#this was only for shits and giggles and my need to warp perspective

[lunarlivs]

pov wolfstar

[theguineapig3]

Tales of Symphonia Headcanons: Elves, Humans, and Dwarves

I was chatting with @rainbowkittyblossomwings recently about headcanons for different Tales races, and mentioned that I have very complex headcanons about the races from Symphonia. Since it's a lot, I figured I'd put it into a tumblr post for posterity. This stems from my interest in hominid evolution and, like, Star Trek and stuff.

According to the game's backstory, elves arrived at a "dead planet" via Derris-Kharlan and terraformed it with the Great Tree, creating the world we know as Aselia. They then moved to live on the surface of the planet "with the humans who evolved there." But- wait? If the planet was barren when they arrived, where did the humans come from? The fact that humans are genetically close enough to elves that the two can produce viable offspring suggests that they are part of the same evolutionary lineage, likely the same lineage that gave rise to Dwarves. In this essay, I support the following headcanon: Dwarves and humans evolved from two distinct waves of early elven migration from Derris-Kharlan during the early stages of terraformation, and are therefore better adapted to the Aselian environment than elves, which retain the physical characteristics that result from long-term spaceflight.

(Disclaimer: I’m about to talk like I Know Shit™, but this is all headcanon territory. I’m not trying to pass any of this off as canon, lol. It’s just for fun and giggles. Sources for actual science are located at the bottom.)

Elves and the Impacts of Space Travel

Elves in the Symphonia universe are typical of elves in most modern high fantasy- described as having tall, slender bodies that are significantly less muscular than humans. However, Symphonia is relatively unique in that it paints elves as a space-faring race, traveling through the cosmos on the comet-turned-spaceship Derris-Kharlan. The idea of an interstellar spacecraft being constructed within a comet is not completely unheard of, even in real life (Starr, 2019). While the game never hints at how long Derris-Kharlan voyaged before reaching Aselia, our knowledge of the vast distances of space- and the lack of evidence that Derris-Kharlan is warp capable- suggests that it was at least multiple generations, even for long-lived elves. Derris-Kharlan has its own gravity, but because of its size, that gravity would be lower than found on a proper planet. And that low gravity would definitely affect the residents.

Even with real-world humans’ limited time in space, scientific studies have already recorded effects of space travel on the human body. The lack of gravity in spaces causes, among other effects, loss of bone and muscle mass (Nasa; White, 1998). These are only superficial changes and typically can be reversed once the person returns to Earth, but the low-gravity environment of Derris-Kharlan can still provide a logical explanation for the tall, slender build of elves. Over multiple generations, the lack of gravity-based stresses on their bodies might allow them to grow taller and preclude the need for significant muscular development. The elves of Derris-Kharlan, as spacefarers living in a low-gravity environment, could devote their energy toward mental (and magical) development.

The Terraformation of Aselia

Terraformation is a complex process that depends heavily on the environment being terraformed. Temperature and atmospheric pressure are important components to consider, in order to establish an environment where oxygen-producing organisms can survive (Zubrin and McKay, 1993). In the case of Aselia, we can assume this was accomplished by the Great Tree, which provided the mana that plants and oxygen-producing microbes such as cyanobacteria would need to survive. Once these oxygen-producing organisms are established, oxygen will slowly build up in the atmosphere until it reaches levels high enough to support larger organisms. This gradual process would take multiple thousands of years or not more- though that’s no big deal to long-lived elves who had already spent millennia traveling across space. However, it’s unlikely they would wait until the very end of this process to begin colonization of the surface. 

Dwarves: the First Settlers

It’s likely that early colonists of Aselia might have come to the planet long before the surface itself was liveable. Perhaps these were explorers, sent to mine for mineral resources on the planet that could be taken or sent up for use on Derris-Kharlan. The still-thin atmosphere would provide little protection from solar radiation, forcing these settlers to live underground for their own protection. A thin atmosphere also means that the planet would be unable to trap incoming heat, making for a particularly cold environment. The need for high respiratory capacity and effective temperature regulation would lead to a short, robust body, similar to characteristics observed in fossils of real-world neanderthals (Churchill, 2006). All these characteristics seem to coincide with the characteristics observed in Aselian Dwarves- short, stocky bodies with large chests, underground living, specialization in metalworking and mineral resources. The difficulty in surviving in the harsh, pre-terraformed environment would have led to the unique culture of Aselian Dwarves, such as the need for strict moral codes like the Dwarven Vows. 

Despite these significant differences, the Dwarves’ underground homes allowed them to retain certain characteristics of their elven predecessors, such as their longevity. The diminishment of human lifespan is likely due to other factors experienced during a later period of colonization.

Development of Humans

Humans likely developed from a middle period of elven colonization, once the atmosphere developed enough to protect living organisms from near-immediate death from solar radiation- though not total protection from adverse effects. These humans would retain much of the elven anatomy, except with shorter, more muscular builds due to the higher gravity they encountered on Aselia’s surface. The high metabolic demands of magic use would quickly make elven magic detrimental to humans who were only producing enough food to get by, explaining the lack of magical abilities in humans. As for the relatively short human lifespans in relation to elves and dwarves, that can likely be attributed to the effects of radiation penetrating the still somewhat thin atmosphere. High-level exposure to infrared and ultraviolet radiation can result in premature skin aging (Cho, 2009), so the effects of high-level exposure over multiple generations might explain why humans age so much faster than elves once reaching adulthood.

The Myth of Elven Superiority

It’s difficult to say exactly why some groups left Derris-Kharlan earlier than others. The early groups who were sent- or volunteered- to face the harsh conditions of early terraformation may have been lower-class citizens, commoners rather than the upper class who stayed in the safety and relative comfort of Derris-Kharlan. This may have contributed to the Elven myth that those who retain the characteristics of their ancestors are “superior,” more “genetically pure” than humans and Dwarves. The retention of magical abilities is an indicator that their ancestors never struggled to find their next meal, their long lives an indicator that their ancestors never faced exposure to excess radiation, their slender builds an indicator that their ancestors had little need for manual labor. In a sense, they celebrate the fact that they are not adapted to their environment and spurn those who faced hardships that forced them to develop better adaptations. In this context, it would seem that the elves’ xenophobia is rooted in a sense of classism. Now, even though they must work harder to support themselves in a world they are unadapted to, they still retain that “1-percenter” type mentality.  

Half-Elves: The Missing Link?

The knowledge of elven evolution into humans raises the question as to the origins of half-elves. Are they representative of an evolutionary link between the two? Based on the half-elves we see in the story, this is unlikely. Modern half-elves are not an intermediate stage, but a hybrid resulting from the interbreeding of the two modern groups. If paleontologists discovered fossil evidence of elf-human evolution, they would probably find that these intermediate people had features distinct from the half-elves they know. Half-elves are not a “missing link,” then, but a relatively recent bridge between the two groups and a distinct group of their own that continues through to Phantasia’s time.

(OKAY, I’M DONE; THAT WAS REALLY LONG, OOPS)

---

Cho, Soyun et al. (2009). "Effects of Infrared Radiation and Heat on Human Skin Aging in vivo." Journal of Investigative Dermatology Symposium Proceedings, pp. 15-19.

Churchill, S.E. (2006). “Biogenic perspectives on Neanderthal thermoregulatory and activity budgets” Churchill, S.E. Neanderthals Revisited: New Approaches and Perspectives.

NASA (N.D.) "Muscle Atrophy" PDF, retrieved 2019-07-24.

Starr, Michelle (2019). “Astronomers Have Analysed Claims 'Oumuamua's an Alien Ship, And It's Not Looking Good.” Science Alert. 

White, Ronald J. (1998). “Weightlessness and the Human Body”  PDF, retrieved 2019-07-24.

Zubrin, Robert M. and McKay, Christopher P. (1993). “Technological Requirements for Terraforming Mars.” American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics. 

[artificialqueens]

Undone, Chapter 8 (Bitney) - Stephanie/Veronica

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 8 of UNDONE, our Bitney lesbian AU. Here’s a link the previous chapters.This is a repost from AO3/RGF - once we’re caught up, new chapters will go up.

Summary: Courtney tries to come to terms with her feelings, while Bianca suffers from the blues.

TW: This story deals with themes of emotional abuse, and since that can be subtle, we’re going to keep a general TW on all of the chapters, even when it seems like it doesn’t apply.

***

“Good morning!” Kim sings, as Courtney walks into the kitchen. “Didja sleep well, sis?”

Courtney grabs the tea kettle from the stove to pour herself a cup.

“Not especially.”

“Sorry, love.” Kim holds out a plate with toast and jam. “And I’m sorry for giving you shit last night. You’re just so much fun to tease.”

Courtney sighs, leaning back against the fridge and taking a slice.

“It’s alright. You were...less off base than I let on.”

“I know,” Kim smirks.

“Cunt,” Courtney laughs, mouth full.

Kim finishes her juice and sets the glass in the sink.

“Runs in the family. Are you sure it’s still cool that I take your car?” Kim asks.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I can uber to work; it’s not far.”

“Awesome. I’ll be back Sunday, then,” Kim says, grabbing the keys, her purse and a small rolling suitcase. “In the meantime, if you feel like inviting any sexy Latina women over, you know…”

“Get out of here!” Courtney exclaims, laughing, shoving her towards the door.

***

Courtney groans in frustration, tossing her phone over onto her heap of clothes in the corner.

“That little twat isn’t bothering you again, is she?” Bianca asks her. “Turn.”

Courtney obeys, answering, “No. I think you scared her away for good. Thank god.”

“Excellent. So what’s the problem?” She unzips Courtney’s dress, taking it over to the sewing machine to make the alterations.

“Well...I’m trying to find some...uh...company, for tonight, and none of my regulars are available, and the idea of prowling around a bar is just not very appealing.”

Bianca opens her mouth to respond but is cut off by Adore opening the door to the trailer, asking, “is Gary still in here?”

“No, he's in makeup,” Bianca says.

“Cool.”

She starts to leave but Courtney calls out, “Wait!”

“Yes?” Adore turns back around as Courtney runs to the door, arms over her bare chest. “Nice panties.”

“Are you still dating that DJ?” Courtney asks Adore quietly. Bianca slows down the sewing, pretending not to listen in.

“No, why?” Adore responds.

Courtney gives her puppy eyes.

“Oh.” Adore grins. “DTF, huh?”

“Yes please.”

“Can we go in your hot tub?” Adore bargains.

“Whatever gets you in the mood, peaches.” Courtney flutters her lashes.

“You know,” Adore laughs, “You're my most generous booty call.”

Courtney sticks her tongue out as Adore lets the screen door fall closed, backing down the steps.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Delano!”

“Later bitch!”

Courtney walks back over to perch on the stool while Bianca keeps sewing.

“Wow,” Bianca says under her breath, turning the dress over to examine the seams.

“What?”

“Just...that was very...uh...direct.”

“Welcome to friends with benefits,” Courtney laughs.

Bianca shakes her head. “You’re out of control.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I just mean...like, you are constantly coming here with stories about all these different girls. You’re definitely pulling more tail than the brosin Jared’s office.”

“Well, sure, I would hope so, because I’m guessing by your tone that that’s quite a low bar to clear.”

Bianca laughs uncomfortably.

“And anyway, I think you have a very warped perspective about what life is like for a single person. You said you’ve been with your husband since you were what, 18?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, you havenoidea what it’s like to have to chase downother human beings to sleep with. It is fucking exhausting. I will bet you anything that you have more than double the amount of sex as me. Maybe triple.”

“Not a chance!”

“Well, why don’t we do the math?”

“Sure...” Bianca agrees.

“Okay, so, how often do you and Jared have sex? Roughly, how many time a week?”

“Uhhh...I dunno, maybe... four? Five?”

“Four or five?!”

“Is that bad?”

“No, it’s...holy shit. Cheers, Jared.” Courtney shakes her head.

Bianca giggles, slightly self-conscious.

“Alright, well, let me break down my wild and crazy single person sex life for you. I go out once or twice a week. I bring someone home with me...maybe 1 in 3 of those times, if I’m lucky. So I’m fucking another human maybe twice a month? Four times, tops. The rest of the time, I take care of my own business, with help from some very top of the line vibrators.”

Bianca closes her eyes.

“Is there anything you don’t feel the need to share?”

“No, why?”

“Nothing, nevermind.”

“Anyway...I assume with your Ivy League education that you’re following the math here.”

“Wow.” Bianca looks at her. “I guess so.”

“Really, four or five?” Courtney shakes her head in amazement.

“Well...we aretrying to have a baby,” Bianca says.

“Okay, but that only explains a few days a month.”

“Right, but Jared’s philosophy is that ovulation days are Game Days, and the rest of the month is like, practice, keeping in good form, so we’re in peak condition for Game Day.” Bianca says all of this matter-of-factly, with a slightly amused tone, clearly not buying it 100%, but pretending to. She removes the dress from the machine, clipping a few loose threads and handing it back over.

“Ahh, I see. What about your period?” Courtney slips the dress over her head and turns around so that Bianca can zip her up.

“Off season.”

Courtney laughs.

“Well, B, this sounds like a winning formula. I wish you guys lots of success for getting those swimmers past the goal line, into the...hoop? I don’t really do sports metaphors, sorry.”

“Thanks anyway,” Bianca says, helping her into her jacket, chuckling.

***

“Holy shit,” Adore pants, sprawled out on her back. “What the fuck got into you?”

“I’m sorry,” Courtney says. “I didn’t mean to get so aggressive.” She rolls over, propping her head up with a pillow.

“I mean, I didn’t realize we were having a competition, but you definitely won. I think I’m gonna have bruises tomorrow, though.

“You’re so dramatic. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Ummm, tell that to my poor battered pussy,” Adore counters.

Courtney rolls her eyes. “Then why didn’t you tell me to stop?”

“Well...I liked it.” Adore flashes an impish grin and Courtney laughs, nudging her affectionately with her foot.

“You’re so stupid.”

“Yeah. So...what’s your problem? Why all the pent-up rage?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Maybe...I guess I kind of got into it with Kimmy last night.” Courtney examines her nails.

“About?”

“She was kind of giving me shit about Bianca. And I got all defensive because, you know, I just...I don’t see it ever happening.”

“I dunno about that,” Adore says, chuckling.

