auracomesoffio

[lets-try-some-writing]

Just a thought here but since alpha trion adopted optimus when he was Orion what would be the other original 13 (dead or alive) reactions to having a nephew?

Assuming this is set in a universe where Optimus isn't the Thirteenth, this will be interesting indeed.

A New Prime?

Alpha Trion had exactly one function, that being to serve as Primus's recorder and prophesier. He was to watch, he was to quietly direct the flow of events, and he was to wait for the day when it would come time for his brother to make his return. That was his purpose, and he was content in it.

However one stormy night, things changed.

Alpha Trion hardly left his archives, but when he did it was always with purpose. He never expected for a storm to blow in and viciously tear across Cybertron's surface. He was forced to abandon his task and seek shelter in among the towering spires that made up Cybertron's wilds. There he waited out the acidic rains and the howling winds that made even the largest mecha struggle. It was unexpected, but it was a momentary setback in his mind... right up until as if sent by some sort of divine power, a young mech emerged from the foliage.

Even though his huge optics and the remnant sensory panels lining his helm spoke of the mech hardly being a vorn into younglinghood, he was large for his age, coming up to roughly Alpha Trion's waist. His frame was slim and heavily armored, his denta were sharp and fanged, and he had claws deadly enough to shred most creatures adorning his digits. He was a dull gray, but his optics were so wide, so full of life. However most notably was the face that the mech had a face and an aura that caused Alpha Trion to pause in consideration.

He looked exactly like Thirteen. He wasn't Thirteen, his spark was too youthful and didn't possess the same touch of ancient power, but Alpha Trion knew him for what he was. This mech was meant to be Thirteen's vessel, his chosen child meant to house him when the time was right. That was all Alpha Trion needed to know to have a good reason to collect the mech and begin dragging him back to Iacon even as he snarled and flailed like a wild animal.

He brought the mech back to his archives and didn't hesitate to begin taming the wild youngling. It was not easy by any means though.

The youngling who he affectionately named Orion Pax was nothing short of a monstrosity. He was downright feral in every aspect and even with the Covenant offering slight insight into the future it didn't make managing him any easier. Orion needed to be kept away from others for over a vorn while Alpha Trion training him out of chewing on everything. He needed to get Orion some frame alterations to make him more presentable and he more often than not emerged from meeting with Orion covered in claw marks and bites. It was even harder trying to convince the youngling to consume his energon in a civil manner and not eat it like an animal. He was covered in energon more times than he cared to admit as he tried to assist Orion in figuring out how things worked.

It was tiring and all the kept Alpha Trion going was the promise of his brother's return in the frame of the youngling some day. He just needed to make sure the youngling was worthy and then when the time was right, the Matrix could be given and Thirteen could take control. That was the plan, that was all it was. There was no reason to care more than necessary for the feral little thing. He needed to ensure the youngling was educated in all that was related to their history and skilled in all matter of things so that Thirteen could absorb those abilities when it came time. He was not required to be loving or affectionate.

But as with all things, time took its toll and eventually Orion began to calm while at the same time Alpha Trion got attached. It started small, that with Orion uttering his first garbled glyphs in the old tongue as Alpha Trion had taught him. It warmed something in his spark to have Orion call out his designation in a staticky mess alongside hisses and whistles. He found it... endearing. Even as he worked to correct Orion's speech and help him adapt to better speak the old tongue and then later the modern, he always loved the little calls of "Sire" Orion was so fond of crying out to him once the youngling learned the meaning of the word.

He tried to tell the youngling that he wasn't his Sire, but Alpha Trion's spark thought otherwise as a fledgling bond between Orion and him formed. The youngling, as soon as he was somewhat civil, followed Alpha Trion everywhere. Like a loyal guardian he would stay as close as possible, often clinging to Alpha Trion's cape and growling at any who came too near. He was dutiful, watching and keeping an optic out for threats at all times. It was honestly adorable considering his size and his wide optics. He thankfully never attacked anyone, he would always listen to Alpha Trion in that regard.

Of course then Orion had to go and show himself to be curious and only get Alpha Trion more invested in the youngling. He always peeked over Alpha Trion's shoulder when he was reading with little wonderings of "What that Sire?" and so on. Eventually Alpha Trion had no choice but to begin teaching Orion reading and writing, a set of lessons that managed to civilize Orion more than simple instructions did. The youngling was quick to read and write, learning every dialect and sub-class of language in record time. His ability to speak skyrocketed and before Alpha Trion knew it, he saw the youngling as his sparkling more than a ward, especially as he began speaking clearly and expressing greater interest in the archives.

Many a cycle was spent with Orion buried in datapads discussing the past and going over history together. Those were good times, filled with smiles and eager enthusiasm. Alpha Trion grew to truly love his sparkling as Orion grew in knowledge and showed himself to be just like Thirteen in mentality. He was kind, he was soft-sparked, he was intelligent, empathetic, dutiful, and so much more. Thus when Orion was grown and the time came to take him to receive the Matrix.... Alpha Trion waited. He told himself it was because Orion wasn't ready, that he needed further training. As such he sent Orion on trips to study, had him dig into old mysteries, anything to keep him learning and working.

He practically threw Orion down to the pits to get him working with Megatronus and very nearly forced Orion to go meet with Ratchet to learn from him. Perhaps a Prime wouldn't even be needed if his sparkling could stop things before they grew to large... at least that was his hope. He missed his brother, yes. But Orion... Orion was his sparkling who he had raised and forged into the mech he was. He knew based on how he had raised Orion that if asked the mech would gladly give himself to the Matrix and Thirteen. However Alpha Trion didn't want to lose the one good thing he had gained since his brothers scattered.

He tried. He tried so hard to keep it from happening, but with how Cybertron was deteriorating... they needed a Prime. Alpha Trion hated every moment when he took Orion a day before his meeting with the high council and dragged him to Primus's core. He hated himself when Orion screamed out for him as the Matrix was offered. He hated how cruel it all was when his dear and precious sparkling was left to fade away, his spark locked within the Matrix so that Thirteen could take his place.

However, Thirteen never took control. He could sense his brother was within Orion's frame, but Thirteen did nothing, merely pulsing within the Matrix in curiosity. Orion, or rather Optimus was confused but took to his position well. Unbeknownst to the living, the Primes were conflicted and joyous at the same time.

When Thirteen connected to his chosen vessel, the first thing he sensed was the mech's connection to Alpha Trion. It startled him so much that he did not try to force control over the frame offered to him. He instead sat back within the Matrix, watching as the youngling who had been modeled after him fulfilled the purpose set before him without Thirteen even needing to be involved. This one was loved, this one was deeply connected to his brother. Thirteen could never in good conscience ever take his brother's only sparkling from him. Thus he instead opted to serve as a guide, directing Optimus and offering him the wisdom within the Matrix as needed. He was there to bear the brunt of the woes Optimus experienced and he came to quickly care deeply for the youngling.

Optimus was pure, Optimus was just like him. His new Prime was loved, he was kind, he was everything Thirteen was and more. Thirteen didn't need to take control, Alpha Trion had raised Optimus so well it was unnecessary. Instead he came to care for Optimus, watching and guiding as a mentor. He couldn't leave his nephew alone after all.

Solus from within the realm of the Primes did a complete double take when she saw the one Alpha Trion had taken as his own through the Matrix. Her first instinct was to call slag on it, Alpha Trion didn't care for others like that. However upon seeing Optimus she conceded and agreed that Optimus was indeed worthy of her brother's affection. Thus when possible she would speak through the Matrix to Optimus, smothering him in affection through emotional waves. He was so sweet and lovely, a baby Prime indeed. He needed an Aunt there to play a more maternal role throughout everything. She would gladly take on that role.

Prima was skeptical of the new Prime, but those worries disappeared when he saw Alpha Trion of all mecha care for the newly named Optimus Prime. He was marveled even more when Thirteen didn't try to take control of the new Prime and instead served as a guide. Thus not to be outdone, he joined his brother and his sister in teaching, quickly coming to care for Optimus as well. The baby Prime was young but wise. He embodied everything Prima sought in a true Prime, a perfect leader for the damaged world above.

Vector cared very little for the birth of a new Prime. He saw it amidst the push and pull of time that passed him by, however he gave it little thought. If nothing else, Optimus was a chance for Alpha Trion to grow and for Cybertron to change. However he was just one spark among a sea of others, not worth too much attention in the grand scheme of things.

Micronus was confused above all else when it came to Optimus. Why was Thirteen not taking control? Optimus wouldn't fight back, he was too good for that. If he believed it to be for the greater good, he would gladly give himself willingly. So why wait? Why not take what was offered and fix things? Micronus got his answer when he decided to watch the newest Prime and saw how much Alpha Trion cared and how he very nearly cried when Optimus was not locked away and instead allowed to continue living. He did not love Optimus, but he saw how much he meant to Alpha Trion and thus endeavored to teach if only so that Optimus could fulfill his duties.

Alchemist for his part knew about Orion long before he was a Prime and quietly supported Alpha Trion from afar. He was pleased that his most isolated brother aside from the fallen was finally getting some interaction. He was also so very pleased when Orion began wandering to his bar once he got older. Alchemist was perfectly happy to offer Orion some low charged drinks on exchange for a few stories. Orion was such a sweet young mech, he was perfectly content to be a kind listening audial and an uncle to the little mech Trion loved so much. He still remained at his bar offering drinks when Orion became the Prime, nothing changes about how he treated him and Optimus appreciated it.

Nexus had optics everywhere with so many of his component parts running around. He was well aware of Orion and played a role in getting him from point A to point B. He thought it was great fun luring Orion into new situations to try and get the youngling to have fun. He also tended to keep close watch on his nephew at Alpha Trion's behest. Orion was a good mech, but he got himself into all sorts of trouble, especially after becoming Prime. He didn't like intervening too much, but if only to calm his brother, he would drop in at times to make things happen. Optimus never knew it was him, but Nexus knew Optimus and he was fond of the little Prime. Still so very young and worth protecting.

