE! ♡

GENDER! ♡     i used to write all female muses but i no longer have a gender preference.

LEAST FAVOURITE FACE(S)! ♡    i honestly don’t give a fuck who you use for your fc,  i care more about the muse.  there are overused fcs that i groan internally about but at the end of the day i usually look at the  muse  first and the fc second.

MULTI OR SINGLE! ♡     i used to be anti multi bc a lot of multis were super disorganized and didn’t tag shit properly etc.  once i ventured into the world of the multi i can’t imagine anything else  ( especially with how many muses i have... yikes ),  but as far as who i follow  ------either.

FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT! ♡    

FLUFF :   sometimes,  not usually my jam,  fluff rarely goes anywhere.

ANGST :   there’s a reason they call me satan,  y’all  -  this is my go-to

SMUT :   yes*   but i find it difficult to write with people i haven’t interacted with.  i think there has to be a certain level of chemistry there before i’m comfy with it.

PLOT / MEMES! ♡    both !!   i love plotting and world building and creating stories for our characters.  but i’m also TOTALLY okay with starting something off of a meme if you’re not sure where you want to go,  what you want to do,  and just want to toss one in my inbox.  i will always respond to memes in a way that they  can  be turned into threads  ( in fact,  i prefer it )  so that is definitely always an option :)

tagged  by :  @opheleian tagging:   whoever wants to !