“But Adore, be realistic. I mean, she’s married, and she wants a family, with her husband, and...you know, it is what it is. But god, she’s so hot, I can’t stand it sometimes…”

“I don’t understand you, this is totally your wheelhouse. Just be like,” Adore puts on an exaggerated Australian accent, “Hello Bianca, are ya keen? Care for a root? Cause I’d really like to fuck your brains out, how’s that? Oh these? Just my tits, I thought I’d have them out today. So are we on?”

“Would you please stop, I don’t sound like that. You sound like the crocodile hunter imitating Ja’mie or something.”

“Well, you could learn a lot from Ja’mie. She’s got more balls than you.”

Courtney sighs, closing her eyes and smiling dreamily. “She’s just so beautiful. Have you ever seen anyone that beautiful?”

“Well, yeah, I have a mirror, so…” Adore tongue pops.

Courtney rolls her eyes.

“I’m kidding,” Adore says. “And I guess she’s cute...in that like, grown-up Bratz doll, painted, uber-femme kinda way. She’s definitely got great tits.”

“Grown up Bratz doll,” Courtney repeats, chuckling, then says, “You know who she reminds me of? Remember in The Little Mermaid, that scene when-”

“My favorite movie, go on-”

“When Ursula turns into that like, sexy girl, and tries to steal Eric from Ariel?” Courtney raises her eyebrows.

“Omigod. Vanessa.” Adore begins to laugh.

“Yes! Vanessa! Blue eyes, dark hair, that evil glint in her eye…”

“She is a little bit evil. I’ve noticed that too,” Adore nods.

“No! Not evil, but, like...impish. Mischievous. And those cute dimples. And that body…Ughhhhh!”

“Girl, you need a cold shower.”

“I need a lobotomy.”

“Or that,” Adore agrees. “You know what I wonder...What’s the husband like?”

Courtney shrugs, eyes slightly unfocused.

“I’ve never met him.”

“Well, okay, but I’m sure you stalked her social media. You must know what he looks like…”

“I mean, of course…” She hugs a pillow to her chest.

“...And?”

“And what?”

Adore cups her hands around her mouth and speaks loudly through them.

“What does he look like?”

“I...I dunno. He’s...like, if you went to the husband factory and ordered the Ivy League model with a cheekbone upgrade, he’s what would pop out of the machine. He’s basically a Ken doll.”

“Hmm. So she’s got a type,” Adore muses thoughtfully.

Courtney raises the pillow and smacks Adore in the face, making her shriek with laughter.

***

Bianca looks up from her sewing machine. “So how was your night?”

“Pretty good,” Courtney says, perched on the stool, swinging her legs.

Bianca raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, looking back down.

“What?”

“No, nothing. I’m just bracing myself.”

“Bracing yourself for what?”

“Details about your little rendez-vous.”

Courtney smirks, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Oh, so you want details, eh? Didn’t realize you were so thirsty for smut-”

“No, I didn’t say I wanteddetails, but that’s never stopped you before,” Bianca replies with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Well...” Courtney begins, then pauses.

Bianca looks up, soft blue eyes meeting Courtney’s green ones. She can feel her heart begin to race, her abdomen tightening.

“Yeah?”

“...I don’t want to torture you,” Courtney continues, “So, I’ll just let you imagine this one.”

Bianca exhales, forcing a scoff.

“Oh...shut up.”

Courtney giggles, twirling on the stool, feeling a slight release of the tension that had been building up over the last few days. She exhales, letting her head fall backwards, enjoying the dizziness that comes over her as she spins, not unlike the feeling of being on a dance floor after your second or third cocktail.

“I do have one question.”

Bianca’s voice brings her back to the moment and she puts a foot down to stop the stool.

“Yes?” she asks, with a coy flutter of her lashes.

“Don’t get excited, it’s not a sex question.”

“Oh.”

“Just like...the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.” Bianca pauses, then continues carefully, “I just...always thought that was a thing guys made up so that they didn’t have to commit. What exactly are you getting out of that?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“No. You’re good friends, so you obviously get along. And you sleep together. Why not just date? What am I missing?”

“You can like someone, and enjoy sleeping with them, and still know that they aren’t the right romantic match for you. I love Adore. I mean, you know her, she’s fun, and we totally get along, but…it takes a lot for me to want to be in a relationship. I’d much rather be independent than try to force something with someone that isn’t right for me. And with Adore...there’s not that fire, that...you know?”

Bianca listens, wondering how anyone could be with Courtney and not have fire. She’s nothing butfire.

“I mean it’s always just been too easy. There’s no burning passion, or...or sense of adventure. It’s just...nice. Which is great, but...that’s it...” Courtney trails off, trying to read the ambiguous expression on Bianca’s face.

“I see.” It’s taking all of Bianca’s mental strength not to imagine exactly the kind of “burning passion” it would take to satisfy her. Nails dig in her hands under the sewing table, willing herself to erase the torrid images flashing through her mind. Back arched, toes curled, mouth open in a desperate moan...

“For either of us!” Courtney continues quickly. “Which is why, you know, we don’t hook up too often. Or, we’ll get lazy and stop looking for the real deal. She agrees with me; we’ve talked about it.”

“Wait, you’ve actually talked about this?” Bianca is snapped out of her fantasies by surprise, caught off guard. “So then it’s more than just sex?”

Courtney looks at her for a moment before answering, suddenly conscious of how very deeply curious she’s been. Almost invested. But she shakes that thought and smiles.

“Well, yeah. She’s not just a trick, she’s my friend. And she agrees. But then, she’s kind of lazier than me so sometimes she’s like ‘sure, right, but on the other hand, who needs epic passion when you’ve got Netflix?’”

Bianca laughs.

“She sounds like Jared. We should fix them up.”

“Now, I’ve know never met him, but something tells me that he wouldn’t be her type,” Courtney replies.

“I dunno, he’s kinda pretty,” Bianca says. “A wig and a wonderbra, she might not know.”

“Well…” Courtney taps her chin thoughtfully. “She does like a strap-on.”

Bianca’s eyes bulge as she gapes at Courtney, lips parted in disbelief.

“What, you thought it was the other way around?” Courtney asks sweetly.

“I...I...shut up!” Bianca finally stammers out.

Courtney winks smugly and then bursts out laughing, immensely proud of herself.

***

“Don’t get me wrong...your dogs are super fucking cool, but I just think it’s a little weird that you always have them at the table with us,” Adore says.

“Why?” Bianca responds. “We let you sit at the table.”

Adore laughs, spitting out some of her roast beef.

“Case in point…”

Courtney bites down on a carrot stick, thoughtfully scratching Sammy behind the ears.

“Hey, are you guys doing anything next Saturday?” she asks.

“Why?” Adore asks suspiciously. “Not another lame west side art gallery opening again...because I toldSasha-“

“No, not that. So...I have this friend-”

“Hard to believe, but go on…” Bianca interrupts.

“Ahem. My dear, dear friend Alexis is hosting this like, cabaret-style performance night at the Rockwell and she asked me to do a few numbers. I was wondering if you guys might want to come. No pressure.”

“You sing?” Bianca asks.

“Mostly for a lark, but yeah.” Courtney chews her lip. “It’s really no big deal. Although, if it helps, the other performers are actual professionals. Frankly, I’m not sure what the fuck I’m doing in this line-up except maybe she’s being nice.”

“Maybe she thinks you’ll look good on the posters,” Adore offers.

“Thanks.”

“You’re such a little twat,” Bianca tells her.

“Yeah, well, this is total false modesty. Her voice is fucking awesome. I’ll be there, obviously, and you should come too. Wear something low cut and I’ll buy you a drink.” Adore winks.

“Stop that,” Bianca says. “I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“Oh, you are not. Maybe like, a slutty golddigging stepmom.”

“There’s an image,” Courtney laughs.

“Why slutty? Why can’t I be a classy golddigger?”

“My dad’s lazy, so he goes for very whoreish women. It’s kind of the reason my mom kicked him out.”

“Sounds like a real catch.”

“Hey, you picked him...Mommy.” Adore winks again, licking her lips.

“You’re a sick fuck.” Bianca shakes her head.

“I know, right?” Adore grins charmingly, resting her head on Courtney’s shoulder.

“By the way, I’ve seen her dad...I don’t think he’s your cup of tea,” Courtney adds.

“Good to know. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called a golddigger though.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah. Jared’s mom had it out for me from the beginning. And then, like, we were engaged for almost nine years, and the entire time, she was fighting about this insane pre-nup that she wanted me to sign. Newsflash, Linda: I’m not in this for the beach house on the Cape. I’d actually rather slit my own wrists then spend a summer with your racist garbage friends in Chatham.”

“What a bitch!” Adore exclaims.

“Pretty much,” Bianca shrugs, tapping her French tips on the table. “But, joke’s on her. Because maybe if she wasn’t such an asshole back when we first hooked up, her son wouldn’t have been so gung-ho about marrying me in the first place.” She takes a long sip of her Diet Coke as Adore laughs uproariously.

“You get that Hamptons house, bitch!” Adore cheers, lifting her cup in a toast.

“Cape Cod,” Bianca corrects her.

“Right, whatever...same thing, though, amiright?”

Bianca laughs, nodding.

“Pretty much the same thing.”

“White people suck,” Adore proclaims, then looks at Courtney and adds, “No offense, boo.”

“Full offense, boo,” Bianca says. “This SoulCycle vegan Coachella cunt? She’s so part of the problem.”

“I hate Coachella,” Courtney says simply, staring her down.

“But you love Burning Man,” Adore says, and Bianca bursts out laughing again.

“White people suck,” she concludes. “But joke’s on them. Because even though they hate me, they won’t possibly be able to hate their little brown dimpled grandkids.”

Courtney scrutinizes her carefully, wondering exactly how much pain hides beneath that tough exterior. Bianca looks up and catches her eye, giving her a softer smile than she expects. She returns it happily, waving Sammy’s paw at her with a light giggle.

***

“Hey, so, about Saturday...seriously, no obligation if you’re busy,” Courtney says, sticking her head into Bianca’s trailer after checking out with Jamie.

“Oh. Yeah, no, I’m not busy.”

“Or, like, If you’re not up for it. I know you’ve got other things going on, so-”

“No, that’s…” Bianca waves her hand. “It sounds fun. I’m excited to hear you sing.”

She smiles, flashing her dimples, and Courtney feels a tingle of nervous energy in her belly. It’s been awhile since she’s gotten onstage, and she’s used to that rush of butterflies, but suddenly there’s a whole new level of anxiety. Suddenly, she has this inescapable feeling that no matter how big the crowd is, she’s going to be performing for an audience of one.

***

Bianca follows the waitress into the Rockwell’s performance space, quickly realizing that her reserved seat is with Adore and a bunch of people she’s never seen. And of course, Adore is already looking a little tipsy. Fantastic.

“Heeey Sugar Tits!” Adore slings an arm around her. “You smell good.”

“Wish I could say the same. You do know the drought’s over, right? We can bathe every day now.” Bianca wrinkles her nose.

Shea laughs, flagging the server.

“Okay, New Girl is funny. What’s your name, and what are you drinking?”

“Bianca, and…” she scans the menu quickly. “Uhhh...Ravenswood, I guess?”

“Put it on my tab,” Shea tells the server, then extends her hand to Bianca. “I’m Shea. How do you know our messy little bitch here? Adore, stop groping her, Jesus!”

Adore crosses her arms, pouting.

“Spoilsport.”

“I work with her and Court on Silver Screens,” Bianca laughs, straightening Adore’s hat for her. “And thank you.”

“Ohhh, got it,” Shea says, suddenly realizing who Bianca is. The breeder. She pinches Sasha’s thigh under the table, and her girlfriend turns around, having been fully engrossed in a pretentious conversation with Naomi at the next table about whether the collection at The Broad was still relevant since they opened the previous year.

After a few rounds of drinks and some shared appetizers, Bianca finds herself warming quite a bit to Courtney’s friends, especially Shea. There’s something about the Chicagoan that reminds her of her friends back home - well, the ones smart enough to get out of Gretna, that is.

The easy camaraderie continues as the lights dim and Alexis, the MC for the evening, steps out. She’s obviously good friends with the girls, since they are on their feet screaming for her, and their enthusiasm is infectious. And well founded, Bianca realizes, once she begins to sing a throaty rendition of Cabaretto get the crowd going.

The next performer is wonderful, a Broadway actress with a fabulous range and impressive resume. Courtney wasn’t lying about the line-up. Bianca is on her fourth glass of wine, feeling uncharacteristically relaxed, when Alexis introduces Courtney, giving the audience a kind of warning.

“If you’ve never seen our next performer...it might be hard to focus on her singing, because...well, you’ll see.” Alexis gestures to some tables in the front. “You folks are in the swooning section, I’m afraid.”

Sasha whistles and Alexis continues, “Please show a lot of love to the stunning, talented, and all around extraordinary...Ms. Courtney Hamilton!”

Bianca claps and cheers along with the group as Courtney steps onto the bright lights of the stage, and that’s when it feels like all the air is sucked out of her lungs. She’s used to the blonde being stunning, in a kind of easy, effortless way - the kind of beauty that’s annoying, because she doesn’t have to try, and so she doesn’t try. But tonight…

The woman standing on stage is the most breathtaking bombshell that Bianca has ever seen. Everything about her is sheer perfection, from the crown of her glossy blonde hair to the tip of her stiletto heel. As she steps forward, nodding her head gratefully at the applause, the high slit of her dress falls away and Alexis winks at someone in the front row of the audience.

“Told ya.”

There’s a gentle chuckle and Adore wolf whistles. Bianca gulps, sending up a silent prayer to get through this evening with her wits about her.

[littlecrookedheart]

Amen, Amen • Unfolding

Catch Up : Reckoning | Rum on the Fire | Like You're Made of Glass

Character(s) : Noah Marshall, Jane Marshall, Matt Pivouz (OC), Vinny Trovato (OC), brief mention of Lucia and Peter Trovato (OC)

Rating : MATURE. Language warning. Please read at your own risk. I’m issuing a general trigger warning for the entirety of this story. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SENSITIVE CONTENT SURROUNDING DRUG USE, MURDER, SUICIDE AND POSSESSION.

Time : This takes place 14 years after Jane’s death and roughly 5 years after the events in ILITW. Noah is 22 years old.