Onyx Prime was not enraptured with Optimus once he claimed the Matrix at first. It took him time to determine Optimus's worth, but once he did, he was willing to offer much needed spiritual guidance. Thirteen offered wisdom, Solus offered love, Micronus offered wits, Prima offered skill, and Onyx brought his understanding of sparks to the table. He was there to direct Optimus to places of interest and helped to protect him from the EM attacks of others that could rattle his spark. The young Prime needed guidance, it wouldn't do to sit back and watch while Optimus dealt with the fallout of millennia of abuse and corruption alone.

Amalgamous thought Optimus was the best thing since processed energon the moment he saw him from within the Matrix. He was just so very pure and so hopeful. Amalgamous adored that about him and was so very pleased when Optimus allowed himself to enjoy life a little bit. Where other Primes guided Optimus to perform better, Amalgamous preferred to instead convince Optimus to rest and relax, to take care of himself after long days. He was also there to feed the little Prime good memories and happy feelings after everything. Optimus needed joy just as much as he needed everything else. And Amalgamous couldn't possible leave his dear nephew to wallow could he?

Quintus for his part didn't care much for Optimus. He preferred creating over watching growth. He would offer bits and pieces of knowledge and come forward to watch when something of interest happened, but beyond that he was content to remain largely uninvolved. Although when Optimus deviated too hard, he would fight bitterly to force Optimus back onto track. It got him scoldings from all his siblings, but to Quintus it was worth it. Sometimes young Primes needed reminders of why they fought. Being allowed only support could lead to imperfections.

Liege was for his part denied any and all access to Optimus when possible. The Primes didn't trust him, they didn't want him whispering lies and other cruel things into their baby Prime and nephew's audials. Thus they fought bitterly to keep him away, however even with their efforts there were times where his influence managed to sneak through. He was not a kind mech, but he did care for his kin to a degree. When he was allowed access, he guided Optimus on how best to use his words to manipulate in quiet ways. He always whispered sweetly, never too loudly and never too boldly. He always made sure to sound as though he were loving and caring, and often, much to his glee, Optimus took his advice.

Then there was the Fallen. Simply put, he felt the shift around him as a new Prime was born, but other than that he knew nothing. He was temped to return to Cybertron to greet his newest brother, but he abstained. It wasn't his place, not after all he had done.

[ajkal2]

the essay: childhood trauma, responsibility, and tma. part 1: jon

in a tma fic i published like six months ago, i left an authors note that promised an essay on jon and tim’s trauma to anyone who asked. several people asked, and so here i am!

the fic is called a deeply annoying child. it’s about being a kid and seeing something horrible, and it’s about jon and tim’s rocky relationship. 

this post isn’t actually about the fic. it’s a breakdown of jon’s mental state through s1-3. im going to make another post about tim, and then a final one linking it all back to the fic. i’ll chuck links to those on here when they’re posted!

but first, let’s talk about my boy, JON ‘JARCHIVIST’ SIMS.  

(fair warning- this isn’t a fully backed up meta post, it’s my interpretation of canon. any thoughts/queries/additions welcome! my askbox is always open <3) 

part o: a note on guilt

hey, you know what’s fucked up? an eight-year-old kid with survivors guilt. 

as a child, jon watched someone he knew die, due to circumstances that, while they were not his fault, were set in motion by his actions. children (and often teens!) think in black-and-white. complex logic often just doesn’t occur to them.  jon, at 8, looks at what happened, and says that’s my fault. i did that. jon didn’t like his bully, and wanted him to go away, and then he did. that instinctive reaction is something i think he never grows out of. when you already hate yourself, it’s easy to pile more fuel onto that flame.  he doesn’t think about risk, not to him, because he deserves whatever happens. he let someone die. he doesn’t ever forgive himself for that.

part i: belief (precanon+s1)

now, i have a headcanon about why jon doesn’t believe statement givers, and imma lay it all out for you right here. 

when jon was 8, and freshly traumatised, i think he tried to tell someone what happened. beneath all the layers, jon is compassionate, and tries to help people. now, picture this. a kid, one with a history of troubled behaviour and an atypical home life, goes up to someone (a police officer, his carer, a teacher) and tells them a giant spider ate someone. what’s that person, someone who is a rational adult, someone who doesn’t believe in silly things, going to say back? are they going to believe that kid? 

no. no way. they’re going to tell that kid that they’re making up stories, that they had a nightmare, that they should stop making jokes about someone who actually disappeared, jon, you need to be more sensitive about these things. 

now, that kind of dissonance- ‘this did happen, it was real’ and ‘everyone i talk to is telling me it’s not real’- is hard on adults. to a kid? devastating. 

jon, because he’s jon, would have been desperately searching for a way to explain this, and i think the thing he grabs on to is evidence. if he had some evidence of what happened, if he could prove what happened, people would believe him.*

but he doesn’t have evidence. and he resents that, and he resents that so much that by the time he’s an adult he’s settled into a mindset towards the supernatural somewhat akin to ‘i didn’t get believed, but you think you should be believed? what’s so good about you? you think you’re better than me?** fuck you! i don’t believe you!’   this is also a way of keeping himself safe. if the monsters aren’t real, they can’t hurt him.

and then, through s1, that mindset is chipped at. the statement givers start being real people, who come into jon’s office and cry when he dismisses them, and that clearly makes him uncomfortable. martin gives his statement, and martin has evidence. jon knows martin, and knows that he’s a good person, so martin having evidence isn’t likely to be an attack at jon. 

jane prentiss attacks the institute, and then suddenly jon’s shield of denial and anger is ripped away, because the monsters are real, and they can hurt him. 

*would they? i don’t know. people can be very attached to believing that the world is good, and kids are misguided, and there are a hundred thousand ways to explain away a piece of evidence, as jon comes to know well. 

** this ties into jon’s self hatred, as people saying they are better than him kicks him right in the Issues. 

part ii: paranoia (s2)

after prentiss attacks, jon is left floundering. his old I Do Not See It mindset has been smashed to pieces, and underneath all the trauma he’s been brutally suppressing is bubbling up. jon has no real experience in judging threats, because for the last 20 years he’s been burying his head in the sand and yelling he can’t see any threats. so he overcompensates, and assumes everything is a threat. his experience re:not being believed tells him that everyone around him is stupid and wrong and the only person he can rely on is himself.  

so he investigates. he’s convinced that his life is in imminent danger, that everyone around him is plotting to kill him. he doesn’t hold back, because you don’t hold back in a life-or-death scenario.  he knows something is wrong. something is very wrong. he’s sure it’s a threat to him, a threat to his life. but he can’t put a finger on what it is.

this is when his friendship with tim breaks down. i’ll talk about tim in a minute. 

jon spirals, and obsesses, and wrings answers out of the ether until it all falls together. he understands what is wrong, that it’s sasha that wants him dead. or, well, not sasha. he’s been winding up tighter and tighter all series, and he lets loose by striking out, acting for once instead of reacting. it is remarkably easy to buy an axe in central london, after all.

and then, well, that doesn’t go well. 

 part iii: desperation (s3)

after what jon did backfired so badly, he goes to georgie, because he has no other option. and he thinks, what went wrong? and the answer he comes up with is i didn’t know enough.* that’s why it all went wrong, because he didn’t know what he was dealing with. and so the solution is to find out more.

he’s starting to realise that he’s changing.** he wants to find out more about that as well, to control it. 

so he goes and finds out more. or, tries to. he doesn’t have many leads.*** jon is not good at judging threat, and doesn’t know the danger he is putting himself in. he’s stubborn, and locked onto getting more knowledge like a dog and a bone.****

and then he does get more knowledge, but it’s the knowledge that the world is ending, and he’s the only one who can fix it.***** he can’t process his trauma. he doesn’t have time. the world is ending. 

in late s3, jon is desperate. he’s overworking himself. he feels alone: daisy’s at his throat, elias is dangling information over his head, tim... 

we’ll talk about tim later. 

basira doesn’t trust him, georgie isn’t happy with him, melanie’s never liked him. he gets kidnapped for a month, and no one notices. the only person jon has firmly in his corner is martin.****** and he doesn’t have time to talk to martin, because he’s getting kidnapped, and jetting across the world chasing shadows, and desperately, desperately trying not to fuck everything up again. 

and he doesn’t! they build a plan. it’s dangerous, sure, but jon doesn’t even know what that means anymore. his whole life is dangerous. jon going into the unknowing is cautiously, waveringly hopeful. maybe this time it won’t go wrong. this time they know what to do, they know what they’re dealing with. 

and, the tragedy is, it doesn’t go wrong. they save the world. they send elias to prison. it all goes to plan. and tim is dead, and daisy is buried, and jon is lost in dreams. 

*👁️ **👁️ ***👁️ ****👁️  ***** he’s not the only one, of course, there are a whole team of people working on stopping the Unknowing, but jon is the Archivist. he’s the heir to gertrude’s legacy. 

****** this is where they fall in love, after all. which is a good thing, of course, but it adds an extra weight to every interaction they have, guessing and double-guessing how the other feels, until jon actually can’t talk to martin, not how he wants to, because he’s not sure if they’re there yet. (martin is there. jon doesn’t have time to be.) 

see yall next time 

i would like to cover s4 and s5, but this post is 1.5k already, and i’ve covered up to when the fic takes place! next time i will be ranting incoherently about timothy stoker, punctuated by bursts on uncontrollable sobbing. when that’s up, i’ll chuck a link here, and on the author notes of the fic i’m doing this for. see you then!

[literate-lamb]

Man of the House | five

Sam Wilson/fem!Reader, dark!Bucky Barnes/fem!Reader | 18+

A visit to your landlord uncovers a past.

► word count: 3.6k

► warnings(!): injuries, masturbation, hallucination. this is a dark fic.

|| Series Masterlist ||

A/N: A bit of a slow chapter but we’re nearing the end lads! 

��𝕒𝕪 𝔼𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

“We’ve checked everything, sir.”

It was hard to believe. There must be somewhere they had overlooked. Something felt amiss, you knew it.

“There were no signs of a forced entry. Everything was locked. Well, except for the balcony doors, but she had opened those.”

Had they checked the attic? The basement? He was there in the parlour windows, and the next, he was at the bottom of the stairs, close to the front door. You refused to believe he had came in easily, as if he had apparated in.

“The door she claimed the assailant kicked showed no damage whatsoever.”

That was impossible. You had heard it. You watched it shake as he demanded entry. You had  felt  it, the vibrations from his heavy boots passing through the floorboards. If there were no marked footprints, there should’ve been at least a splinter in the wood.

“We’ve received complaints like these before regarding the Rogers’ house, but we can’t really do anything when there’s no evidence. A ‘ghostly’ touch on the ankle can’t be taken as evidence.”

And just like that, your case was dismissed. Your encounter, taken with a grain of salt. Your experience, dismissed as a mere ghostly tale.

You had almost wanted to show them the purples around your neck. To take off the makeup and show them, to pass them off as evidence of an assault. But with no recollection of the event, and no solid evidence, you refrained. It would only backfire; not only towards you, but towards Sam as well.

“Thank you, officers. For all your help, but we can handle it from here.”

It was a long night and it ended when the officers had left. They had searched your house, taken your statement, and calmed you down. They were polite enough, listening when you recounted your harrowing experience, giving you comfort in the form of a shock blanket. However, their quick dismissal left a sour aftertaste within you. The disheartening feeling of being seen as a hysterical woman. 

You only had Sam who believed. You hoped he did.

“Sam, you believe me... right?”

“Of course, baby. Of course.”

Too shook up after last night’s incident, sleep evaded you until the wee hours of the morning, all the while curled up next to your saviour. He had soothed you, a protective arm at all times, giving you time. He never left your side throughout the night.

Now, huddled under the warm comforter of your guest room, you played last night’s events on loop. Heart palpating by even the sight of your bedroom door, Sam had decided a switch was in order.

At the end of the bed, Peaches laid in a white loaf by your feet, softly purring. She was a comforting presence, the heavy weight a reminder you weren’t alone. A guardian angel in her own way.

The day came and went faster than you could register.

In the morning, Wanda had came by with Vis to check up on you. She was worried after your abrupt goodbye on the phone and she was right to be. You missed their visit, being at the forefront of sleep. The warm serving of Paprikash you had for lunch was the sole indication of her visit.

Tony and Pepper had called and sent a large bouquet of colourful assortments with a ‘get well soon’ card attached right to your doorstep. They had heard from Sam, who had taken the duty of taking messages and answering your calls for you, citing your need for rest. Both had expressed the desire to visit, unfortunately corporate obligation had swamped them both.

In the late afternoon, Sam had came in with snacks in bed to soothe your cravings before dinner. He had prepared a few biscuits and fruits and made the grand gesture of feeding you with grapes. 

“Some folks in the area actually came by to give these to you,” Sam said, shooing a hissing Peaches off the bed. Those two will never get along. “A Mrs Proctor and her grandkid, said you’ve met before at her shop. Seems like you’ve been making friends.”

You hummed, confirming the information. It’s been a while, yet you still remembered your little visit and the incident. Warm, welcoming grandmother and her sour, distrustful grandchild. But after your harrowing experience, you came to realize maybe the teen had known something; it wasn’t just a tale told to scare teenagers off the property on Halloween.

If the both of them knew, then the whole neighbourhood knew. It isn’t a secret when the local police visited you in the middle of the night. Word always traveled fast in small neighbourhoods.

“She sent her regards and hope you’ll come visit soon,�� he continued. “Her grandkid told me to relay a message to you too.”

You eyed him, prompting him to resume.

“She said ‘all the best’.”

There was no help coming for you.

 —

 As the Sun slowly descended into the horizon, you received your last visitor at the end of the day. He came to the house while you were in the bath, finally having the energy to rid off the grime from the last horror. 

You scrubbed your skin until it felt raw, the stinging a reminder to stop. You watched as the water swirled down the drain, bringing with it the impurities of the previous night. 

You began dressing, the dark turtleneck a warm choice against frigid Autumn. Wiping the fogged up mirror, you stared at your reflection, observing your state. Your skin was deadly pale with dark rings concentrated beneath your eyes; a perfect representation of a troubled person.

Carefully rolling down the collar, you gently thumbed the delicate skin of your neck. What was once a large bruise had shrunk, covering you in patches. They were now a faded purple with a tint of green; a sign of healing. 

They disgust you.

Your stomach churned looking at them. They were a reminder of a fog: thick, dense, a swallower of memories. You stared at them hard, racking your mind for a smidge of something, for anything. The longer it took, the uglier they became.

You unconsciously wrapped a hand around your neck, covering the ugly bruises from sight. It felt familiar, yet foreign. Slowly, you began putting pressure, firmly squeezing the sides. You felt an amounting rush.

You sat yourself on the opened toilet seat, back resting against the body. With the unoccupied hand, you hastily pushed your skirt and underwear aside. You worked yourself, rubbing your clit and running fingers down your lower lips, spreading your gathering slick. You let your mind stray away, forgetting the upsetting contusions, driven by only pleasure. 

Mewling, you pleasured yourself, knees in the air. More and more, you squeezed thoughtlessly, cutting your airways to chase that building pleasure. You let your imagination wander; visualizing thicker fingers spearing you and heavier palms circling your throat. Intermittently you’d pull out, slapping your cunt while envisioning rough digits handling you. You didn’t envision the physique of anyone, just the feel of a touch. They were familiar, kept in the back of your mind like a hidden memory. You were sure they were not that of your boyfriend. 

You were becoming dizzy, high off adrenaline from your asphyxiation. Nearing the tipping point, you quickened your ministrations until you finally snapped. Your thighs quivered as you came crashing, gasping for oxygen as you released your hold. Slick painted your thighs as they trembled. Eyes brimming with tears, you eyed yourself in the opposite mirror. You sighed, lost in blissful delirium; the sound of a woman spent.

Your bliss was short-lived when a knock came on the bathroom door.

“Baby, you okay in there? Your landlord came by for a visit, he just left.”

The tenor of Sam’s voice startled you, grounding you back to reality. You sprung up, adjusting your clothes and making yourself seem proper. Thighs still shaky, your legs felt like putty as you tried to stand up.

“In a minute!” you respond.

When you’ve deemed yourself decent enough, you opened the door. Sam’s toothy smile greeted you.

“My girl’s lookin’ all fresh and smellin’ beautiful,” he whistled. 

“That’s silly,” you laughed, hitting his chest. Sam grabbed you by the waist, pulling you closer to plant a kiss on your lips. 

“How are you?” he asked.

“Feeling slightly better.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t closer to the truth either. “Being taken care of really did wonders, I want this to last forever,” you kissed him again. “Just the two of us.”

“I’d love that as well.”

It was quiet for a time, the both of you lost in a peaceful bliss. Foreheads touching, you both focused on the moment; taking in the scent of your partner, hearing the beat of each other’s heart, and overall enjoying being in the other’s company. If given, you would prefer to stay like this forever. The beating of his heart, it grounded you. This was your safe place. 

Minutes passed and you were both still locked in each other. It took a sudden loud thump in the ceiling for you two to part.

  THUD!

 You quickly jumped away, horribly spooked. You were on high alert, fidgety, and distraught. The loud noise triggered your flight or fight, leaving you frantically searching for the source.

“Look at me, look at me,” Sam called your name. He grabbed your shoulders, rubbing your forearms in soothing circles. “You’re fine. Breath, you’re fine. I’m here.”

Sam guided your breathing and you followed his rhythm. After a while, you were calmed once more. It was obvious you were still spooked, a second thud confirmed it when you shot up at the sound. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Sam’s soothing voice cooed. “Would it make you feel better if I checked?”

You frantically nodded. Sam hastily strided through the hall with you close behind. He pulled the attic hatch but it wouldn’t open. 

“It’s stuck.” 

Sam tried again, giving it a pull a few times. On the strongest pull, it finally relented, revealing the ladder. As it slid down, a large heavy object came tumbling along with it, thudding by your feet. Sam picked it up and upon closer inspection it was an album. The word “Memories” greeted you; it was the photo album you had found a week earlier. You felt a cold run through you.

“Now, what do we have here.” 

He flipped through, stopping on the wedding photo of Mr Rogers and his wife, their fading faces smiling at you. Photos of their vacations, anniversaries, and holidays passed.

“Seems that he had a fulfilling life.”

Sam continued flipping before stopping on an older photograph. It showed a younger Mr Rogers and a brunette man with his arm slung over the shorter blonde. You immediately paled, recognizing this man. The same hair colour, except shorter. The same steel blue eyes, except brighter. The same chiselled cleft chin.

It was no doubt, this man was your  intruder .

You felt the temperature plunge upon your realization; wondering why he had seemed familiar. Panic began to consume you as Sam continued to flip through, the blue eyes in each photo seeming more sinister than the last, haunting your subconscious. 

Sam stopped when he noticed your trembling. Your eyes were glassy as you stared at the photo of the brunette decked in a peacoat.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam asked, worried.

“T-this man,” you pointed to the photo. “It was him last night.”

“Are you sure?” Sam closed the album, giving you a concerning gaze. “Do you need to lay down?”

How dare he. He didn’t believe you. After everything, was it all pity?

“Yes, I’m freaking sure!” you shouted, tears spilling over. “And I do not need to lay down, Sam. I’m perfectly fine.”

It was tense from there. None of you spoke for a while. You could see a shine of regret reflected in his orbs, softening your anger by bit. Despite his reserved apprehension, he had saved and later, attended to you. He didn’t deserve your fury.

“I-I’m sorry for shouting, but why would I lie about this Sam?” you sighed. You were tired. “I don’t know who he is or if he’s even alive. I’ve never met him, but it seems like my landlord has.”

“Do you want to see him? Tomorrow?” Sam asked. “I can arrange it.”