Word Count : 5,100 (or so)

Author’s Note : Have some answers to your Matt related questions!

Key : Perspective switches will be marked with ** | Time jumps will be marked with –

Soundtrack | Chapter Inspiration

"You in there? Keep your eyes on me."

Matt's voice swam in and out as if he were underwater, one arm around Noah, the other blocking his line of vision while they made it back inside the church. Noah's knees were buckling as often as he'd take steps, Matt having to nearly carry him inside of the church.

If you were a passerby, you'd see clarity, an empty space of land, dead and barren, two men walking through. You'd see overgrown vines, crumbling cement, the breeze turning stalks of brown grass into an ocean. But if you could see it, oh if you could see it, you would not be able to tear your eyes away.

With Noah hooked on one arm, Matt dodged what seemed to be warping, pitch black shadows of children, wailing deafeningly into the sky as they swarmed around Noah. They bent at unnatural angles, solidifying and cracking open, spilling out multitudes of maggots and beetles.

"What the fuck!" Matt screamed, trying to shake Noah awake as his feet trudged through the abyss of insects.

Once inside, the wailing grew louder, silhouettes of locusts flooding the windows matched the sound of loud, heavy banging against the walls and door. Matt left Noah against a pew, rushing over to open a bottle of water and coaxing Noah into drinking it. Finally, Noah opened his eyes fully, looking around at his surroundings. He jerked backwards, almost in shock, taking breaths and counting to seven, watching Matt head over to the altar where he kneeled down, dropping his head and silently praying.

Noah stood to his feet, wobbling over to Matt, putting his hand on his shoulder. Matt flinched under Noah's touch, looking up in horror before realizing who it was.

"Thank you for saving me," Noah mumbled, his voice like a hoarse whisper.

Matt's mouth moved in reply, but Noah couldn't hear him, the screams from the shadows and humming of the locusts drowning out all sound. Noah pressed his palms to his ears, turning around to face the door, one too many stupid ideas running through his mind. He ran forward, nearly collapsing, Matt's hand reaching to hold him back but falling short. Noah's hand hit the door handle, burning hot and crackling with a strange, dark energy, causing him to immediately let go and fall backwards, skidding across the splintering floor. He squeezed his eyes closed, audibly counting his sevens, over and over, until all went silent.

He warily looked around, the church having been entirely restored, with shining floors and brand new pews, the windows bright and beautiful as they reflected the afternoon sun. Rainbows danced along the wall of the altar, beams of light shining through stained glass at the east end of the church. Noah's breath was heavy as he stood up, creeping around the corner, eyes seeking out the source of this version of reality.

**

And there she is, Jane. She's standing in a long, white dress, her hair flowing down her shoulders. She looks like an angel. She doesn't even see me? I'm standing right in front of her, and she's just swaying, humming.

"Janie?"

"Katai! You took forever, what the heck!"

She's running...right through me. I'm turning around to see..Katai, as a kid, smiling at her and taking her hand. They're leaving. Running to the door, giggling. And now Katai is looking back at me, and they just smile, a wink, and I can't help it but..was that a message? What's happening?

"Mattie?"

On the front pew is a boy with jet black hair and the same hazel eyes Matt has, the kind with rims of gold and just a dash of green. I don't know who Matt's brother was, but this has to be him. It has to be. He looks so clean, so pristine and put together, kneeling on the pew, looking at me. Does he think I'm Matt?

"I'm Noah."

"Where's Mattie?" He's asking, and all of a sudden he's right in front of me. How can he see me when Jane couldn't?

"He's not here...I'm sorry."

"That's okay. Are you friends?"

Friends...right. Hardly, but I'm nodding.

"I can't stay here..." He's trailing off, smiling as he looks around the room. Beams of blue and green light are washing over him and he seems to glow, like he was fashioned of the stained glass himself.

"Can you tell him I waited for him? But I have to go now."

"I'll tell him." Will I? Does Matt deserve to know that his brother has been waiting for six years and now he's gone? Maybe it's better if he thinks his brother is still around.

"Tell him I heard him talking to me. I stopped the dark thing. But I -"

And he's gone, shimmering away into the light. And the church starts to decay, years or an eternity, even, flashing before my eyes. Left in ruins. Matt on that altar, looking up at me.

"How did you-"

"What was your brothers name?"

**

"What? Um.." Matt reached down, searching for something to grip as he lowered himself to the floor, burying his palms into his eyes and hid fingers in his hair.

"Vincenzo. V-Vinny." Matt looked up at Noah, confusion across his face.

"He...I think.."

"You saw him, didn't you?"

Noah sat on the floor across from him, brushing the hair out of his eyes before nodding. "He said to tell you that he stopped the dark thing. And..."

"He said more?"

"Yeah he said he's been waiting for you but..."

Noah bit his lip, seeing Matt's eyes start to glimmer. I can't do it.

"He said he's been waiting for you. Then he said to 'tell Mattie I love him.'"

Noah watched Matt, for the first time since they'd met, lose his composure. He became a river, drawing his knees to his chest, sobbing hard into them.

After a few moments, Matt looked up, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater.

"Did you ask him for help earlier? When you were praying?" Noah asked, worried to overstep.

Matt nodded, sniffling as a smile turned on his lips. "Yeah. I can't believe you saw him. Was he okay? Did he say anything else? Was he alone?"

"Uh...yeah, he was fine. He actually looked... beautiful. I saw Jane, too, but she didn't see me. And my old friend Katai. Your brother was the only one who talked to me, though."

"Vinny," Matt suggested, leaning over to grab his coat from a nearby podium. "Call him Vinny. It makes it more real."

Noah took a breath, sighing. "Vinny. Vinny was the only one who talked to me."

Matt shrugged a shoulder, letting out a small laugh. He fumbled through the pockets of his coat, pulling out a black leather wallet. Inside, two folded up photos stuck out of a compartment, Matt pulled hem out and handed them to Noah.

Noah took the photos, opening them to their full size. The first was old, Matt's unmistakable grin not having changed since even this. Vinny looked about three, which would leave Matt nine, the two of them holding a wicker basket of berries, purple and magenta staining their hands and mouths. Noah smiled at the photo, flipping it over. Across the back was scrawled in a dainty handwriting, 'Matteo, 10 Vincenzo, 4 berry picking with grandma.'

"Matteo, huh?"

"Shut up," Matt laughed, taking the photo from Noah and gazing at it, beaming at the memory.

The second photo was the boy Noah just met, Vinny, in a striped yellow shirt, his hair blowing in the wind.

"That was his twelfth birthday. Magic Mountain," Matt said, pointing to the background. "Three months before he died."

Noah handed the photo back to Matt, mindlessly picking his nails in intervals of seven.

"The berry picking, that's what I hold onto. I don't know if he even remembered it, but I do. That's my light."

"I hate that I saw him and you didn't, " Noah said, biting a fingernail.

"I've seen him so many times. Just..not the way you did."

Noah furrowed his brow, looking up at Matt.

"You saw him how I see Jane, didn't you?"

Matt looked away, staring into space.

"Something like that."

**

How could that be? Matt said Vinny died from an aneurysm, 'how fucked is that?' Why would these demons plague Vinny, or Matt, the way they do Jane and me? She was taken, physically taken, her soul left to linger for a decade. Vinny died, like people do, a death not uncommon. Did Matt lie to me? Maybe Vinny was swallowed up, too, by something just as sinister. Maybe Matt can't say it.

I can't say I blame him. Lord knows how many moments I tried to smash my words into something others could understand. Mom and Dad did just fine, lying through their teeth, saying Jane died in her sleep. Saying it was a...

Holy shit.

"Matt, I need to ask you something."

**

Matt clenched his jaw, standing up and walking over to the window. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, bracing himself for any reaction Noah might have. Light blankets of rain coated the ground, a cool gust of wind coming from the shattered block in the window. He leaned down, picking up a large rock, smoothing his thumb over the surface.

"It wasn't an aneurysm." Noah said, his voice shaking.

Matt glanced at him, quickly looking away.

"It wasn't."

Noah shook his head, scoffing.

"Don't," Matt snapped, spinning on his heel to glare at Noah. "Do not act like I've somehow hurt or inconvenienced you. You think I found you on accident? That I just heard about your story and thought I'd like to be your friend? No. No, I heard a story about a kid whose friend died and the news was blaming him. I heard how that same kid had a twin sister who died from an aneurysm at eight years old. I don't know why, Noah, but I knew that we were alike. That's why I'm here."

Noah's head spun with questions, and with just as much annoyance, burning inside from Matt's lie.

"What took him?" he asked, a darkness in his eyes he couldn't seem to shake despite knowing that he had no reason to be angry. His stomach felt like fury and his fingers like knives, digging them into his palms, opening the flesh and gritting his teeth to stifle the pain.

"I have no fucking idea. But I saw it. I saw it too many times."

Matt leaned onto the bricks, resting his head on them. "I was fifteen when I first met the darkness. At first it was just my mind, this incessant pulling at me. And I couldn't ever get it to stop."

Noah pulled himself onto a pew, looking at his lap while he listened to Matt's story.

"And then, I mean, what happens next? What happens when you can't shake the dark? You just indulge. So I did. Pills, you know. I remember I'd zone out so hard I'd miss entire conversations, meetings, classes. I'd go to school and they'd slap a test in front of me and I couldn't even read the first question. I didn't care."

Matt walked over, sitting next to Noah. He ran a hand over his face, taking a breath before continuing.

"I can play violin and drums...like, really well. I wasn't in concert band at school, but I was in a band, and they wound up kicking my ass to the curb. I wasn't me anymore...and it wasn't pills anymore." His eyes welled up, clenching tight to stop the flow. He swallowed hard, his voice wavering.

"One night, I got home from some guy's house, couldn't tell you who, and the next thing I know, I'm laying on the garage floor. Fucking blue. Body like an icicle. And Vinny's sitting next to me, screaming for mom. He's got the house phone in his hand, crying so hard...I don't even think the dispatcher understood him. And I look over, and he's got his hand pressed to my arm, there's fucking barf just...and mom runs in, screaming, she's crying, turning me on my side. And I just see a needle, and blood, and vomit, and then nothing."

Noah sighed, his eyes wide, scrubbing his face with both hands. Matt held up a finger, gathering himself.

"When I woke up in the hospital, Vinny was sleeping in a chair, sitting up. Mom wasn't in the room. But something else was. I thought I was hallucinating, you know? But I wasn't. It just closed its hands around Vinny's face, and I tried to scream, I tried to move, but it was like I was stuck. Frozen in place. I just watched this darkness seep into him."

"It couldn't have been-"

"It was. I didn't even struggle in rehab. Didn't go through withdrawal. It was all just...gone. But I swear to you, I didn't know. I didn't know that what I saw was real," Matt started shaking, whimpering. Noah raised an eyebrow, slowly putting a hand on Matt's back.

“Do you think it’s my fault?”

**

Yes, like it’s my fault. Yes, like the sound of Jane’s whistle, like the sound of Vinny’s scream, yes, like the way we failed them. Yes, like the way they burn us, living in our veins, breathing tar and wax and boiling sludge into our lungs. Yes, it’s your fucking fault.

“No.”

Because he’s my friend, somehow, despite not knowing him. Despite the way he always shows up when I don’t want him. Because he’s the only thing I have, and that has to mean something.

I don’t know how to console people. Put your hand on their back, right, Like in movies and at funerals. I swear I have a scar in the shape of a collective handprint on my back from Jane’s funeral. How can you say sorry when you can’t form words? How can you say thank you when you don’t know what it means? God, I feel like I’m just treading water.

I wonder if Matt feels the same way. Maybe he never knows what to say to me, too. Nah, he has things together. He survived, which is better than I’m doing.

**

After a long silence, Matt pulled his coat on, yawning.

“Go home, Noah. Reconvene in a few days.”

He slipped out the door, walking into the rain.

** FOUR YEARS AGO **

“Now, would anyone like to share?”

The room was quiet, seven folding chairs circled around a small table with a rubber stress ball sitting on it. Six teenagers who had nothing to say, or who didn’t want to say it - one of them who, for the first time ever, sat with a smile on his face.

“I’ll go.”

Noah reached to the stress ball, tossing it in the air.

“Fantastic, Noah.We have yet to hear from you.”

“I don’t like talking about Jane very often. But today is our birthday.”

A young girl around fourteen peeked her head up and smiled. “Happy birthday, Noah and Jane!”

“Thanks, Anya.”

“What would you like to share with us?” Ripley asked, folding his hands over the round of his belly.

Noah shrugged, pondering. Anya perked up, straightening herself in her chair. “How about what she was like?”

Noah sighed, grinning. “She was so much fun. A real brat, but fun. Jane always knew the best games, she always took lead and gave everyone roles that actually fit them. Like, I could run, but I wasn’t a good kicker. So when we’d play kickball, she always said it was only fair if our friend Dan kicked the ball and I ran for him.”

“She sounds nice!” Anya said, chewing on the sleeve of her jacket. “My sister was always the leader, too.”

“She was nice. She was funny, too. She always had something sassy to say.”

“How old were you? You know…”

“Anya, is that very considerate to ask?” Ripley said, raising an eyebrow to her.

“I’m sorry, Noah.”

“It’s alright. We were eight.”

“It’s not very fair that you didn’t get to know her for long, is it? My sister was almost twenty when she died. I had my whole life to know her… You only had eight years.”

“Anya, please-”

“Really, doc. It’s all good. You’re right, it isn’t fair. I just try and keep in mind that while I didn’t have very long with her… We had a lot of memories. Those memories can’t ever run out, even if I remember them a hundred times. Because Jane is always in here,” he said, pointing to a space above his heart. “Our twin cradle.”

“That’s a load of shit.” A tall boy about Noah’s age piped up, rolling his eyes. “Nothing is in that twin cradle. Know why? Because she died. Her end of the cradle will always be empty.”

“David, I think you should apologize to Noah. It is not our place to correct someone or project our emotions onto them, especially when it comes to grief.”

“Why? I’m not sorry. Do you think my brother is in there? He died five years ago. Identical twins. Do I feel him? Not a chance. My twin space? Cold and empty, because he’s dead. Sitting around singing campfire songs isn’t going to help him come back. Noah, I thought you might be the only other person in this group that knew that. Guess I was wrong.”