“Yes, please,” you pleaded, giving him an empty smile. “Ghosts or not, I need answers.”

“Okay,” he slipped the album beneath his arm. “Let me check the attic first.”

Sam had checked every corner twice before climbing down. There was nothing unusual, saved for the coincidental album.

 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖

The wet concrete was a hazard as you exited the car. Fall brought in cold winds as well as the small drizzles and showers here and there. The smell of rain mixed in with mud was high as you and Sam took deliberate steps on the pavement. 

The mailbox was a rusted red with ‘Rogers’ scrawled in white, the lawn an immaculate green spread that showed its upkeep. Opposed to the grandeur and foreboding nature of your rental, Mr Rogers’ abode was a small little thing. It looked old and worn, with a browning chimney and paint chipping off its sides.

You rang the doorbell and waited. Soon, Mr Rogers greeted you and welcomed you both in.

“Come in, come in. Make yourselves comfy, it’s not much but it’s home.” he ushered in. “Please, take a seat. I’m making some tea in the kitchen. It won’t be long.” Mr Rogers disappeared, leaving you and Sam time in his living room.

Similar to the exterior, the interior was just as worn, with the lumpy couches and yellow staining the ceiling. This house had seen better days but you couldn’t deny the certain charm. Off to the side of the living room, a fireplace stood, its mantle littered with framed photographs. You took a step closer to observe them. 

There were many photos of Mr Rogers with his wife, but there were equally the same amount with that of this elusive ‘James Barnes’. All of them were of the brunette with shorter hair, clean shaven, and lean; a contrast of the man who had grabbed you. A feature that stood out were his eyes. They looked hopeful and bright in these, the opposite of what you’ve seen. You shivered at the memory of locking with them through many mirrors. 

“I hope you’re both fine with regular black tea.” The older man came in, carrying a tray of bone china tea set and finger sandwiches. He poured you each a cup, placing them on the coffee table.

“It’s more than fine, sir,” Sam took a cup. “Thank you for your hospitality.” 

It was quiet for a moment with everyone sipping their tea. You sat beside Sam on the lumpy couch to the opposite of the older gentleman. You didn’t know where to start.

“I heard of what happened,” Mr Rogers started to your relief. “Officers Matthews and McCray phoned me in the morning. They’re probably exasperated, those two. Always getting calls about my house.”

“Enough about that, I should be asking you about your well-being. How are you doing, dear?” he asked, giving you a forlorn expression.

The blues of his eyes began to change, taking on a much more steely quality. His platinum strands darkened and lengthened, becoming dull and greasy. His frail body began bulking and doubling in size. The wrinkles of his skin disappeared, pulling taut over his cheekbones. 

He was morphing, taking on the figure that haunts you.

In his place was your monster.

 A nudge surprised you, pulling you away. The face of your nightmare nowhere, Mr Rogers remained in his armchair.

“Hey, you alright?” Sam shook you, concerned. “We lost you for a minute there.”

“Um, yeah.” 

You looked at him, eyes vacant. You turned towards the older man, he gave you the same look of concern. 

“It’s nothing, just thought I— Sorry, it’s nothing.” you gave a nervous chuckle. 

“Is there anything I can help with?” Mr Rogers asked, refilling your cup. “I know this is far from just a friendly visit. From my experience with past tenants, I understand if you want to leave. And don’t you worry about the deposit, I’ll give a full refund. It’s the least I could do.”

Relief filled your chest at hearing those words. This wasn’t what you had come here for, but it was a welcomed balm to your already tumultuous mind. It was one less thing to worry about.

“Thank you, Mr Rogers,” you said. “But that’s not actually what we’re here for.”

Signalling towards Sam, he uncovered the photo album from a canvas bag. You took it and carefully set it on the coffee table, spreading it open to a portrait of a brunette soldier. 

“We’re sorry for bringing this here, but it dropped from the attic when we opened the hatch,” Sam explained.

You watched as the elder’s fingers ghosted over the lettering of the man’s name;  James Buchanan Barnes . They were light, careful, afraid of ruining the piece of antiquity. 

“Mr Rogers, can you tell us a bit about this man?” you asked, desperate for answers. “Were the two of you friends?”

It took a while before he answered, eyes never taking off the photo.

“Bucky was my best friend. We grew up together in Brooklyn and he always had my back. Though, he was always neckin’ with a dame once in a while,” he mirthlessly chuckled. “He was always there.”

“When my ma contracted TB and passed, Bucky always helped. Late on the rent? He’ll cover it for ya. Low on food? He can cook.” 

He flipped through the album, recounting every tale that came with a photo and you let him. This was a man who missed his youth, left for only time to claim.

He recited how they went to Connie Island and how he threw up after riding the Cyclone. The many dance hall dates that left him for his friend. The many tales of how ‘Bucky’ had saved his butt in alley fights. The war they spent together fighting in Europe, defeating Nazi base after Nazi base. The war where he returned the favour of becoming ‘Bucky’s’ saviour.

“Bucky was all I had.”

 He stopped at the last page, where a photo of them in uniform in the snowy mountains stood. 

“What happened to him?” Sam asked.

A long stretch of silence filled between the three of you, not readying you for the answer you were to receive.

“He died. Fell off a train in the Alps. I never saw him again.” 

And it was back to silence. A beat or two passed.

“What’s this sudden interest in him?” the elder man asked, accompanied by a mirthless chuckle. “I didn’t think I’d be reciting his tale again after so long.”

You flipped the pages back to the portrait, stomach becoming queasy as you prepared to tell your tale.

“This man,” you paused, pointing at the photo. “He’s the one that came into the house the other night.”

“How…? Are you sure?” Mr Rogers’ breath hitched. “He’s been long gone for 75 years.”

“We’re not sure how,” you started. “But I have a theory.”

Sam handed you a flimsy folder. You opened it, taking out clipped pieces of paper. Most of them were screenshots of blog posts from previous tenants, recounting their part of the story living in your current residence. There was a similarity in their retellings that you noticed.

“These are some of the blog posts I managed to find on the house.” You arranged the papers on the coffee table, making them face the elderly man. “Sorry to sprung these on you, but I noticed a consistency in the hauntings that tenants before me have experienced.”

“Go on.”

You let out a breath before continuing, ”In each of the stories, everyone has said that they’ve seen an apparition of a man.” 

You pointed to the highlighted texts, their descriptions of an encounter similar.

“Sometimes in an army uniform.”

You turned to the portrait film of ‘Bucky’ in his World War II uniform.

“And sometimes in a blue coat.”

You flipped to the photo of Mr Rogers and ‘Bucky’ on the Alps. It was too good of a coincidence.

“So, what you’re saying,” Mr Rogers put two and two. “Maybe it’s his spirit that has been haunting the house all along.”

“That’s a way to put it,” you confirmed.

He seemed to still be taking it all in. A conflicted expression on his face, full of sadness and worry. Minutes passed and everyone started to move on, with the elder steering the conversation away. You thought it would take time for him, after the sudden resurgence and recalling of a traumatic past. You thought he would have more questions. But he surprised you and Sam by bouncing back, carrying the conversation with the fond memories of his past. It seemed a bit odd, but you put it behind you.

 The both of you ended up staying over for dinner. 

“Won’t you keep an old man company? It can be quite lonely since I don’t have kids of my own.”

The evening flew faster, with Sam and Mr Rogers exchanging military stories over plates of spaghetti. They bonded over their shared experience, with you chiming in questions  once in a while. You looked on in fondness, enjoying the time spent. Maybe you could do it again.

When it came time to leave, you both thanked Mr Rogers for his hospitality. You slipped him an invitation to have a meal at the house some time. However, before you could leave, the elder stopped you, a hand gripping your shoulder.

“Sorry dear, I needed to know. This theory of yours,” he said, forehead creasing. “You don’t believe in them, do you?”

You were caught in surprise by his sudden line of questioning, having thought of already getting past it. Nevertheless, you answered.

“Maybe I’m starting to have a change of thought.” 

And finally, you were no longer in denial.

A/N: Next up: The Witch’s Visit

[queen0fm0nsterz]

I was curious, do you have any other headcanons about the previous ladies of the maw? I've read your two posts about them and I really love this theory. How do you think the first lady might have gotten on the maw or became the lady in the first place? I might want to draw fanart based on this

AAAAA!!!! I'm glad that you liked the post about them! I'm really proud of that theory and I have to admit I may have grown a little attached to the girls.

I have another post in the works about their succession order (btw this one is almost done, I promise you it's gonna be worth the wait) and I have to say I have quite a few headcanons. But I'll try answering your question first.

Okay, so. Let's establish the concept that for a Lady to exist, a young girl must be plagued with the Hunger. We know that the reason Six's Hunger was awakened in the first place was because of the Thin Man, so let's put it this way:

A possible Lady of the Maw cannot exist unless a Thin Man releases her Hunger, and a Thin Man cannot exist unless Mono gets betrayed, putting him in the "right" state of mind to become the Thin Man.

If my theory of Mono being the only one stuck in a loop is true, then this his whole situation even more heartbreaking, because each time he grows to become the Thin Man he basically harms an innocent he mistakes for an old friend.

(Before you ask me: yes, the girls all look similar when talking about facial features, but the selling point is the fucking yellow raincoat.)

Which leads me to wonder, what happened the first time? Who betrayed who first? Why? Did two children accidentally awake an eldritch entity that has been laying dormant for thousands of years? Or maybe the creature was already awakened, waiting for the chance of coming to light and choosing two unfortunate children as it's hosts? We may never know.

Now, HEADCANON TIME!

• Teapot is, as we established, the adventurer out of the five. When I think of her I imagine a light hearted, easy going child who likes to uncover the secrets of the world around her.

• Since her whole theme was about feeling like a prisoner, I suspect she may have not enjoyed her stay at the Maw at all. The Lady of the Maw can't leave and the place must have become boring quickly for her.

• She likes music and played the piano.

• Another thing we found out that a cracked teapot in dreams symbolizes illness, which leads me to believe that she may have had some sort of terminal illness.