“I’m trying to honor Jane and this is the only way I know how to, Dave. I don’t think this will bring her back…but I do think it’ll keep her memory alive.”

David scowled, crossing his arms. He stood up and walked out of the room, mumbling under his breath.

**PRESENT DAY**

“Go home, Noah. Reconvene in a few days.”

A few days…right.

I’m not leaving yet, I don’t really want to deal with what’s bound to be waiting for me at home. Home. Supposed to be warm, supposed to be safe. Have I ever had a place like that? Not since Jane. Maybe one day, that’ll change. Maybe I can create my own home. But for now? Sleep.

–

“Hey!” someone is whispering, loud, like they’re right in my ear. It’s so dark I can’t even see my hand outstreched in front of me, let alone anyone or anything else.

“Noah!”

“Who-”

“It’s me!”

A flicker, like a match being lit, far away. It’s like a small orb floating in the distance, but the voice is all around me. I guess I’m meant to follow it. I swear I’ve heard this voice before, I swear -

“I have to show you.” Vinny, reaching to touch my forehead, and it’s like a warm apple cider, tangy and sweet, filling my body, darkness going dim, light surrounding me.

I’m standing in a living room. What the hell?

“Vinny, go get your brother.”

It’s like time is jumping, skipping, warping, Matt’s mother walking by is more like a phantom, like a fast forward button, pausing briefly. Vinny runs out of his room, winter hat on his head, dancing down the hallway.

“Mattie!”

“I’m coming!” Matt’s younger, looks like he’s still in high school, two drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket. “Hey, wait, Vin! Got your lunch?”

Vinny turns, nodding, moving his arms like a worm as he wiggles out the front door. Matt’s mom is laughing, pulling him into a hug before he grabs his keys and leaves, too.

Things are rushing, like speed mode, distorted fragments of conversations like a boomerang around my head. And then it stops.

Vinny skips into another room, Matt’s voice comes from there, too. Guess that’s where I need to be.

“I’ll bring you whatever you want,” Matt’s saying, putting his same leather wallet into his jean pocket. “Skittles? Gushers? Dr. Pepper?” His room is weirdly clean for a teenager, but maybe that’s why he thinks I live in a dump.

“Okay. Can I sleep in here?”

“Why?”

Vinny shrugs. “Dunno. I like it more.”

“Are you having nightmares again?”

“Sometimes…but that’s not why I wanna sleep in here. Deal?”

“Deal. You sleep in here, you don’t mention that I’m out to mom or Pete.”

Matt grabs his keys and slides the window open, slinking out. You can hear him make his way down the gutter, jumping off with a thud.

Vinny runs out of the room, closing the door behind him. Now I guess I’m stuck in Matt’s room? I’m not corporeal. Vinny as I met him, again, standing in front of me. He’s pointing at the door, and it opens. He’s gone.

Things warp, time speeding up again, a loud bang breaks the jump. It’s so dark it’s hard to see. Where’s Vinny? His room? Empty. Matt’s room. He wanted to sleep there. But the door is closed? Sounds like…shuffling…in another room.

“No! No! Please don’t do this, please, I-”

But I can’t get there fast enough.There’s a man, Pete, I think - standing over Matt’s mother’s body, a single gunshot, and now..blood. So, so much fucking blood. For fucks sake, what?

Pete is storming out of the room, staring at himself in a mirror above the mantle. I can’t let him get Vinny.

Speaking of Vinny, he’s in the hall, opening the door before he’s gone again.

He’s hiding under Matt’s bed, stuffing papers into a panel on the floor. What is that? Not important. I have to find a way to get Vinny to safety. Come on, come on, I can’t get this fucking window open!

No, no, no, no, no, this can’t happen. Matt said it was the darkness that took Vinny, there’s no way - open, you fucker!

A glitch in time, seriously? Another bang. Vinny?

Oh my god. Oh my god.

–

*SIX YEARS AGO*

Matt gripped onto a window ledge, climbing his way up the gutter. He shoved the window open, jumping in through the window. The room is dark, the scent of metal in the air.

“Ew, what the hell?”

Matt clicked the side button on his phone, the light illuminating his face as he switched the flashlight on.

At the sight, he fell backwards, struggling to breathe. And then, after he caught his breath, he saw crimson against his eyes, not the blood on the walls or the floor, but rage, pure and unwavering, as he ran out of his room and to his mother’s.

A single gasp of terror, his head spinning, no trace of his step father amongst the remains of his mother and brother. And then the scent of sulfur, a boiling hot wave of fear, Matt holding himself up along the wall, finding Pete staring into the mirror above the mantle. All in a moment, Matt’s eyes widened, a shudder of a shake in his head.

“No…”

The reflection of his step father swirled in black, smoking tendrils crawling into his eyes and mouth, the sulfuric cloud making Matt choke as he stifled a gag. He watched Peter’s eyes glaze over as he raised his hand and - gone.

“Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.” Matt repeated, collapsing before rocking himself back and forth with his arms wrapped around his knees. “Gone.”

**

“See?” Vinny’s whispering to me, pointing under the bed. “I have to show you.”

I’m nodding, and then everything dissipates, leaving me in the dark again.

–

“Noah, wake up.”

Katai is standing over me, holding the sides of my face.

“Katai, I have so much to-”

“WAKE UP!”

**

Noah heaved awake, his eyes jolting to the altar, where Vinny’s phantom stood.

He approached him, kneeling to his height, tears welling in his eyes.

“Vinny, I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“Help him,” Vinny whispered, hugging Noah before fading, trickles of light left where he’d stood.

“How?”

A loud clank came from the west side of the church, Noah craned his neck to see the source of the sound. Matt lodged a chunk of wood against the door, looking up when he saw Noah.

“When did you get here?”

“What? I stayed the night when you left yesterday.”

“Noah..I haven’t been here in three days.”

**

Maybe I should be more concerned with having lost three days and wow, what the fuck? But I’m standing here, looking at Matt, the image of him finding Vinny burned into my head. I can’t believe I ever thought he didn’t know what he was talking about. I can’t believe I got so pissed off at him for not telling me.

Why the fuck am I like this? Hug him.

“You solid?”

Hug him. Say you’re sorry. Tell him you know. Hug him. Hug him.

“Noah? Is everything okay?”

And I’m hugging him, I can basically feel him looking at me like I’m fucking insane. Maybe I am. Maybe that’s exactly why we get each other.

**

Matt’s face turned in confusion, but after a second he just accepted it, hugging Noah back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Matt stepped back, rubbing his temples.

“What?”

“I didn’t mean that, I-” Noah turned away, slinking over to sit on the pew. “Hold on. It’s been three days?”

“Yeah, has it not been for you?”

“No, I just slept and woke up and now…Matt, what happened to your mom’s house?”

“What? Why?”

“This is going to sound bizarre, but please just…I’m sorry. About being such an asshole. I know what happened to Vinny, your mom…Pete. I know you found them. I know.”

“Noah-”

“We have to go back.”

“…To my mom’s? How did you even…Vinny. He told you, didn’t he?”

“He showed me. And yes, your mom’s. Do you trust me?”

“As much as I probably shouldn’t, yeah, I do.”

Noah pulled his jacket on, walking over to the door.

“Now?” Matt asked, buttoning his coat. Noah nodded, and with Matt leading the way, they walked into the night.

–

Turning onto the street, Matt pulled out a ring of keys, running his thumb over the teeth of one specifically.

“I don’t know why I kept it,” he said, turning his head for Noah to better hear him.

“I used to come here to feel closer to Vinny. Now…it’s just rust.”

“And cobwebs.” Noah added, shuffling his feet along the sidewalk.

“Yeah. Those too.”

Matt nodded toward an old house, shingles falling apart, more decrepit than Noah expected after seeing the inside. Time’s most tragic and beautiful gift. Decay.

Inside, moonlight washed over the coffee table, a harsh, lingering smell of mildew in the air. Everything remained as it was, apart from the mirror above the mantle, which was now shattered, pieces having rained across the floor. Matt noticed Noah’s pondering stare, rolling up his coat sleeve to reveal a scar along his knuckles. Noah nodded, understanding.

Turning toward the rooms, they both stopped short, a figure standing midway through the hallway. It was still, a mess of rot and dirt, like thick, webbed membrane, gray and dry.

“Ignore it,” Matt said, pulling Noah’s sleeve toward his old room.

“Right, ignore it.” Easier said than done.

**

The thing in the hallway growls as we pass it, almost like a threat. Good thing I don’t give a fuck about threats anymore.

Matt’s room looks exactly the same, only difference is the blood has been scrubbed away. I kneel down, reaching under the bed, but the panel is too far away.

“Help me push it?”

We shove the bed against the wall, Matt’s standing there watching me as I move the wood and grab a stack of papers. There’s also a bracelet, one of those plastic ones you braid together at camp or something, and a figurine of a dinosaur. I hold it out to Matt, but he just takes the dinosaur, almost starts to cry.

I toss the rest onto the bed, slowing sorting through papers, which mostly consisted of awards from school. 100% on a spelling test. Perfect attendance. Best Hall Monitor of the year. And then there’s a letter, and a folded up piece of construction paper.

I’ll open the letter first, read it out.

‘Dear Matteo aka Matt aka Mattie,

I can’t believe you’re already graduating high school. Then you’re gonna go to college, and you’re gonna move away. I hope I get your room! JK. I just want to say thanks for being the best big brother. You were always there for me, especially during the times where I didn’t feel like I was very smart or cool enough. Thanks for just listening. Thanks for being my brother. Maybe I don’t tell you enough but I really do love you. Good job graduating.

Love,

Your brother Vincenzo aka Vinny’

Matt is gripping the dinosaur, tears staining his cheeks, his chest shuddering with his breaths.

“Can I?” He’s asking, and I’m handing him the letter. Fuck. Of course he can.

Now I’ve got the construction paper in my hand, unfolding it. Jane used to make these fortune tellers with Ava, folding the paper like this one is. I wonder if all kids did this. Maybe it’s just an anomaly, just our siblings did it. Who knows.

It’s a scribbled crayon drawing of Vinny, standing on something? And next to him is a little girl, blue dress, long red hair. Are they….is this the church? This isn’t possible. This can’t be real. Matt’s looking over my shoulder, I can feel him breathing on my neck.

“What the fuck is this?!” I turn, shoving the paper at him, but he’s not there, he’s standing to the side of me, still crying with the letter clutched to his chest.

“What?” Matt says, I’m turning back to him, thrusting my arm over to hand him the paper.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. My head is full of pressure, like it’s about to pop and shatter like that god damn mirror. A loud screech, a jolt, the hallway figure appears in front of us and pins Matt to the wall, gripping his throat. Red and black burns appear under its fingers, Matt’s screaming in pain, but doesn’t look away. He’s staring straight into it, his face twisted like he’s just stared into the eye of Hell.

 I don’t know what to do, so I just -

“No! Jane, STOP!”

The figure turns, dropping him to the ground, cocks its head at me. It laughs, growls,

“It’s not Jane,” Matt chokes, trying to slide up the wall into a seated position. He’s doubled over, coughing up black ash, the figure crumbling into bone fragments and gray, lava like gooey shit.

“Who was it, Matt?!”

“Noah, I…it was you.”

•

Disclaimer : Characters I own are Matt Pivouz, Vinny Trovato, Lucia and Peter Trovato, Ula Santiago, Dr. Ripley, David, Anya, and Remy. I do not own the others. I’ve added a bit of a flare to them for the sake of this piece, but they do not belong to me.

Tag List : @teamtomsato @nuttatulipa @lovethemarshalltwins @europeanguy @spectrelier @breaumonts @fullbeaumonty @choicesatnight

[madfatty]

the careful and considered musings of an uncertain cupid - an mmfd fic #24

A million years ago I asked if anyone had a particular behind-the-scenes type of thing that they wanted to read and @i-dream-of-emus posed the following scenario:

What happens to Archie between Barney kissing him during Spin the Bottle, and the next morning, when Archie tells Rae that he is definitely gay? Does he spend any time with Barney or have any significant conversations with anyone else?

After much wailing and gnashing of teeth, it’s done. Whether I hit the brief on not is beyond my understanding at this point as I’ve lost all perspective and I’m just posting it out of sheer bloody-mindedness. As Barney will tell you, it’s now or bloody never.

It’s from Barney’s POV because it seemed to me he was the one who could best tell the story. Whether it’s the story you’re expecting, remains to be seen. In return for the telling, I’ve given him a surname and an Irish cousin.  

In spite of all my ungracious whining, my thanks go to @i-dream-of-emus for the truly interesting (and challenging) prompt and for the encouraging words, although I’m probably more the writing equivalent of a tortoise than a word warrior I very much appreciate the sentiment. Also, big squishy thanks to @bitchy-broken for the twice-over and the good advice.  

I apologise in advance to any Irish readers for my blatant inference that the Irish can, at times, perhaps be a little difficult to understand.

So, after an age and without further ado, I offer you, for the time being at least, the careful and considered musings of an uncertain cupid (no copyright infringement in the title for a change. I came up with that one one my own). Make use of it as you see fit.

Let us now draw a line under it and speak of it no more. I thank you xo

the careful and considered musings of an uncertain cupid

Midway through his approach, Barney started second-guessing his plan. Fuelled by three lagers and half a spliff, it had seemed as good an idea as any at the time, but the look of mild panic in Archie’s eyes as he swooped down on him gave Barney pause for thought. Archie’s immediate reluctance had Barney regretting his actions but with gritted teeth he leaned in to the kiss. There was no going back now, he’d committed, so he forged on, gripping Archie’s face firmly but gently and planted one on him.  There was no danger of tongues, which Barney was grateful for, and though rigid to begin with, Archie didn’t struggle and there might have been a slight puckering of lips towards the end there, which Barney decided to take as a positive sign.

In hindsight, he had to admit it may not have been the subtlest of moves, but short of walking up to Archie and asking him straight out if he was into guys, he couldn’t think of another way of sounding him out, so when the bottle landed on Arch, Barney saw his opportunity and went for it. Thinking about it now, Barney conceded he may have been overly convinced of his own snogging abilities to expect that with one kiss, Archie would be moved to suddenly declare himself gay in front of God and everyone, but that’s what three lagers and half a spliff can do for your confidence.

Bloody cousin Kit, it was all his fault. If he hadn’t been dragging his face around since he’d arrived in Stamford, Barney wouldn’t have felt the need to get involved.  After the beating he’d taken back home, it would have been sensible for him to steer well clear of any sort of… shenanigans for a while, at least until he was fully healed anyway, but no, after a kick-around with the lads last Sunday afternoon, Kit’s mood had brightened considerably, thanks to one Archie Spencer. Barney had spent the rest of the week facing a barrage of increasingly personal and unanswerable questions which included favourite colours and ice cream flavours, and the most often repeated, “Do you think he could be gay?”

+++

Barney gets to stand closer than most to the gang and while he’s not specifically looking for things, there’s stuff he can’t help but see. Like Chop; if Chop doesn’t get his head out of his arse soon and stop faffing about, he’s going to blow it with Izzy for good. It’s only the fact that he knows Izzy is completely besotted with the idiot that stops Barney from making a move on the redhead himself. She’s an absolute cracker and wasted on the likes of Chop Peters as far as he’s concerned, but the heart wants what it wants, he supposes, and there’s no accounting for taste.

Then there’s the two new girls who have recently made for interesting times. Their little group has become quite the sordid hot bed of hormones and longing. It’s like an episode of Eastenders most days.

After flirting with a number of lads, and some unsubstantiated rumours about a certain PE teacher, Chloe has finally set her sights on Finn. Not that it will get her anywhere, poor lass, because Finn’s got it bad for Rae, who’s either oblivious or just not interested.  It could be because she’s still carrying some more-than-friendly feelings for Archie. Who would know? You’d be forgiven for thinking they were a couple, what with all the whispering and giggling and wandering off to private corners to talk amongst themselves, but no, ‘just mates’, apparently.  

And not that he needs any sympathy from the likes of him, but Barney can’t help but spare a thought for Finn. With a pulling history unrivalled locally, he now finds himself on the sidelines, just like a regular bloke, looking on anxiously, biting his fingernails and biding his time, trying to figure out if he should make his move now or wait until his best friend decides once and for all  if he wants to call romantic first dibs on the girl he fancies. See? Eastenders.

Archie is a tough one though. Girls fancy him something rotten. There are always at least one or two sniffing around him at any given time.  Barney reckons it’s the specky-muso-sensitive-geek vibe Arch has going for him. But while Barney has seen him get off with various girls over the years, it very rarely lasts longer than a weekend at most and though many have tried, none have ever managed to attain girlfriend status.  

Whatever. They’re teenagers, nothing is supposed to last more than a week or two anyway, so it isn’t proof of anything. Other than the fact Archie always seems to have one eye on the door, like he’s counting down the days to a life beyond the rest of them, there is nothing that Barney can put his finger on that would indicate there is anything different about him.

Not that it’s any skin off Barney’s nose if Archie is gay. The way he sees it, it just means better odds for the rest of them. Theoretically. Plus, he’s a good guy is Arch, and Barney knows Kit would be in safe hands, even if it turns out that Archie isn’t. Gay.

+++

Kit’s doing his head in. Every time Barney turns around, he’s right there under his feet, big soulful eyes pleading and his palms pressed together. It’s so not fair. It’s a party for fuck’s sake. He’s supposed to be getting rat-arsed and trying to get off with girls, not playing matchmaker for his over-excited cousin. It’s becoming clear however, he’s not going to have a minute’s peace until he talks to Archie so, with a belly full of booze and a warped sense of familial loyalty, and without the first idea of what he’s going to say, or where a conversation like the one he thinks is going to take place will end up, he begins a circuit of the house, nicking two orphaned cans of premium lager from the sideboard on his way through and goes in search of his bespectacled mate.

+++

He’s not hard to find, sitting on his own in a quiet corner of the dining room, monitoring the slow demolition of Rae’s house with mild disinterest. Before he can think about it, Barney rolls his neck and shakes his arms out like a boxer and braces himself for whatever comes next.  

“Oi, Spencer,” He barks, causing Archie to blink up at him owlishly from behind his glasses. He hands him one of the cans and lowers himself to the floor, cross-legged, “you don’t fancy me now do you?”

“Nah. Sorry.” Despite his casual tone, Archie’s body language shifts immediately from the relaxed slouch he was wearing seconds ago to something tense and wary. He pops the lager open and slides back towards the French doors to put some distance between them when their knees bump.

“Yeah well, I only used one lip. Didn’t want to spoil you for everyone else.”

“Very thoughtful of you, Barney.”  Archie’s smile is tight and goes nowhere near his eyes.

“It’s probably for the best.” Barney sighs dramatically. “I’m a free spirit Arch; I can’t be tied down and I won’t be tamed.”

“I appreciate you letting me know.”  

“So, not in love then, but not traumatised either, eh?” asks Barney, hopefully.

“Only by your breath.”

“Hey!” Barney cups the hand that’s not holding his drink up to his mouth and breathes out, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “And noted.”

A longish, awkward silence follows, where Barney alternates between staring at his hands and nodding amiably at anyone who wanders past and Archie distractedly taps out, what sounds very much to Barney like Pulp’s ‘Do You Remember the First Time?’ on the side of his can with his fingernail. Halfway through the second verse, Archie huffs and stands, looking around the room for somewhere else to be.

“Well,” he drawls, “It’s been nice chatting with you Barney, as always.”

If Barney’s really going to do this, it’s now or bloody never.

“Wait!” Barney grabs at Archie’s wrist and pulls him back down to the floor. “It’s just… some fellas would have freaked out about it, yeah? Would have thought it was gross. Being kissed by a lad. But you didn’t. You took it like a pro.” He blurts out.  

Well shit, that had sounded less… judgy in his head. He’d been aiming for casual; sort of man-of-the-world, sophisticated but it definitely didn’t have any of that. On reflection, a practice run might have been the way to go, or at least waiting until he had a fully formed thought about what he was going to say before he started. His tone could probably use some work too because Archie looks like he’s been slapped. Barney wishes he could take it all back and start again.

“You kissed me, remember?” There’s something tense and fearful in Archie’s eyes. And hurt. Which is the worst part.  He doesn’t look away though.

Maybe Barney has the answer to Kit’s question but at what cost? The hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach proves once and for all what he’d already suspected, that it’s none of his business and it really doesn’t matter either way. What does matter is Archie, and not hurting his feelings.  Kit will be gone in a couple of weeks, but Barney will still be here and so will Archie. He needs to fix this.

“I know, I know. Look, I didn’t mean… I just meant that you were cool about it and that’s really… cool.” Jesus, he mutters under his breath, could I be any more pathetic? There’s a moment when he think there’s a real possibility he could go blind, his eyes have rolled so far back in his head. “I mean, It’s no big deal, is it? Two lads kissing. Plenty of people… lads do it so, it’s not like it’s weird or anything. At all. Not normal but… well, not ‘not’ normal, ‘normal’s’ not the right word, not… usual. Different is what I meant.  But it’s okay, is what I’m saying….”  Thankfully God or someone of a similar pay grade intervenes before it gets any worse and he’s able to hit the pause button on his verbal incontinence. That’s right, Barney-boy. Put the shovel down. The hole’s big enough.  

“I need to stop talking for a bit.” Barney lets his head fall between his knees while he tries to pull some much needed air into his lungs. From his current position he is spared the rich tapestry of facial tics and expressions that accompany the rapid flow of emotions currently coursing through his friend as he tries to process what’s just been said.

“I think that would be best.”

Eventually, after another silence, not quite as long but far more awkward than the previous one Archie says, “That was very enlightened of you, mate.”

“Thanks.” Whispers Barney, still quietly trying to assess the damage. He forces himself to unfold, leaning forward and lower so he can look Archie in the eye. “Are we good though, you and me? I’m good,” he says earnestly, his hand splayed across his chest, “and I just want to know that you’re good too. That it’s all… good.” His other hand lands on Archie’s forearm and before he can stop himself he gives it what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze. Judging by the look on Archie’s face, this maybe a step too far.  

“Jesus, don’t start that again, Barney, for fuck’s sake.”  Archie groans, shaking him off.  

“Right. Sorry.” Please God, let him not have fucked this up. Lesson learnt. Kit can get his own bloody boyfriends in future.  

“It’s alright. There’s no harm done.” Archie sighs, draining his drink and stacking it neatly with the other empties he’s got stashed behind the French door curtains. Archie’s got quite the collection going.

“Good. Sorry. I mean, excellent.”  Barney thinks now would be a good time to take a break from all the weirdness; go for a walk, find a drink, maybe bang his head against a brick wall outside for a bit. Archie seems to have the same idea.

He stands and stretches out, reconnoitres the room. Without warning, he drops back to the floor next to Barney like someone just switched off gravity. None too subtly, he leans over and mutters from the side of his mouth into Barney’s ear.

“Don’t look now, but there’s a strange guy watching us from the kitchen.”  

“What? Where?”  He doesn’t have to turn around to know who Archie’s talking about, but he makes a show of looking anyway.  Kit startles, deer-in-the-headlights fashion, at being caught staring and swiftly ducks behind the doorway out of view. Not two seconds later he’s back, well, half of him anyway, peeking out around the corner. It’d be hilarious if they weren’t actually related.  

“Didn’t I say ‘don’t look now’?” Archie hisses, punching Barney on the shoulder, rather hard.

“Ow. Easy.  D’you mean that long streak of piss over my shoulder? The one trying to look like he’s not at all interested in what’s being said over here?”

Archie’s voice is slightly higher than normal when he answers.

“The er, tall guy, black hair, kind of…” Archie doesn’t finish the thought.  His cheeks colour and he dips his head to hide it. “I think he was at the park the other day.”

“That’s my cousin, Kit.  He’s staying at ours over the holidays.”  

“What happened to his face?”

Barney hesitates. He doesn’t want to lie to Archie but it isn’t his story to tell. “Couple of guys where he’s from thought they had a say in who he could and couldn’t hang out with.”

“That’s horrible.”

He thinks about Kit’s face when he first arrived in Stamford, the ugly patchwork of yellow and purple and how he wouldn’t leave the house for the first three days. Horrible doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Yeah, it was, but he’s on the mend now.” He watches Archie watching Kit with a look of genuine concern. The longer it goes on, the softer Archie’s gaze becomes, until it’s something else entirely. Eventually he seems to remember himself and looks away nervously. Barney’s blushing almost as hotly as Archie when he decides. He may have only just finished promising God that he’s not going to interfere, but if it turns out Archie’s interested on his own, surely introducing them wouldn’t be considered interfering. It’s just good manners.  

“Hey, you couldn’t do me a favour could you Arch? Could I maybe leave him with you for a bit?”

“You want me to babysit? Why? Is there something wrong with him?”

“Of course there‘s something fucking wrong with him! Look at him, he’s daft as a brush, darting in and out like some whack-a-mole at a fun fair,” is what Barney wants to say, but it would defeat the purpose so he adopts an affronted tone and blusters,

“Of course there’s nothing wrong with him! Why would you ask that for fuck’s sake?”

“Well, you’re acting like his mum or something, trying to get us to play together. Why can’t he make friends on his own?”

“He’s shy, is all. Please Arch, he’s slowing me down, with the ladies, you know?”

“Slowing you down, or showing you up?” Archie’s always fancied himself a bit of a comedian and Barney’s always seen it as his duty to remind him otherwise, but he’ll tolerate the smirk and the raised eyebrows this one time for the sake of his cause. No one can say that Barney Maguire isn’t a team player.

“Oi!  Rude. And a little bit hurtful. Oh come on, be a pal.” Barney whines. “I can hardly leave him with the likes of Charlie or Mick or any of those tossers now, can I? He’d end up on Crimewatch for driving the getaway car and me ma’d crease me.”

“So what you’re saying is you can leave him with me because I’m boring.”

Barney hasn’t had nearly enough to drink for all this. Matchmaking sucks. There’s too much thinking you have to do and it’s all about other people. He doesn’t even put this much effort in to trying to get his own dates.

“Look, I just think you’d get on, alright?” he tells Archie. “He likes football and sci-fi movies and all that mopey, indie crap you call music. He’s into boring books about the olden days and that weird Goth comic-thing you’re always reading.” He stops himself before he mentions the piano playing and the competitive swimming, afraid he may have over-egged the pudding already. Barney had no idea that he knew so much about either of them.  It’s a little disconcerting.

“I dunno, Barn…” Archie bares the posture of the overwhelmed. He’s all wrapped around himself, knees drawn up tight to his chest, face pressed into his thighs. If he starts rocking, Barney’s not sure that he knows what to do.  

This was too big a job for the likes of him, he can see that now. This emotional stuff is draining, and it’s starting to give him a headache. What made him think he had the first clue about getting two people together when he can’t even manage to find someone for himself? Archie’s clearly not into it, which would strongly indicate that Archie’s not even gay, so all this self-humiliation has all been for nothing. It’s the first and last time he involves himself in someone else’s love life, that’s for sure.

He doesn’t know what else to do. It just seems a shame, is all. God, he needs drink.

“You know what? You’re right. Forget about it.” He sighs, holding his lager to his lips and up-ending it hopefully. Empty. Of course it is. “You’re a good guy, Arch and you always treat people decent but I shouldn’t have asked. Kit’s not your problem.”  

There’s a muffled groan and almost a whole minute of what sounds like an intense solo debate. Barney can’t make any of it out as it’s delivered directly into Archie’s lap.  With a deep sigh of resignation, Archie turns to face him, cheek still resting on his leg. “Go on then.” He huffs.

“Huh?”

“I’ll babysit.”

“You will?” Barney squeaks, his face nearly splitting in two with delight before he sobers. He drops his voice back to its normal octave as he raises his hands in conciliation. “You don’t have to.”

Archie actually growls. “So help me Barney, I will punch you right in your stupid face…”

“Okay, okay.’ Still waving his hands about. “Did I say he was Irish? I only mention it because you may not understand most of what he’s saying. I’m related to him and I still have no idea what he’s on about most of the time.”

Barney concedes this may be a discussion best left to another time if Archie’s glare is anything to go by.

“I’m going to send him over now, alright Arch?”

Archie swallows nervously. “Alright.”