• I think she may have left her successor eat her willingly to finally escape the Maw, since, you know. She was going to die anyway.

• Now Tengu, on the other hand...

• You know those types of people that are costantly angry at the world but really it's just a front they put out because they're extremely emotionally vulnerable? Yeah. That's her.

• She's the most disliked out of the five. The kids that travelled the Maw during her reign absolutely hated her.

• Some of her hobbies include reading and writing. Her library is filled with all sorts of books.

• In spite of her harsh exterior she's actually a pretty nice person when you get to know her. The hard part is getting to know her.

• Unlike the current Lady, Tengu takes part in the lives of everyone on the Maw actively. She could be seen walking around the Guests, chatting with them and making sure everything is of their liking. She was also quite close with her staff.

• The only one who actively tried to reach back to the Thin Man and failed.

• Fox is a fundamentally kind and caring soul. Gifted with wits and quick thinking, she always tries to make the best out of any situation she's thrown in.

• Out of the five she's the one who had a closer relationship with the children. They all adored her and the feeling was mutual.

• The one who was most similar to Six personality wise.

• Welcomed her successor with open arms, even if she knew her own life was at risk.

• Personally I think she tried to change the course of events by trying to befriend the child instead of killing her. I can't imagine Fox laying her hands on a child.

• This plan backfired. She died a horrible death.

• Lastly, Scarecrow. I always thought of her as someone who likes to be by herself. Not necessarely shy, just a loner who enjoys the quiet of her own quarters.

• I can honestly see her leaning towards the arts. Maybe she painted in her free time.

• She almost never leaves her quarters unless she has to greet the Guests.

• Her employees are given many liberties: they can basically do as they please. She never comes out to check on them anyway.

• She may have had a younger sister whom she lost at some point.

[frogmanwritings]

How the writers have failed Roundhouse’s character

I’ve seen a fair bit of dislike towards Roundhouse and his character. I myself personally like Roundhouse, but I can definitely see the points of others, which I feel however can be put onto the blame of two factors that I will go through.

This is by no means trying to say that disliking the character is wrong, you can like or dislike any character you choose, but I feel that some of the reasons I will go over that be attributed to things outside of the in-world of the character.

Also new Twinkle chapter should be coming within the week, so if you’re following me for my fanfiction, have that to look forward to. <3

Anywho...

1. Development Roundhouse’s development throughout the first some issues is actually pretty good. 

#20 they give you the idea that Roundhouse doesn’t belong. He looks unsuspecting, acts unsuspecting and everyone is sure to point it out. Robin and Red Arrow are immediately against him being on the team, and Robin only agreed because he wanted Kid Flash on the team and they were a ‘group deal’. Even when Roundhouse shows usefulness, like when he was able to get a potential lead towards who the ‘Other’ is, Robin pays him no mind, and he is visibly rattled by the explosion that follows. And then back at base, he is picked on by Crush, and has to get Wallace to back him up.

#21, he is easily deflected by Gizmo’s technology, all while rambling about social media and ‘Viewtube’, and once Gizmo is defeated by Djinn, he isn’t given an assignment by Robin who gives everyone else something to do. And then, when he joins the girls in getting the kids out of the store, he quite blatantly fails, leading him to ride on Crush’s and Djinn’s success. But he also shows intelligence, with quick thinking and a partial sacrifice leading him to save New York when he gets launched into space with a nuke. This is where he seemingly dies.

#22, He is thought to be dead, and yet Kid Flash is the only one mourning him. Crush is dismissive, Robin puts blame on himself because he “wasn’t ready”, and Red Arrow calls it an “inevitability” and turns his death into a training session.

#23, it’s revealed that he is alive and didn’t try to reach out to the team because he believed that no one would care... and because he was grounded. When he returns to the team, we quickly see just how ‘normal’ he is in comparison to the rest of them, with their parent situations each heavily complicated, further pushing the narrative that he’s just an average kid with the most abnormal thing he has is a strict mother.

#25, we get to see just how he lives the nuke in space, and how he gets back. His concussed self hallucinates his dead sister helping out of the situation he gets in, likely because she’s the one he loved the most and the one he sook guidance in when she was alive, as well as brief insight into himself.

#26, he actually gets trusted to do something by Robin, and not just anything, but hack into the Batcomputer. He shows both awe and fear of Batman in the process, and while hacking, he shows that while smart, he isn’t perfect, and causes an alarm. Then, when the supposed Batman comes to attack, he hides in fear and has to be saved by Robin.

#27, he brings Wallace home for dinner. And here, he displays even more elements of being just an average and awkward kid, like with how his mother acts, how he’s convinced her that Crush is his girlfriend(revealing his attraction to her), some bits of his early life and more, as well as more insight into how he feels about his sister’s death and his powers, how it makes him feel that she’s the one who died.

And from here, is when his pivotal plot commences. He discovers Robin’s underground prison, and based on factors to be revealed, he releases the inmates. It backfires, with the villains attacking him and his teammates and inadvertently causing the ‘death’ of Deathstroke.

We get more character tidbits, like on how willing he is to help his friends, even against a foe he is very outclassed by in Lobo, how he cares for them in the face of danger, having little care for his own safety as opposed to them, and even how Robin and Red Arrow still doubts him when it’s revealed there’s a traitor among their ranks, doubting that he’d be capable of something like this.

And then, #34, is when we get the big reveal. But not before we get even further insight into Roundhouse. Robin interrogates him, and while Roundhouse is lying about how he didn’t take Djinn’s ring, he still reveals information about himself and even breaks down Robin’s choice of interrogation, further showing his intelligence. His insecurities, his guilt over his sister dying, how hard he tries because he wants so badly to be a hero but isn’t sure if he’s right for it.

And #35, the high point of this development. It’s revealed to the team that Roundhouse is the traitor and here he breaks down his background and why he did it. How close he was to Claire, how he saw her die, how he saw Robin swing away. Where he’s coming from is wrong, but the points he makes against Robin are correct. What Robin was doing was horrible, and Roundhouse just wanted to expose him for the bad person he was.

But his emotions get the better of him. Robin says it himself, he’s acted out thanks to a lot of stress coming from an emotional state. But when he perceived Robin acting mightier than him, he struck out and trapped Djinn in her ring. When Crush breaks from her restraints in rage to try and kill him, he accepts it, saying he deserves it, and is only saved by the intervention of Lobo.

Afterwards, he expresses grief and regret over his actions, and wants to help the team secure Crush. But after he gets left behind, he escapes and goes back home, ‘quitting’ the team and delving even deeper into his insecurities. Like how his sister was always better than him at everything and how his family was just ‘stuck with him’. But his mother gives him comfort, saying that while Claire was smarter, he was always more sociable, always caring for others over him and always being so emotional, and convincing him to go back to his friends to right his wrong, in which he saves Red Arrow, Kid Flash and Crush from drowning.

Now, we’re finally at a point where we can get into his redemption, the most keypoint of a good character’s redemption at #38. And what we get? Roundhouse gives a speech about how people make mistakes and he makes his, but he wants to do good. And once the team finally beats the Other, Robin tells him that he doesn’t need to apologize. And the issues after, we never see Roundhouse do anything to try and redeem himself.

These issues should at least be partially dedicated to Roundhouse trying to make up for what he did, but instead, things go back to normal as though they never happened. This is a ridiculous failure on the part of the writers, as it robs that last part of development right from Roundhouse and leaves that sour taste in the mouth of fans who want to see this character who did a horrible thing make up for it.

Like, Roundhouse's character isn't complicated. He's a goofball that was forced into his powers at the cost of his sister, and so while he wants to do good, he's still unsure on if he should be a hero because he’s insecure as all hell and constantly makes errors. He’s an average kid that collects Supreme merch, plays Fortnite and binges anime. He tries, but he messes up, perhaps because he's not a natural hero and shouldn’t be. And as we saw, his emotions got the better of him, the grief over his sister’s death, the person he was the closest to all of his life, and he took it out on the closest face he could attach the incident to, further justified by Robin’s prison and brainwashing.

To have potential development for him trying to redeem himself in the face of those who may not trust him anymore reduced to one sappy speech and a "You don't need to apologize, we have all done bad things(not true)" is just a shame. And I get why they did it, because they wanted focus on the Djinn War and Robin's collapse, not on this side character, but you've written yourself in a position where things can't go back to normal and yet they wrote it like they could, with a snap. And now you make Roundhouse look like he doesn’t actually care for what happened, nor the team does because everyone’s acting buddy buddy with him again.

There have been examples of bad writing in this Teen Titans run from Glass, most specifically being the characterization of Robin, but also Emiko and Wallace, but the flubbing of Roundhouse’s character development is also a big point of it for me as well, because I came to enjoy the character reading through, but you completely cut short his redemption, leaving out arguably the most major part of one’s development.

And I had even thought that Roundhouse was going to die in #41, based on the solicitation for it reading: “But victory comes at a terrible cost — because one of the Teen Titans won’t be making it back!“

I’d be sad to see Roundhouse go, but his death/entrapment here, at the finale of the Djinn War, would at least be something redeeming, or an end to his character development. He was the one who trapped Djinn, and willing to do anything he can to save her and bring her back, he ultimately sacrifices himself for it to defeat Elias. This would fit his character, as he’s always felt guilty over being the one to survive the accident that gave him his powers over Claire and here, he’d be able to put them to use when he rights his wrong.

And while I can’t say I’m disappointed that Roundhouse didn’t die, it would’ve at least been something, instead of what we got.

2. Inconsistency

This one isn’t nearly as long as the other, or as convoluted, but there’s inconsistency with the character, and it comes down to Glass leaving the project and Thompson taking over. Say what you will about Glass, but I can believe that he had a vision in mind for what Roundhouse’s character was, and he never quite broke it while writing. But now, Robbie Thompson has taken over, And we are getting new flashes of Roundhouse.

Roundhouse is now making references, to TMNT, to Supernatural, to whatever he can. Which is fine, ok, he’s a nerd. But when we get further in, suddenly, Roundhouse is the one that trusts Robin the most. Which is ridiculous. He gets told that Robin killed Brother Blood, and yet out of everyone, HE’S the one who doubts it, and then feels betrayed when it turns out it’s true. If anything, he should feel like he was in the right for believing Robin to be bad. He says Robin’s ruined the Teen Titans, which was already ruined when they broke up and when Roundhouse said that he himself ruined the team. Like, are you serious? Robin crossed a line, but as others have said, he’s just being hypocritical.

And him giving these speeches about being good just doesn’t work with the above mentioned, being a proper redemption to his story, as opposed to just skipping over that part of the story. What has he actually done to make up for what he did, besides help the team? Nothing, and that’s unforgivable. He talks about wanting to make up for things, but he never actually does.

And that’s that. I doubt many people will read this, but this is just my two cents on how the writers have ultimately failed Roundhouse’s development, and likely cemented him as someone that most fans will dislike for a long time, if not forever, because of it.

[beaflower77]

An Atmosphere Of Sorrow

“I’ll be back soon. I promise,” he insisted, “I have to investigate the fit and finish issue they stuck me with at the Assembly Plant. These damn build issues are a nuisance.” And he walked out, forgetting behind the black tattered briefcase he always carried. He kissed her lightly. She frowned. She had no choice but to let him go to work, and her back to that house. She sulked. 

Her mood being dark and uneasy, Dove crossed her arms, huddled herself further into her thick blue sweater and began dubiously walking back toward the front door. The harvest air was getting increasingly crisper each day, and her faculties more scattered. As he backed the old ‘72 Pinto down the gravel drive, the muffler backfired. Black smoke puffed behind. She hoped it wouldn’t burst into flames as old cars did, it seemed to be an impressively sturdy old car. For its age. 

“I wish you wouldn’t keep pouring money into that old crapper of a car,” she said against the chilly air. “One day Franklin,” she threatened the wind, “You’re going to find all those parts fallen off that rust bucket and lay scattered on the drive come morning. And no car for us to drive. Or blown up and burnt to a crisp.” Slowly Dove procrastinated walking back, stopping to smell the remaining magnolia on her way. Outside it was crisp, but still pleasant. Outside. 

Furnace had gone off. Again. She was lightly bundled in a tee, another shirt and sweater on top of that. House was still cold. Squinting at the out of date thermostat in the hall, Dove suspiciously tapped several times hoping to make the little red arrow move in a more positive direction toward 72. Today, maybe 82. No such luck. The thermostat still registered 58, and it wasn’t gonna budge. Sighing against nothing and feeling downcast Dove decided to check her luck with the furnace downstairs. It was the third time this week the power had gone out.

Tossing her slippers aside, pulling on last years christmas combat boots which Franklin had gifted her, Dove tromped loudly down, pulling against the chain attached to a bulb for some illumination. “Oh, that’s right. How quickly I forget. There’s nothing,” she said annoyingly. Forgetting the power outage, she fumbled through the dark, fiddling round to locate the flashlight. Her fingers finally found it. Clicking it on, looking around, she saw nothing out of place. However, sensing a shadow from her peripheral vision, Dove froze. She felt a fluttering of tight sensations inside her chest. Her skin prickled. With chest pounding, throat tightening, Dove’s psyche shrank. It was so much colder down here she noticed. Slowly turning her head, staring long into the dim, was a figure. A slim male figure standing against the bricked basement wall and dirt packed floor. Battered old brown hat on his head, waistcoat buttoned nicely, tan suit, hands by his side never moving. But his eyes, his eyes were sharp. And they stared directly back at Dove. Opening her mouth, Dove could taste the staleness of the basement’s air, she also knew she was breathing it in, and just knowing that made her chest constrict more rise and fall in rapid silence. The man continued to stare, she continued to stare. Too frightened to move, Dove almost forgot to breathe, and parts of her reasoning went out the window. 

Coming to terms there was truly something there, or rather someone, Dove’s gut clenched, and trying very hard not to embrace this realistic idea, Dove tried concentrating only on her breathing and forced her legs to move past his image, the scattered boxes, the washer, and look for the correct heating pipes on the ceiling. Making light of a squeamish situation, Dove insisted, “I don’t think you’re there.” And she exhaled just a bit while trying to calm down. Perhaps this was just a trick of the eye to convince herself it was from lack of sleep. A very large lack of sleep. Her breathing didn’t get any better, but her eyes felt so horribly heavy and tired and sore. She rubbed them. It didn’t help. “I really don’t like this house. I hate this house. I hate it here,” Dove grumbled. “Where is the stupid furnace?” She sense the apparition still there watching, “Don’t look at me!”, she forced out, not too convincingly. A headache began. And a frightening, horrid idea came to her mind. What if it were actually real? 

As Dove walked past, she considered was she just visualizing something that really wasn’t there, or was it actually real? Perhaps it was time for her annual eye exam. No, she had one just last year. Truly it was not easy to tell the difference anymore Dove thought, as her stomach lurched and her throat’s saliva dried. Feeling queasy and nauseous she put her hand to her abdomen. The smell was thick and swollen, it was enormous and it lingered. It smelt putrid, like rotted eggs broken and left sitting too long on a stove overnight, or maybe even a year. “Oh, my god,” Dove whined. “It stinks down here.” And lifting her tee, Dove covered her mouth and nose. “I’m going to tell Franklin there are dead rats down here. It’s his family’s house, he can look for their dead bodies. Not me.” 

Next she looked, which Dove had claimed she wouldn’t, the old man was still there. He watched. This time his mouth turned a slight smile. She turned quickly away, “I’m not talking to you,” Dove mumbled lowly, “I’m not looking at you either. You don’t exist. Just don’t be there, go away,” and she refused to look in the spectre’s direct path again. Just thinking this was all too real made Dove sick. Going about her business, finding the furnace, rattling the large overhead pipes into life or heat, nothing happened. Avoiding looking at the back wall, tromping back upstairs, Dove decided on a different tactic. Sleep. That usually solved all the world’s problems. 

Still his eyes followed. Still his smile remained. And Dove’s feelings of the macabre and fear increased and doubled with each creak the basement steps made against her weight. She turned her flashlight off. She wanted to heave. 

Heading back into the kitchen, Dove tossed aside her boots in lieu of warm slippers and checked the electricity again. Instead of flipping the light switch, she stuck the power cord of the toaster into the socket. All she received back was a phfist and a puff of black smoke. “Eww”, Dove said sourly. “Wonderful. Thanks a bunch. All I wanted was a piece of toast. Dumb toaster.” She pulled on the cord and a little blue zip of lightning came from the socket. “Ouch!” as she yanked her fingers back wrapping them protectively with her other hand. She grabbed a bag of chips and a half eaten donut left on the counter instead. Taking out the last of the juice from the warm fridge, Dove could now confirm the electricity was definitely out. Fridge warm, no light inside either. Complaining as she walked towards the bedroom, “Yeah thanks electric company for turning everything off. Again.” Yet for all her whining, Dove felt enormously better up here, than down there. 

Still things continued to plague her senses. But at least, the smell had lessoned. 

That blue electric zip should not have been there without electricity, Dove thought, but she didn’t let this fact invade her brain, for to do so was admitting defeat, admitting something screwy was happening in the house. Or with her sense of normality. This house, for all its newer additions and older rooms, with the old pully windows and creaky floor boards was unsettling, sad and distressful at best. Each time Dove walked into the foyer the sadness, the gloom hit her like a pile of bricks. Each room entertaining its own depth of sorrow, its own magnitude of heartache and woe, made such a dent in her emotional heartache sometimes causing her to tear and cry for no particular reason anymore. 

She sensed shadows of loss, of tears, tossed away dreams of love. And the regret, despair and gloominess enveloped her more each day. “Such a horrific combination. So dismal, so mournful,” Dove caressed the void and a sorrow unlike any she had known enclosed around her. “I feel so, so dreary and miserable, yet there’s nothing truly wrong or empty in my life, I just..” However during the lonely, desolate days she would roam, roam the halls, the half dusted, half empty rooms, feeling abandoned, nostalgic and soppy. “I wondered who lived here before. Or what they did, what words they used. How they lived, how they .. died. It’s just .. creepy here sometimes. It’s too overwhelming and disappointing.” Such despair and anguish was almost completely unbearable for Dove to fathom each day. 

Looking around, wandering each room, touching a doorframe here, stair banister there, looking over the intricate cornucopia of ceiling designs and motifs above, she tried not letting her emotions pool around her as her sweater did. Returning down to the kitchen sink, sticking her burnt fingers again under a cool stream of faucet water, “At least the water is still on.” When looking out the kitchen window, Dove couldn’t see any other house across the gravel drive. Was it just this house, this area? Did any other house have power outages as well, and as often? She decided it was too cold to walk down the drive and look. But then looking twice, Dove thought she saw a flicker. A flicker of something, or someone moved past the kitchen window. Pulling quickly back, eyes wide, a panic intruded her mind. Dove escaped to her upstairs bedroom and decided to isolate herself. Her mind which often played tricks here went with her, and stayed there till late afternoon.

When Franklin returned with a large order of take out, thoughts of a basement man, flickering images and her sad, despondent lingering thoughts had long left. Having her mouth load up on Chinese lobster with rice had not only filled her stomach but her heart as well with a well stocked amount of peace she hadn’t realized she had missed since morning. A steamy conversation took the place of uncomfortable feelings that night. 

But the next day arrived too soon.

By the morning the heat was back. “Hey, furnace is back,” Franklin sang out from a too hot shower. 

Dove was still under the heated mess of covers. “Hmm,” she sighed. She breathed in deeply, stretched, and rolled right back over. Hopefully they could go out tonight, at least that was her anticipated plan. Today she was not going to let any shadows intrude. Dove had work to do, and she had no plans to plunge into that basement again. But as she rolled over, she wondered, could Franklin sense these feelings, these shadows and imaginings, or was it just her? Probably not. Maybe she imagined. No, not. And fearing to ask, Dove would only hear in return, “It’s just your imagination”, or “You’re just tired, You’re working too hard.” “Perhaps it is just too real,” she might say back. Her eyes closed and sleep drew her back for more dreams. 