Barney grins, and slaps Archie good-naturedly, if not a little too enthusiastically, on the arm. “Good man.”  Barney stands and waves Kit over from where he’s been lurking. Before he walks away, Barney turns and stage whispers, “Remember, don’t make fun of his accent.”

He watches the tall scruffy Irish boy make his way over, self-consciously running a hand through his hair, straightening his shirt. He wonders what Archie’s face is doing but doesn’t dare turn around to find out. He thinks it must be encouraging at least because Kit’s smile keeps growing exponentially wider.

“Calm the fuck down, and whatever happens, don’t feel you need to share, yeah? We need never speak of it again.”  Barney growls as he passes him on his way into the kitchen. His cousin barely acknowledges him with a slight shift of his fingers and ups his pace. He’s moving so fast Barney’s afraid that Kit is going to trip over his remarkably big feet and land in an ungainly pile of over-sharp knees and elbows on the object of his affection.  Miraculously, when he comes to a full and sudden stop, Kit manages to stay upright and Archie appears unscathed.  

Kit’s still beaming as Archie extends his hand and says, “Hi, I’m Archie.”

Archie’s looking pretty pleased too. Barney wouldn’t say there were sparks exactly, but something seems to be happening. He lingers for a moment like an anxious parent, just to make sure everything’s okay and then wanders off in the direction of another drink. If he’s lucky, he’ll cross paths with some young lovely who hasn’t yet alleviated her post-spin-the-bottle disappointment with someone else. He’ll be properly pissed off if the only one in the family getting any tonight is Kit.

Playing Cupid to his gay cousin and his possibly gay mate from college would no doubt score points with soft hearted, romantically inclined girls, but it might take a little more to convince the fellas, so it’s not a story he’ll be relying on any time soon. Barney Maguire is nothing if not discreet.

The things you do for family he thinks, as he smooths a sweaty hand over his hair and goes in search of Anna Harris.

[cortex-reaver]

Chapter 63: Jailbreak Prep

Warnings: language, cyberspace surreality

Masterpost

Been a while. I’ve had this with a 15-plus chapter buffer sitting on my hard-drive for a while. Just now starting to get back into things again.

Chapter 63: Jailbreak Prep

Warnings: drugs, language, cyberpunk horror-ish mention

Hacker stared morosely at the Cortieball in his lap, gently running one hand along its surface. Cortie's gaze darted around uneasily as she contemplated the psychological clusterfuck that would be his rescue mission.

He sighed.

A clatter interrupted his reverie. He glanced up to see the Stooges shuffling in to watch the goings-on. He waved half-heartedly.

“You think you guys could give me a quick Reaver c-space tutorial?” he asked tiredly. “I took a look in local c-space already and it's nuts. Also there might be some monitors out there. I noticed a couple floating skulls like the old-time Reavers”--

Moe: Dude that was us. Didn't you see the glitch art?

Larry: DUDE I had the whole Pirate Pixels hack going. BOOYAH.

Moe: C-space here is WICKED SICK!  You're gonna love it. Well once you're over the whole neon overload shitfest. It uh, takes some adjusting.

The Stooges grinned in perfect unison, letting out little burbling moans. Hacker blinked. Then blinked again. Cortie giggled from his lap.

“No wonder you didn't freak out when we showed up at the door, huh? Okay then. Anything I need to know?”

Larry: Bottomless 1-ups. Seriously. Infinite c-space reloads. Get zapped, come back pronto.

Moe: You're still gonna feel those hits, but they're just not gonna wear you down. You've got a big-ass machine, CPU and all, sprouting outta your brain. So you can take 'em better.

Curly: You also got a deeper health pool. Like, triple cuz of the cyberware. AKA: More hitpoints. I mean, from the gamer perspective....

“Nice. Now I just gotta brace for the incoming Berserker trip dipped in acid and Stam-Up then,” Hacker muttered, then fished in his armor's pockets. “Pretty sure I got a patch in here somewhere.”

Larry moved forward, waving their hands to catch Hacker's attention. He glanced up in surprise at the Reaver's wicked grin.

Larry: Nawww you're not gonna need that. Our rigs feed us the pharma shit. Yours probably does too. Just look for a Stam-Up option in the menus.

Moe: DUDE do you reaaaaally wanna enable him?

Curly: Do you seriously NOT want to enable him? We're in SHITFUCK CENTRAL here. Better he know where to get his Stam-Up NOW before he needs it. Cause we just TOLD him about the health rundown, 'member? Not as fast, but it's still gonna happen. Specially with SHODAN-flavored c-space shit.

Moe: Good point, bro. Good point.

Dazed, Hacker checked his menus.

Sure enough, there was a pharmaceutical menu with such a long list of assorted drugs to replicate for his body. He knew only half of them. Fortunately he recognized the Stam-Up option, and cackled softly.

Moe: Don't forget the Genius stuff. We get those by default whenever we go into c-space. Probably why you got back out as fast as you did. Helps with the fast reloads. Annnd you're gonna want a double-dose to start.

Hacker: Oh yeah right. Lemme just turn both of those on...

“Permanent life-time supply of Stam-Up,” he said in wonderment as his new Reaver frame promptly began feeding his body a moderate dose of both drugs. The world felt brighter, crisper, even more saturated now. He grinned.

“If I'd known a Reaver rig could do this”--

“WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU TELL HIM THAT?!” Goggles yelled in exasperation.

All three Reavers backed up. Slightly. They shot her offended looks, folding ther arms.

Larry: He's gonna need it! Specially Genius. Dude's not used to the c-space here.

Curly: C'mon, you don't know how SHODAN is in c-space. We heard plenty from the Cerberus guys here. He's going up against all her crazy-ass shit.

Moe: HE'S TOTALLY GONNA NEED IT OKAY? This IS SHODAN we’re talking about here--

“I'm gonna stop you right there,” Goggles let out a low growl as she clapped a hand to her face, then dragged it down to stretch out her skin. “I've fought SHODAN in an FTL warp that turned c-space into fucking reality. I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“SHe d-dOesSS,” SHObeta hissed.

“AnNd he WiLL neED aLl the Help he Can gET,” Cortie spoke up.

Goggles sighed, then held up her hands as she backed away.

“Okay. Fine. Ignore the sensible voice in the room.”

“All right, anything else before I go in there to break Cortie out?” Hacker asked the Stooges.

“MiND yoUR RanGE,” Cortie interrupted softly. “YoU Will KNow whaAT I meaAN. I am UNabLE to SPeaK theEEr-r-E, so I wiLl w-waRn yoU nOOW. I suSPect The SUper-ReaAVer-r-rRs kneW how To bYpasS it. It wAs the ONly DeFEnSE I haD RuNNinG TheEEe-RE.”

Hacker froze, his entire Reaver rig raising abruptly.

“You kept...that system?”

“HOw DO yOU thiNK I PuLled mY ForRK out of RebeCCA's boDY?” she asked so pointedly that SHObeta flinched.

Goggles and Hacker could only stare.

The soldier dug into one pocket, and pried out a large black bandanna, and passed it to Hacker. Only then did he realize he'd broken into a sweat his new Reaver technology couldn't counter. He gratefully took it and dabbed at his face.

Cortie drooped inside the ball, her eyes wide and sad.

“I wouLd Not be ABle to StoP thE neuRaL RoOTKit if tHe ProtoCols actiVAte it,” she whispered, her eyes welling with glittering digital tears. “P-p-p-pLeASe...s-t-t-taAY saAFe.”

“Y-yeah. Okay. N-no problem,” Hacker squeaked out. “But it's being run by an ethics program, right? That limits the kinda commands it's gonna try running on my brain...r-right?”

Cortie blinked.

“What's the worst a neural rootkit run by an ethics program gonna do, paralyze him?” Goggles asked, surprised.

“I...w-w-wOUld raTher-r-r NOt KNoOW,” she whispered. “JuusSt StaY s-s-saFE.”

“R-right.”

He closed his eyes, blocking out all his various inputs as he settled himself back on the regenerator room's floor. He settled into a nice comfy cross-legged position, and put Cortieball securely in his lap.

He tried to replicate the search for the Visible Spectrum View. Two tries flavored by constant mental cussing later, he finally found the C-SPACE ENTRY button he'd missed in his earlier fumbling.

Cyberspace bloomed in his mind, all neon outlines and utter blackness beyond. As he squinted in the new landscape, he spotted distant shapes in the darkness past the glowing walls of his immediate area.

Three large pixilated skulls hovered in front of him. One sported an equally pixilated eyepatch, while the other had animated red-and-blue flames playing across its face. The third gleamed a brilliant silver which rippled lazily from gunmetal gray to dazzling platinum.

Hacker recognized them as the ones he'd seen earlier. Then he wondered how he'd assumed they were hostiles when they looked like flying retro-ware hacker icons instead of Citadel programs. He mentally shook his head. His brain's been through a lot right now. Best to forgive and move on.

Moe: Yo.

Curly: DUUUDE that is a sick-ass avatar.

Larry: DAAAAAAMN man that makes me look like a sad troll.

Hacker: Oh? What do I look like?

The pirate-decorated skull spat out a gleaming metallic mirror which unfolded, then floated to hang between it and Hacker. He stared at it, then reeled backwards while screaming in horror.

He looked like a hyper-realistic neon green skull, complete with glittering fractal-covered orbs for eyes, and crackling lines of energy for teeth.

“WHAUGH!”

He blinked as the regen room swam into view in front of him. He glanced about wildly as Goggles eyed him quizzically.

“Dude, you okay?”

All three Reavers burbled mischievously. Hacker quickly rearranged his disarrayed Super-Reaver limbs back around him, and forced himself to settle down. Cortie stared up at him with confusion.

“Eh, not a big deal. I just...”

Larry: Little avatar shock heh heh heh.

Moe: I guess skulls aren't your thing huh?

Hacker shot the Stooge an irritated glare as he straightened. Goggles snickered as she realized what the Stooges meant, shaking her head with a lopsided grin.

“Big bad Super-Reaver scared of his own face,” he heard her mutter.

He flipped her the bird. She folded her arms while still chuckling. He rolled his eyes, then turned to the Stooges.

“I can change that, right? Is there a menu for those kinda things?”

Moe: Oh yeah sure it's probably the same on your stuff as ours. Look for Avatar Customization. You could prolly set it back to your old c-space avatar. Go to the menus before coming back, ok?

Hacker: Okay, will do.

Moments later, he found the menu he'd been looking for, and plowed into the customization options. Another few moments got him a decent replica of his old c-space avatar – a copy of his younger self's appearance with simplified polygons making up its shape. It was very in with the pixel-rave style at the time of Citadel, something he remained fond of even when it was forty years out of date.

Once he was sure he had his appearance the way he wanted it, Hacker returned to cyberspace.

The skulls looked him up and down, then nodded in unison.

Moe: Totally you, dude.

Larry: Yo Hacker, welcome back. Smart move going with your old Citadel look.

Curly: Oooh likin' the whole pixel-retro getup there. Sweet.

Hacker: Thanks. Suprised you guys even remember that interview I showed it in. Some things...eh...back to business. So where are we? Local regen-room c-space or a junction?

Hacker peered about the room. The walls here glowed from deep blue-green grid, rippling with lines of energy and code. One set of green lines pulsed horizontally from the left to the right, while a set of blue lines pulsed vertically from top to bottom. Code streamed along the lines here and there, sparking blue and purple pixels where they intersected. Beyond them lay a rippling black nothingness, which was a real feat of virtual rendering - he registered it as both a squirming solid surface and a complete utter void.

A quick scan with his software told him the walls were made of a super-dense, multi-layered ICE that would require considerable time and processing power to crack. It was the cyberspace equivalent of bending a black hole into the shape of a room. No signals got out past it, and no signals got inside.

Moe: Actually, both. It's the Med room but Cortie stuck a junction in for us. Asked us to monitor it for her. Keep out any skeeveware or whatever else her bitchzilla fork stuck in the station. As for the room? It's rigged as a Max-Sec Area surrounded by sickass ICE walls. Cortie's stuff.

Curly: It's wicked strong. She also put in in this network of high-end EMF blockers, so no signals get in or out of the area. You basically walk inside and you don't exist, as far as the station cares. Might as well be a Faraday Cage. Cept a Faraday Cage is like, Stone Age shit compared to this.

Larry: The defense perimeter is ten meters in all directions past the doorway. She took out all the cameras between the elevator and here to help with that. So the station and by extension, Crazyfork, doesn't know what you've been doing with a dead Super-Reaver. Heh heh heh.

Curly: OK back to the present, kids. Look to your left, Hacker. That's all the regenerator systems. You'll see the other operations systems as little diamonds around the room. They'll shoot data around here and there. Don't interrupt 'em. They'll bork up systems in the room if they don't get their bits and bytes.

Larry: You got into the junction when you popped in the first time cause you were just outside the doorway and inside the perimeter. So long as you're in the perimeter or in the room, you'll pop up in here whenever you reload. Got all that?

Hacker: With you so far.

Larry: If you go outside of all this, you ain't popping up here, and well, I'm not gonna speculate on that. Cause FUBARDAN.

Hacker: Oh. Thanks.

He turned to face four large glowing green wireframe boxes lined in a row. Within them moved dozens of shapes resembling bones or organs made up of very tiny flickering pixels. They floated in groups, resembling stacks of Tetris blocks coming together in lines as the regenerators went through their restorative work. Once the icon of an organ or other biological system turned from red, through yellow, and finally green, it dropped from the top of the box into orderly rows of green items at its bottom.

One box had more green icons piled at its bottom than the other, with a timer indicating sufficient cycles to equal roughly fifteen minutes. Judging from the patient picture plastered across one of the box's walls in bright black-and-yellow, Hacker guessed he was looking at Rebecca's regenerator. The other three boxes indicated bodies in worse shape – particularly the one for Suzi.

Not too different from the other regenerator icons I've seen...hmm...basically just higher-resolution, and higher complexity to match. Hokay. Making more sense here now.

Nodding to himself, Hacker did a slow 180-degree turn. Now that he had a better sense of how this higher-resolution c-space worked, he could figure out what everything was.

He quickly recognized the assorted software and data-input icons for the replicator hovering in an orderly multi-colored sphere to one corner. Then he spotted the flat blue-gray diamond shapes of the local systems icons – life-support, lighting, temperature control, gravity, and the doorway. Indicators glittered and flashed from their surfaces in shades of red, yellow, and green. Data, arranged in lines of bright geometric icons, flicked between them in orderly rows of pixels zipping across the room's c-space.