“I should be back early tonight,” Franklin whispered, kissing her lightly before walking out the door. “We’ll go out tonight, if you’d like,” came his suggestion. Dove smiled. The car backfired. And nothing was what Dove heard, deep in Rem sleep for once. Fragrant, slow steamy coffee with hot toast and jam filled her dreams. All reminders of the ethereal were long forgotten. For now. 

A solo steamy shower over, Dove vigorously rubbed her body, and proceeded with launching her wet hair down in front of her curled body and frisked it back and forth saying to no one in particular, “I’ve got lots to do today. No time for nonsense or nothing. Today we’re going to crack those eggs and get moving!” And a frisky, happy tone toward work began. She hummed along to her playlist. 

Straightening back up, flipping her damp hair over, something stood out from the corner of her eye. She spun! She started! Dove froze! Someone was standing there! Dove saw someone standing right there, in front of her! Right next to her, and she could see it clearly reflecting back in the mirror. “Ahh!,” backing up too suddenly, clinching, grabbing at her towel. Dove’s heart lurched, she felt it double thump loudly and even stop. Her breathe came rapidly, and a tiny dribble of urine escape down her leg. Dove almost fell into the toilet. The vision was gone rapidly.

The electricity had gone out again. The electric clocks blinked on and off. The sky outside cloudy, revealing hardly any sun made the bathroom gray and dismal. This was the third time in a week. And more than enough times to be caught off guard.

As Dove started freaking out, she went about gathering her clothes, flinging them on and called Franklin on her cell. As he stated answering her call, “Davenport here”,  heavy machinery noise collided with delicate cell coverage. He put a finger in his ear. 

“I can’t!” she claimed. “I can’t do this anymore! Franklin! Franklin, please come home! I want to go home! I don’t want to be here anymore!” Dove was emphatically blunt and direct. 

“Do what?!” he questioned, not hearing her clear enough. “Dove? What’s the matter? Where are you? What’s going on?!” As too much noise drowned Dove’s pleas and pain out, “Wait! Let me move out of here. Hang on!” And he walked away from the noise. “Turn off those cylinders! Make sure you leave those plugs on,” Franklin announced as he backed out of the plants’ all too clamorous building. “Ok Dove, what’s the problem?” He sincerely wanted to understand, for he too had noticed eerie things happening. He needed clarity, a definition of understanding, and of course she was there all day alone. 

As she waited for him to move, Dove rammed herself onto their bed and stuffed her body on top of the covers while trying to keep her head together. Her heart raced as she looked around, promising no more frightening shadows were in sight. Or listening to her conversation. “Franklin,” she tried first appealing to his intellect, “I don’t want to be in this house any longer. It’s uncomfortable.” When that approach didn’t get an immediate response, “Franklin,” Dove continued more forcefully, “It’s looking at me. The house is looking at me. It’s watching me,” she pleaded. “There are shadows, things, noises! I can’t stand it! I see them everywhere, I don’t like it, I don’t like it here.” 

“Dove,” was all he could strangle out. 

“No. No Franklin. If I stay another minute in this house, I will go mad.” She let that tidbit sink in. The phone connection was silent. “Franklin? Frank?”

Franklin went silent. “Dove, it’s just a house,” he tried convincing her. But he knew, he knew she also knew. He had sensed something creepy as well, just didn’t think he’d noticed it, maybe didn’t want to acknowledge it, but yeah, something wrong was going on. Something was wrong with that blasted house. He had promised his Uncle they would fix up. That was the plan. Fix it up as a favor, sell it, split the proceeds 80/20 for a better place. That made Dove happy originally knowing then they could afford the little place they had dreamed of last year. That was the plan. It was a good plan. It was.

“No!” Dove repeated firmly. “It’s not just a house! It’s, it’s everything, it’s everywhere! Franklin! This house, it watches me, everywhere! In the basement, in the kitchen! Franklin, in the god damn shower!” That got his attention. That was as close to creepy as it would get for Franklin. As much as Dove was concentrating on the phone, she also scanned the room. “No more. I can’t do this anymore. It’s creepy here, something’s wrong here. This place is not right.  It’s beginning to get like a shi  .“

“I’ll come home. It’s okay,” he cut her off. “Give me a couple hours to sort things out here. I’ll be home. We’ll talk. It’ll be okay.” Promising and calming Dove, getting her to subside a bit, Franklin ended the call, closed his eyes, breathed in heavily, finally admitting the house, that house was indeed a problem. A huge freaking problem. A problem he had to deal with, just like everything else right now he had to deal with. Making more calls, signing off on orders, rearranging and arguing with production managers, Franklin made it clear he was going home for the day. Early. To deal with that house. Maybe not. He would check Dove’s current mood, talk with her, then make a decision. Filled with fear of making a dreadful mistake, Franklin waffled. Still he had to go home, to that blasted mess of a house.

Dealings of that day dealt with, Franklin and Dove settled into a calmer, steadier albeit slightly downcast mood. Franklin took the rest of the week off, and both arranged themselves into a swift routine of mutual breakfasts, restoring and refinishing older sections of the house, and carry out for dinners. Still with menacing and threatening shadows lurking around corners, a much needed quieter unity now settled over the place, and both Dove and Franklin as well. 

It didn’t last long enough. The electricity went out again. Too often it seemed.

“Franklin, turn the heat up! It’s freezing in here!” Dove yelled from the kitchen.

“Heat’s off again!” he yelled back. “Grab a sweater! Get one for me too, would ‘ya!”

Hammering away on loose boards against a tight stairway, Franklin reached behind him for the remaining nails. Should he use the flooring nails, or the cut nails? Instead, he just reached for whatever was behind him, and as he did, so too did the icy hand which reached out to touch his. Feeling the instant frostiness, instinctively knowing it couldn’t be Dove’s, Franklin yanked his hand away, while alarmingly pivoting his head. As he did so, his balance was so severely lost and Franklin spiraled and tumbled down the cracked stairs to land with a thud! The crash was heard five miles away. His hip, elbow and side leg was going to pain him for an entire week or three. And he tried to right himself  while unclenching his jaw. “Oh, what the hell, for crap’s sake was that about?” he groaned. His movements slowed, and his vision spun and blurred.

“Franklin?!” yelled Dove from the kitchen. She ran, spilling the coffee off the counter. And slipped. Or rather was pushed. Gently of course. “Ugh. Son of a ...,” Dove began. Then remembering, “Franklin?!” Slowly she turned, picking herself up and wiped her wet coffee stained palms down her jeans.

“I’m okay,” he guessed dazed, simply too stunned to think of anything else to say, and looked up the stairs. A shadow drifted off. He thought he saw a shadow drift off. Between witnessing himself move off the ground, cradling his hands, and gazing toward the top of the stairs, “I guess I’m ok,” he reiterated. Looking at her soiled, wet pants, “What happened to you?” he asked

“I fell.” 

Franklin could only look on in befuddlement, with a slight dawning of dread.

Looking him over, “Now do you believe me?” Dove asked for confirmation. She wrapped her wet blue sweater closer. “Franklin?” He continued to look up the stairs. “It’s this house Franklin. It’s something here. Here. I feel so, so..” Dove could not continue her strange thought, only to relay to the cool, dispassionate air, “So much sorrow. So much loss and regret. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow.” Franklin stopped his upward gaze and simply stared at her aghast. An atmosphere of sorrow? He tried fathoming what she was talking about. Dove continued to stand and stare into nothingness. Franklin continued to stare at Dove. 

He felt somewhat, perhaps all was already lost. His thoughts now had turned into a confirmation of sorts. This was not the Dove he knew and loved. His Dove was strong, bold and independent. This Dove was becoming frail, skittish and scared. Her thoughts were turning inward lately, while trying to retain some control over her life, her mind. But her sorrow, yes her sorrow was akin to breathing in an atmosphere of sorrow. Franklin tried rescuing her. 

Making light of the situation, “Yeah, yeah,” Franklin admitted explaining. “Something touched me.” His speaking aloud made Dove to suddenly turn toward him snapping out of her own dismal thoughts. He continued, “It was something icy cold but I knew it wasn’t you. I guess I just freaked and moved too fast, and fell. I, I don’t know.” He rubbed his neck and back of his head for soreness. His leg hurt the most, a lump was forming. But he knew otherwise. It was definitely the house or whatever remained of its’ previously previous owners. Or something to that effect. He couldn’t sort it out. Didn’t want to. A feeling of direness overcame him, and again Franklin changed the subject, grabbing Dove’s hand. “Let’s eat. Indian? Italian? What do you feel like? You like sushi right? Let’s get that. I’ll order your favs, you get changed. It’ll be here in no time.” 

He was too afraid to ask how she fell.

Another day, another night. More shadows, More noises, more of the same upsetting, unsettling feelings passed between them and the house. They both had thought this night or that night would be their last night here. Neither made any attempt to move. Until one particular night late in the evening.

“Franklin?” whispered Dove. They had just settled in bed for an hour or so. “Franklin?” and she gave his arm a little nudge. Nothing. She waited. Dove cuddled down further in bed, squeezing herself closer to the heat of Franklin’s sleeping body. Try at she may, sleep wouldn’t come. Hearing noises, ticks, rattlings and other sounds she couldn’t place, Dove tried in vain to reconcile her restlessness with something other than the obvious. The house was unhappy. Rather quite unhappy. The emotional feeling was solid and freely roaming throughout.

As Dove nervously lay there listening to the unpleasant noise of unhappiness, of sorrow and dread, she twisted her body in such a way to look behind herself. A foreboding darkness surrounded her. And again she pleaded whispering, “Franklin?” while bumping him squarely on the arm. “Franklin.” Slowly his eyes opened. “I feel like there’s a big ball of badness coming.”