The systems' indicators were mostly green, except for a haphazard flicker between red and orange glowing from the doorway's diamond. Data sputtered erratically from it to the other systems. An error icon blinked above it, indicating some sort of software conflict with the outer doorway mainframe in the station. He was too far away to read its message to be sure.

Then came a familiar sight hovering in the empty space between the regenerators' systems and the replicator's.

A familiar cone, twice the size of his c-space avatar, drifted lazily near him. Its smooth  surface shone a dark gray covered in tidy blue and gray lines. A staticky face stared at him from its flat circular top, its eyes wide with horror. Unlike SHODAN's avatar from Citadel's cyberspace, this cone didn't have the curving tentacles along its top at quarter-intervals. Nor did it emit SHODAN's characteristic green glow.

Hacker: Damn, Cortie. You're definitely locked down. Oh. Right, you can't talk. S-sorry.

He watched as the cone continued its slow floating trajectory, nearly bouncing off a flitting data icon racing between a regenerator and the replicator. Its face flicked through several expressions – horror, anger, sadness, hopefulness, and then sadness again.

He glanced to his cyberspace weapons menu, noting that a Super-Reaver had a lot more options than he ever did on Citadel. Pulsers. Megapulsers. Rapid-fire virus projectiles. Energy beams for weakening ICE shields. ICE picks, even.

Between his loadout and his Super-Reaver capabilities, Hacker would likely survive whatever battering Cortie's ethics systems put him through long enough to get her free. The problem was more how close he'd have to get to Cortie to send that code to her.

Hacker: Okay guys. If I get close to her, the ethics params are gonna pick me up as an intruder and start shooting. My range on the filesend is about the same as her brain-rootkit system, so I'm gonna have to chance it on the range to get null.ethic to her.

Moe: Right.

Hacker: Fan out and try to keep any projectiles or shit from hitting regenerator systems. It's gonna get ugly real quick in here.

Larry: Gotcha.

Moe: Good idea, that.

Curly: We'll back you up if you need it.

Well, here goes nothing.

Hacker headed towards the tumbling cone, pulsers at the ready.

Intruder detected. No Tri-Optimum authorizations activated. Security systems online, spoke a familiar voice – SHODAN's flat pre-hack voice – as the ethics systems' ICE suddenly activated.  A glowing blue bubble popped into existence, encapsulating Cortie's cone.

Hacker: Figures. Let's see if I can punch a hole in that...

Hacker opened fire with both the pulser in one hand while holding an ICE pick in the other.

[charactersadvocatechimata]

Law of Life: Redheads are Absolute 13

Tony was stilled pissed at him. Why was Tony still pissed at him? Jarvis wasn’t too happy with him either and kept giving him the look. The British Butler Glance of Utter Disappointment. Here’s hoping the Butler didn’t teach Tony that look. That would not end well for anyone. More importantly, it would not end well for Howard. Probably won’t end well for the grandkids either. But their young, they will survive.

“Left hallway or identical right hallway? Left is Tony’s side of the mansion.”

Second question: Why was Rogers avoiding him? And more stupidly, why was Rogers avoiding Peggy’s calls? He didn’t die in the ice like planned. Big deal. Howard knew he wasn’t dead. Obviously. Steve should have known that. Because Steve should have known, he should have planned to deal with the changed world, i.e. the future. Does he blame Howard for waking up in the future? Probably. Dumbass is stuck now. Should suck it up and join SHIELD already.

“Annoying Anthony sounds good.”

Why was he wandering the halls like an old person who lost his mind and got confused whenever his grandkids came by? Why? Usually, he would work in the lab, but it hasn’t been the same. Not since Maria died. Not since he created Stark Industries. Really it was watching Tony’s love of engineering bear fruit.

“So I shall annoy Anthony and blame it on my age.”

“No.”

Howard blinks. He curves his body back and stares at the plain plaster ceiling. Maybe he should paint it pink for shits and giggles. When he leans forward, Winter is still there acting as a sentry for Anthony’s room. Not that Howard expecting him to disappear. This time. But he needs something to distract him from the ghost wandering these long halls with him. And this particular ghost he can talk to, and nobody will think he is crazy.

“Winter why are you here and not somewhere else?”

“Cause.” Winter shrugs.

Howard wished the ghost had said more, but Winter hardly spoke much in front of him. Anthony insisted that Barnes could hold actual conversation with multiple syllable words even. But this insistence of tight lips seemed different than Howard’s usually interaction with the man. His dead expression appeared sad. As much as someone with no emotions could seem sad.

“So why are here and not with Steve? I remember you two being welded together back in the golden days.”

“There is your answer right there.”

“What? You’re not besties anymore.”

Winter finally looks him in the eye. Apparently having something important to say. “Bucky Barnes is dead.”

And yet his mouth spews crap. Lovely. “Bullshit. You are fucking alive with most of your memories kind of intact. All you’ve done is change. Well news flash. After what Steve has gone thru, he is a different man too. Both of you need take a page from Pegs’ book and deal with your bloody shit. You especially.” Howard pauses making sure he had his attention. “If you are serious about showing Anthony you are mate material. Or does my Son mean nothing-”

Howard doesn’t even get to finish his thought, Alphas really, when he feels pain spike along his back. Conclusion, Barnes shoved him into the wall using his cheating super speed. Cheater. The arm pushed against Howard’s throat isn’t very polite either.

“Mine. My mate.” Winter growls and his eyes flash. Of course, that could be a hallucination from the lack of oxygen. Who knows.

Howard smacks the arm and makes his ‘I’m Howard Fucking Stark face’ so the almighty Alpha would release him. Instead, what he got was a less pressure from the arm, but he was still very much against the wall. Really what will the children think? “Yeah? But Anthony is not gonna mate no coward. Have you met my Son? He has a heart of gold and a will of iron.”

That seems to get through Barnes thick skull because he finally released Howard from his death grip. Finally. But now the sad is coming in full force with a- gasp- sad puppy eyes. God Howard did not sign up for any of this shit. He can’t drool over Steve’s abs or waist anymore without feeling like a creeper. The humanity!

“Bucky is dead. And I’m scared I’ll die so he can come back.”

Did Howard mention he was not paid for this because he was not getting paid for this. Damn Maria for turning him into an honest woman who can’t drool over men who are half his age. He missed her all the time. But damn her too. “I am going to pretend I am a real person for a moment and give you some advice. Bucky, the Winter Soldier, and Winter Wolf are not three separate entities living or dying in one body. They are all you, just a you that changed and grew for better and worse. Humans are like that. Growing and changing and learning and collecting new perspectives. Only when that stops, does that mean you are dead. You meeting Steve again is not going to erase the last seventy years anymore than Hydra erased your time as Bucky Barnes BFF of one Steve Rogers. Okay?”

“Bucky is supposed to be better.”

“No. Bucky is supposed to be human. And being human includes the good and the bad.” Howard smiles. Tries to do that happy vibe thing that Omega’s are supposed to be able to do. Not sure if it’s working, but Winter does appear less sad. God. This whole situation makes him feel old. Old and tired.

“Bucky?” So Barnes isn’t the only super soldier that has learnt the ‘Speak of the devil’ teleportation power. Whee!

“Steve, why the fuck are you here?” Howard is trying to rub the tired from his eyes. Worked when Maria did it.

“I’m looking for Tony.”

Oh. My. Fuck. Please, no more telenovela drama. Just because Mrs. Jarvis loved the stuff doesn’t mean it should become his reality. Just no. Potts has a had a hand in this. Didn’t Anthony mention she had reality warping powers? “Steve, why are you looking for Anthony?”

“He is umm-” Steve face reddens a bit and peeks shyly through his lashes. “He’s going to take me shopping. Show me the wonders of the future. Isn’t that swell?” He beams.

Howard can literally feel a chill behind him. Like Serbia has taken residence behind him and is just waiting for an opportunity to take down Steve. Oblivious Fool. “Steve I say this with the utmost fear of a certain individual. But Anthony is spoken for.”  

Steve shrugs and smirks. “He isn’t mated, so he hasn’t made a decision yet.”

And Barnes leaps through the air growling, loudly, tackling Steve to the ground. Howard is sure he heard floorboards crack. Not to mention the increasing damage to the hallway from all the rolling around and smashing into walls. There is a crash from a painting falling. There is more growling from both Alphas now. SO Howard, the genius that he is, takes a step back. Then three more steps just for good measure.

Their both growling now, in that way Alphas do, that Howard suspects are some form of communication. Not that Howard understands anything. He wished Peggy was here to translate and make bets. Maybe stop the two before serious damage is dealt. Definitely going to pull the security feed and turn it into a home movie for her birthday.

Barnes finally manages to get Steve’s arms pinned behind him with a blade at his throat. “Mine. My mate.”

“You both realize that my son is a strong, very independant Omega, trained by Carter who does not appreciate Alphas fighting over him like his a trophy to be won. Now, me personally, I love that caveman act. Fell in love with Maria when she single handedly took down two other Alpha who were bothering me and wouldn’t didn’t have basic language skills like understanding the word no. But then she also apologize for stepping in when I hadn’t asked for help. Of course, she then made that sexy growl noise you Alphas make. God she was perfect.”

Barnes huffs, smacking Steve’s head into the floor and gives him the middle finger. Holding the finger very deliberately in Steve’s face. Mouthing something before disappearing like the ghost he is. Steve nimble rolls to his feet like a gold medalist. Not that Howard was jealous. Although-

“Why are you smiling? He gave you the finger before disappearing assassin style.”

“He called me Punk.”

“So?”

“So we’re good.”

“Right. I forgot how crazy you are.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“Just stay away from Anthony.”

“Now Howard, do you prefer Bucky to me as a son-in-law?”

“Yup. And don’t you forget.”

First||Prev||Next

[adambstingus]

How Sex Obsessed Culture Can Ruin Men’s Idea Of Sex

One thing that’s always bothered me is the weird-ass way that modern society sets up sex as its biggest selling point, while at the same time making its audience feel completely inadequate. I’m not just talking about marketing. Our entire culture is built upon that foundation, and it’s like watching a cannibal eating himself from the feet up. “You are woefully repulsive. But you don’t have to be! Buy our product, adopt our philosophy, join our cause.”

This subject is usually presented as a massive problem for women, and it absolutely is, but it’s often assumed that men are immune to its negative effects. I’m not trying to downplay or demean the hardships that women go through where this subject is concerned — I personally believe they have it exponentially harder than men in this area. Women don’t need or want one of the biggest issues in their lives “mansplained” to them. I just happen to relate to this topic, and since I’m a man, the reasoning behind my own issues are tilted in a different direction. I want to show you what it looks like when these problems manifest on the boner end of the spectrum.

You don’t want to see the wide shot of that.

To understand how it can snowball into such a huge issue, you first have to understand a basic concept in why we think the way we do. Before reading another sentence, stop and come up with ten words or short phrases to describe who or what you are.

“Donglord” isn’t a real word. Find a replacement and then continue reading.

The list you came up with likely ranges from the very basic “man” or “woman,” to more specific descriptions like “creative” or “caring” or “funk master.” When we define ourselves as individuals, we’re assigning worth by positioning ourselves as uniquely as possible. So, for example, if I start at the base, I can say, “I am a human.” I am a part of the whole. When I move up a level, I can assign gender, which separates me from that whole. I become a bit more unique, but still a part of a massive group. I’m also tall, which puts me in a still more specific group. I’m an editor. I’m a joker. I’m a smoker. I’m a midnight toker. And on and on, until I become unique.

When someone wants to emotionally destroy you, they often go for those obvious traits, because they’re easy pickings. But strangely, that doesn’t do much damage. If they convince you that you’re not actually creative, it sucks, but it’s not catastrophic. The biggest damage comes when they attack your foundation. If they can convince you that you’re not a human, that’s devastating, because they’ve just stripped away all of your value and rendered those unique traits pointless. Watch any argument against the LGBT community, or women, or minorities, and you’ll see that in action. That’s Asshole Tactics 101.

This is why the idea of “manhood” is so important to men, even if it’s just on a subconscious level. “Man” is the very first branch on that amoebic divide that gives us value. It is the foundation of our worth as individuals. I’m not talking about machismo or any of that dumb horseshit. If someone convinces us that we’re not “men,” we crumble. It’s the same with women. “You’re a fat, ugly pig. You’re built like a 12-year-old boy.”

“Stop! Your words … they burn!”

This is the entire basis for how the issue of sex affects men. It’s that foundation that sex culture pecks away at, purposely or not, and it can change a healthy libido into an anxiety-ridden ball of neurotic fear.

How It Starts

When I was a kid, porn was a physical medium that people stashed away in some kid-safe hiding spot, like the top shelf of a closet or inside some huge broccoli. Eventually, all children gave that “kid-safe” part the finger and found the stash anyway. Or in my case, it was just flat-out presented to me by friends and family members. One of my uncles showed me my first hardcore magazine at age three. I didn’t understand anything I was seeing, but I knew it was taboo, and I felt like I was being let into some sort of secret adult club. It was awesome, if gross and confusing.

I’ve mentioned before that my dad showed me my first porn video at age six. That was his method of teaching me what sex was, and when he was caught doing that by my grandma, they got into a huge argument. His defense was that he didn’t want me or my brother to “grow up to be queers.” Most of my family’s worldview can be boiled down to that scenario.

Now go get me another beer, and don’t you come back without a boner!

Whether the intentions are as creepy as my experiences or as “innocent” as two kids pulling up PornHub on a laptop in their tree house and giggling because “Tee-hee, boobs,” seeing this kind of sexual content at a young age warps your entire view of sex. Your first impression is seeing people jamming appendages in each others’ poop and pee holes. Women moaning in gape-mouthed ecstasy while two guys ejaculate on her face. Freak-dick men jamming their rods down a woman’s throat until she damn near pukes. But there’s something even weirder than that, which nobody ever talks about …

Most sex scenes in a video are based on two people who have just met. From an adult perspective that makes sense, because we didn’t pull up a porn video to watch people go through dating and commitment and forging a relationship. We came there for the dirty fucking. But for a kid whose only sexual education is coming from these videos, the lesson he takes away is: When you see someone you want to bone, just walk up to her, whip out your dick, and put your hand up her skirt. According to Ass Blaster 7, there is no such thing as consequences. And rejection doesn’t exist in the porn world at all. There is only, “Spot who you want to fuck, then walk over there and fuck her.”

Let’s not forget that for the first dozen or more years of your life, the idea of sex is just plain gross. It’s embarrassing to talk about and disgusting to think about. “I’m expected to do that? Pee comes out of there!” Still, adults tell you that one day you’ll change your mind — which, to a kid, is like telling them that one day they’ll enjoy swimming in raw sewage. At that age, those aren’t words of wisdom; they’re words of warning. That expectation becomes a seed of fear.

“Screw this, I’m outtie.”

It Perpetuates From There

As you approach your teen years, you start to notice that every facet of life has a sexual undertone. Movies, TV shows, music, jokes, fashion, video games … everything is laced with it. The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Porky’s, American Pie (which is basically Porky’s Part 5). Animal House is widely considered to be one of the greatest comedies of all time. When I was growing up, every music video was filled with strippers undulating while shitty bands played their shitty songs.

When you’re young and constantly horny, you buy into all of that. Pop music has always been aimed at teenagers, which is why it isn’t all that surprising that modern concerts look like strip bars. Why talented female singers spend a creepy amount of time bent over with their asses pointed at the audience. It’s why huge magazines and entertainment news shows can get away with so many stories about the current shape and condition of an actor’s body.

You’re inundated with sex at every corner, and the message to guys is, “If you’re not having sex, you are not a man. You are worthless and weak.” The irony is, as much as you’re bombarded with sex, and as important as they make it sound, you’re punished for talking about it. When I was four years old, my dad taught me to draw dicks because he thought it was hilarious. But when I did that on my own, I got yelled at and my drawing stuff was taken away. My uncles told me dirty jokes constantly when I was a teen, but if I told them one, I’d get chastised for it.

Sex is such a huge part of mainstream culture that if you’re not doing it, you feel like there’s something wrong with you. Eventually, it becomes a point of anxiety. Especially when you see actors and musicians in shots where women are throwing themselves at them (which was every video in the ’80s and ’90s).

You’re made to feel like if you’re cool enough and worthy enough, sex will be presented to you on a silver platter, like some sort of karmic reward. When that doesn’t happen, you feel like an ugly, unwanted piece of shit. You start to resent the idea of sex, because it’s been made clear by the lack of female attention that you’re not good enough to have it. And even though there has been no interaction between you and those girls, their lack of approach feels like rejection. You are not a man. You are not desirable. You have no worth. You are a Chad.

And the sexual anxiety climbs another rung.

Being A Teenager Makes It So Much Worse

So now you’re morphing into sexual maturity, and every urge and emotion has gone nuclear. Happiness is manic. Sadness is depression. Your mom is questioning your diet because you’ve taken five long bathroom trips today, but she doesn’t realize you’re not exactly pooping in there. It’s a confusing, frustrating mess, but you cope.

Meanwhile, the world is just starting to pummel you with its ridiculous bullshit. As a guy, you’re expected to lose your virginity at a disturbingly young age. Being a virgin past your teen years is considered sacrilege. My dad was so concerned about my virginity that he wanted to get me a prostitute at age 13. When I refused, he lost his shit, and after screaming at me for a while, finally landed on his old go-to: “What are you, a fucking queer?!”

“What’d I tell you about that beer, boy? Good job on the boner, though.”

Again, I understand that exchanges like that aren’t normal, and it most definitely played a large part in my eventual fear of sex. But even outside of that dysfunctional family setting, guys run into unhealthy pressure constantly. If your male friends find out you’re a virgin, you are relentlessly mocked until you finally give in and lie about having been laid. That’s where that tired old joke comes from: “You wouldn’t know her; she’s from Canada.” Guys get so embarrassed that they haven’t been laid by age 15 that they just want the bullshit to stop.

See, girls are taught that sex is the worst thing you could do. Having sex, especially with multiple partners, is something to be ashamed about. Do that and you’re a slut. Boys are taught that it’s the gateway to manhood. Not having sex is something to be ashamed about. It means you’re still a boy. And “boy” is emotional and social death.

When you’re a teenage male, that pressure from your friends is nonstop. Every conversation tightly revolves around sex, and your manhood is judged by not only how often you have it, but how many different girls you’ve banged. It’s everything. “I fucked this girl last week. Who are you fucking? How many times did you fuck this week? My girlfriend and I fucked for 6,000 hours last Saturday. Look at that slut over there. I’d fuck the shit out of her. But her friend is gross. I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick. OH GOD, WHY ARE YOU PUNCHING ME?!”

Wait, why am I still in high school at 45?

So now the expectations have built up to the point where you recoil from talking to your friends because you know the conversation is going to come up. So not only does the conversation jump start your sexual anxiety, but the mere thought of talking about it does.

Another rung.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/how-sex-obsessed-culture-can-ruin-mens-idea-of-sex/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/184053538897

[allofbeercom]

How Sex Obsessed Culture Can Ruin Men’s Idea Of Sex

One thing that’s always bothered me is the weird-ass way that modern society sets up sex as its biggest selling point, while at the same time making its audience feel completely inadequate. I’m not just talking about marketing. Our entire culture is built upon that foundation, and it’s like watching a cannibal eating himself from the feet up. “You are woefully repulsive. But you don’t have to be! Buy our product, adopt our philosophy, join our cause.”

This subject is usually presented as a massive problem for women, and it absolutely is, but it’s often assumed that men are immune to its negative effects. I’m not trying to downplay or demean the hardships that women go through where this subject is concerned — I personally believe they have it exponentially harder than men in this area. Women don’t need or want one of the biggest issues in their lives “mansplained” to them. I just happen to relate to this topic, and since I’m a man, the reasoning behind my own issues are tilted in a different direction. I want to show you what it looks like when these problems manifest on the boner end of the spectrum.

You don’t want to see the wide shot of that.

To understand how it can snowball into such a huge issue, you first have to understand a basic concept in why we think the way we do. Before reading another sentence, stop and come up with ten words or short phrases to describe who or what you are.

“Donglord” isn’t a real word. Find a replacement and then continue reading.

The list you came up with likely ranges from the very basic “man” or “woman,” to more specific descriptions like “creative” or “caring” or “funk master.” When we define ourselves as individuals, we’re assigning worth by positioning ourselves as uniquely as possible. So, for example, if I start at the base, I can say, “I am a human.” I am a part of the whole. When I move up a level, I can assign gender, which separates me from that whole. I become a bit more unique, but still a part of a massive group. I’m also tall, which puts me in a still more specific group. I’m an editor. I’m a joker. I’m a smoker. I’m a midnight toker. And on and on, until I become unique.

When someone wants to emotionally destroy you, they often go for those obvious traits, because they’re easy pickings. But strangely, that doesn’t do much damage. If they convince you that you’re not actually creative, it sucks, but it’s not catastrophic. The biggest damage comes when they attack your foundation. If they can convince you that you’re not a human, that’s devastating, because they’ve just stripped away all of your value and rendered those unique traits pointless. Watch any argument against the LGBT community, or women, or minorities, and you’ll see that in action. That’s Asshole Tactics 101.

This is why the idea of “manhood” is so important to men, even if it’s just on a subconscious level. “Man” is the very first branch on that amoebic divide that gives us value. It is the foundation of our worth as individuals. I’m not talking about machismo or any of that dumb horseshit. If someone convinces us that we’re not “men,” we crumble. It’s the same with women. “You’re a fat, ugly pig. You’re built like a 12-year-old boy.”

“Stop! Your words … they burn!”

This is the entire basis for how the issue of sex affects men. It’s that foundation that sex culture pecks away at, purposely or not, and it can change a healthy libido into an anxiety-ridden ball of neurotic fear.

How It Starts

When I was a kid, porn was a physical medium that people stashed away in some kid-safe hiding spot, like the top shelf of a closet or inside some huge broccoli. Eventually, all children gave that “kid-safe” part the finger and found the stash anyway. Or in my case, it was just flat-out presented to me by friends and family members. One of my uncles showed me my first hardcore magazine at age three. I didn’t understand anything I was seeing, but I knew it was taboo, and I felt like I was being let into some sort of secret adult club. It was awesome, if gross and confusing.

I’ve mentioned before that my dad showed me my first porn video at age six. That was his method of teaching me what sex was, and when he was caught doing that by my grandma, they got into a huge argument. His defense was that he didn’t want me or my brother to “grow up to be queers.” Most of my family’s worldview can be boiled down to that scenario.

Now go get me another beer, and don’t you come back without a boner!

Whether the intentions are as creepy as my experiences or as “innocent” as two kids pulling up PornHub on a laptop in their tree house and giggling because “Tee-hee, boobs,” seeing this kind of sexual content at a young age warps your entire view of sex. Your first impression is seeing people jamming appendages in each others’ poop and pee holes. Women moaning in gape-mouthed ecstasy while two guys ejaculate on her face. Freak-dick men jamming their rods down a woman’s throat until she damn near pukes. But there’s something even weirder than that, which nobody ever talks about …

Most sex scenes in a video are based on two people who have just met. From an adult perspective that makes sense, because we didn’t pull up a porn video to watch people go through dating and commitment and forging a relationship. We came there for the dirty fucking. But for a kid whose only sexual education is coming from these videos, the lesson he takes away is: When you see someone you want to bone, just walk up to her, whip out your dick, and put your hand up her skirt. According to Ass Blaster 7, there is no such thing as consequences. And rejection doesn’t exist in the porn world at all. There is only, “Spot who you want to fuck, then walk over there and fuck her.”

Let’s not forget that for the first dozen or more years of your life, the idea of sex is just plain gross. It’s embarrassing to talk about and disgusting to think about. “I’m expected to do that? Pee comes out of there!” Still, adults tell you that one day you’ll change your mind — which, to a kid, is like telling them that one day they’ll enjoy swimming in raw sewage. At that age, those aren’t words of wisdom; they’re words of warning. That expectation becomes a seed of fear.

“Screw this, I’m outtie.”

It Perpetuates From There

As you approach your teen years, you start to notice that every facet of life has a sexual undertone. Movies, TV shows, music, jokes, fashion, video games … everything is laced with it. The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Porky’s, American Pie (which is basically Porky’s Part 5). Animal House is widely considered to be one of the greatest comedies of all time. When I was growing up, every music video was filled with strippers undulating while shitty bands played their shitty songs.

When you’re young and constantly horny, you buy into all of that. Pop music has always been aimed at teenagers, which is why it isn’t all that surprising that modern concerts look like strip bars. Why talented female singers spend a creepy amount of time bent over with their asses pointed at the audience. It’s why huge magazines and entertainment news shows can get away with so many stories about the current shape and condition of an actor’s body.

You’re inundated with sex at every corner, and the message to guys is, “If you’re not having sex, you are not a man. You are worthless and weak.” The irony is, as much as you’re bombarded with sex, and as important as they make it sound, you’re punished for talking about it. When I was four years old, my dad taught me to draw dicks because he thought it was hilarious. But when I did that on my own, I got yelled at and my drawing stuff was taken away. My uncles told me dirty jokes constantly when I was a teen, but if I told them one, I’d get chastised for it.

Sex is such a huge part of mainstream culture that if you’re not doing it, you feel like there’s something wrong with you. Eventually, it becomes a point of anxiety. Especially when you see actors and musicians in shots where women are throwing themselves at them (which was every video in the ’80s and ’90s).

You’re made to feel like if you’re cool enough and worthy enough, sex will be presented to you on a silver platter, like some sort of karmic reward. When that doesn’t happen, you feel like an ugly, unwanted piece of shit. You start to resent the idea of sex, because it’s been made clear by the lack of female attention that you’re not good enough to have it. And even though there has been no interaction between you and those girls, their lack of approach feels like rejection. You are not a man. You are not desirable. You have no worth. You are a Chad.

And the sexual anxiety climbs another rung.

Being A Teenager Makes It So Much Worse

So now you’re morphing into sexual maturity, and every urge and emotion has gone nuclear. Happiness is manic. Sadness is depression. Your mom is questioning your diet because you’ve taken five long bathroom trips today, but she doesn’t realize you’re not exactly pooping in there. It’s a confusing, frustrating mess, but you cope.

Meanwhile, the world is just starting to pummel you with its ridiculous bullshit. As a guy, you’re expected to lose your virginity at a disturbingly young age. Being a virgin past your teen years is considered sacrilege. My dad was so concerned about my virginity that he wanted to get me a prostitute at age 13. When I refused, he lost his shit, and after screaming at me for a while, finally landed on his old go-to: “What are you, a fucking queer?!”

“What’d I tell you about that beer, boy? Good job on the boner, though.”

Again, I understand that exchanges like that aren’t normal, and it most definitely played a large part in my eventual fear of sex. But even outside of that dysfunctional family setting, guys run into unhealthy pressure constantly. If your male friends find out you’re a virgin, you are relentlessly mocked until you finally give in and lie about having been laid. That’s where that tired old joke comes from: “You wouldn’t know her; she’s from Canada.” Guys get so embarrassed that they haven’t been laid by age 15 that they just want the bullshit to stop.

See, girls are taught that sex is the worst thing you could do. Having sex, especially with multiple partners, is something to be ashamed about. Do that and you’re a slut. Boys are taught that it’s the gateway to manhood. Not having sex is something to be ashamed about. It means you’re still a boy. And “boy” is emotional and social death.

When you’re a teenage male, that pressure from your friends is nonstop. Every conversation tightly revolves around sex, and your manhood is judged by not only how often you have it, but how many different girls you’ve banged. It’s everything. “I fucked this girl last week. Who are you fucking? How many times did you fuck this week? My girlfriend and I fucked for 6,000 hours last Saturday. Look at that slut over there. I’d fuck the shit out of her. But her friend is gross. I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick. OH GOD, WHY ARE YOU PUNCHING ME?!”

Wait, why am I still in high school at 45?

So now the expectations have built up to the point where you recoil from talking to your friends because you know the conversation is going to come up. So not only does the conversation jump start your sexual anxiety, but the mere thought of talking about it does.

Another rung.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/how-sex-obsessed-culture-can-ruin-mens-idea-of-sex/