Upon seeing Dove awake and in a half crouching position, “What?” Franklin was half asleep and confused, however sensing her direness, her grief, pain and doom. “Dove?” again her asked. Turning, twisting and sitting up to touch her face, her arm, Franklin noticed what she was looking at. “What the..” He had to twist around in bed to look up and behind. 

Franklin always had the witless idea to place the head of any bed nearest the door. It was a dumb idea, a dumb thing to do. They always say never place your back toward the entrance of a door, you can’t see what’s coming. Well, again he had placed the foot of the bed facing the opposite wall and the head toward the door. Brainless. Dorky she would call it. He would admit for a long time the idea was dumb. 

Looking behind and up, Franklin could swear a pitch solid black silhouette of a man stood by the head of the bed. Only about three feet away. And stared down. There were no eyes this time, but they knew a stare even when it couldn’t be seen. Dove stared back parting her mouth just a little, letting her frosty breath come and go of its own volition. In, out, in, out. She dragged the covers closer forward, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the silhouette. 

“Close your eyes,” Franklin ordered. “Dove, close your eyes.” She couldn’t. Franklin felt her emotional dread, heartache and sorrow accost him all at once. He suddenly what it was to breathe an atmosphere of sorrow.

Grabbing Dove by both arms, “Look at me,” Franklin sternly directed. “Only look at me. Dove!” She did. “Don’t look at it,” commanded Franklin. “Keep your eyes on me. Only on me.” And Dove did. She never looked again in front of her. Continuing to stare only at Franklin however, Dove would never let go of the panic, the fright, the pain of the apparition. She also would never see the shadow blink, the unseen eyes glow, fading in and out of the dark, and never would see the shadow emit such loss, such wretchedness and torment of remorse. She never saw when it dissipated and left. But she did see Franklin, she saw his eyes, the bright gray light reflecting back everything which was good, kind and connected to her own. And she stayed that way for a very long time. 

After what seemed like a perpetual eternity, Dove’s eyes closed. And when they opened again, she was cradled against Franklin’s body, wrapped up warm in a multitude of blankets. And Franklin, still awake and alert. 

Smiling up at him, the phantom boogieman of last night long from her mind, Dove had the mindset to get up and make them both fresh coffees. “How about some coffee? I”ll make so .. “

“Pack your things,” Franklin earnestly stated. Dove’s look of surprise began a panic anew which was long forgotten again. Again he reiterated, “We’re leaving. Now. No coffee, no nothing. Pack your things, and whatever you want. We’re going.” Dove’s slow apprehension turned quickly to a fluster.

“But,” she stammered. “Raphael? What about Raphael?”

Flinging back heated covers, “I’ll tell my Uncle we don’t have the funds anymore to fix this place up. It’s no big deal. It’ll be fine.” Franklin leaned forward pressing his palms into the mattress, “Look Dove, I’ve been thinking. I thought all night. There’s something up with this place. Shadows, cold spots, unexplained noises. Actual spectres now? It’s getting to both of us. It’s weird. This place is too weird. I don’t want to say haunted, but. We need to leave.”

So he could tell, he could feel it too, he could. It was a welcome confirmation to Dove. A little elation, a little excitement, both permitting her mood to swing in a more positive direction, her cheeks heated, face and neck seeming to flush. With renewed spark of energy, Dove almost fell off the bed while detangling her feet from the mess of covers. “Ok,” she settled on. Just, “Ok!” And her mood rejoiced. Dove sprang into action.

No noise from downstairs that morning, no shadows popping round corners, no visions of strange basement men in beige suits smiling after her, Dove set about dumping clothing into duffle bags, folding towels and bagging up toiletries. Sifting through unknown drawers. Franklin boxed up books, kitchenware and car paraphernalia. The day jubilantly went by. Dove was even more blithe and enchanted while setting aside little trinkets and jewelry from the house she had found which agreed with her clothing choices and suited her mood. But the day also dragged on ‘till almost dusk.

The car packed full, bottles of water settled in cup holders, Franklin shut the trunk of the Pinto with a slam. Dove being almost elated, had just one last look behind her as Franklin encased himself within his seat belt, shutting the car door and turned over the engine. “Franklin,” she stated. He didn’t want to hear it. He knew what she would say. He himself had felt the pull from the house behind him. The pull and weight of anguish and distress the house sent off. He felt it come hurtling towards him, towards them. He wanted to get away now.

“Franklin,” Dove mentioned merely as a fact, “The house, there’s a something in the window. Franklin? Do you see it? Should we stay?” And as Franklin refused to look back, “Maybe we should stay,” Dove mildly suggested. It wasn’t a question. 

“No.” was the firm statement Dove was handed. “Buckle up. Let’s go. Don’t look back.” She didn’t. But still she was frightened not too. The car’s motor sputtered and sparked then finally thundered to life. It sped off. The road underneath tires crunched and battered noisily.

The driveway wasn’t long, just filled with dust and gravel. Their hearts weren’t breaking, just tired filled with regret, but also the need to escape and break free. The dusk encased them, twilight loomed, the house beckoned. The dusk, twilight and all encompassing night turned into ...

“Franklin look out!” screeched Dove, “Ahh!” as the vision swiftly bolted in front. “Franklin! It’s!, Its! No, Franklin!” as she shrieked over and over and over. She desperately tried to free herself from the strangling belt buckle. By now Dove was lost in her own screams and howls as night, cloud, dust and mist enveloped her. Those beautiful screams mingled and mixed with the beautiful vintage jewelry she carelessly stole and packed away.

Gritting his teeth, Franklin forcefully cranked the wheel to the left, while slamming on the brakes careening the front end into a pile of thickly placed trees. The sound and squash of the hood was solid and deafening. A flash blinded him. Hands grabbed for him. The smell of densely packed dirt and night and sulfur and decay splayed around them.

“Dove!” Franklin shouted, “Dove! Where are you?! Dove!” He was blinded for eons. “No!, No!, Dove!” he screamed over and over till there were no more of his own screams left to hear. 

When calls were left unanswered, when the ringing of the doorbell issued no response, when their car was later found, there were no answers to a multitude of questions. The sturdy little Pinto smashed against trees, woods extensively searched, unfinished house remodeling left abandoned, Franklin’s Uncle had no choice but to give up, and let the two young starlights go. 

No one would ever find the result of their screams. Ever.

[only-by-the-stars]

the annotated Tome of the Wild

Part 7: The Wild!

- Link didn't open his eyes. A twist on the beginning of BOTW, where you hear Zelda telling Link to open his eyes. I couldn’t resist.

- Hestu’s cameo was a lot of fun to write too. I always found him adorable, first in BOTW and then in AOC as well, and the idea of him waking up Link with his maracas was too amusing not to do. I also had to include his “shimmy shimmy” battle cry from AOC because I always laugh my head off whenever I hear it.

- This also reveals that Midna brought Link to the Great Deku Tree, a character that debuted in OOT and made further appearances in WW and BOTW.

- Something tickled her arm, breaking her out of her gloomy thoughts. Midna lifted her head and looked down. New growth was sprouting from the branch she was sitting on, wriggling its way up onto her. Nothing like this happens to Beatrice in the show, but I had to put in this chilling little moment of Midna nearly succumbing to the dekuwood. It provides a way later to introduce Rhoam’s presence in his scene, as well as some horror at what could’ve happened to her here.

- Note to self: never visit Tabantha if you can help it... Tabantha, of course, being a very cold region in BOTW’s Hyrule. Link’s newfound hatred of snow mirrors my own, and now he’s going to associate it with this horrible experience.

- “It's a bad habit, I guess.” He laughed softly. He’s referring, of course, to how he casually greeted Riju and Medli back at the school pool and they gave him a bit of a hard time about it.

- “You...” Midna stared at him for several seconds, stunned. “You...” She slapped his hand away and starting swinging her tiny fists at him, which he easily dodged. “You oaf! You idiot! What the hell—what the hell is wrong with you? How can you forgive me so easily, when you're still in a shit situation because of me? Neither one of us would be out here groping around blindly in the fucking snow if not for what I did!” I set up Midna and Link to be parallels of each other in a couple ways. One of which is that while Link has isolated himself from Mipha, hurting and confusing her, Midna is on the other end of something similar with Zelda. And here we see something they both struggle with: forgiving themselves. Midna can’t understand how Link can so easily forgive her actions towards him, while Link utterly despises himself for his actions towards Mipha and cannot forgive himself for causing her pain. He’ll later struggle with the fact that Mipha forgives him easily, just as Midna is having trouble understanding his forgiveness of her here. All of them find it easier to forgive their loved ones than to grant that same grace to themselves.

- “She told me that while she appreciated how much I cared, I should think a little more and be less reckless. I know she'd never call me stupid, but...” Link shrugged. “Honestly, I kind of am.” Another reference to Mipha calling Link reckless, and how she hates seeing him get hurt. He is indeed not the smartest guy around, but she does describe him as being very kind and determined to help those in need, so I tried to emphasize that aspect of his personality in this story. Although the “I kind of am” line is also intended to be a subtle red flag. We’ve already seen that Link thinks very little of himself and his abilities, even when it’s clear from the words of others that he’s very talented. And we’re about to soon see him use a bit of intelligence he very much does have, in order to save the day. He would never believe himself capable of such a thing, but he does it anyway.

- “Even just a few branches could be processed... enough to get us through this storm...” Note the use of the plural here. This is leading up to the revelation about his belief that Zelda is in the lantern. His desperation to find more oil anywhere is because, of course, he believes that if the light goes out she will die. And he wouldn’t be in this scarcity if not for what happened back in chapter one, with Link and Aryll and the dog accidentally wrecking the mill and his oil supply.

- He was soon rewarded with a most welcome sight: a single dekuwood branch, growing out of that of a normal tree. It seemed sickly, withered, and it waved feebly in the air, but he rushed forward and hacked it off anyway. The very same branch that tried to attach itself to Midna, sickly and withered precisely because of that failure.

- And now we come to the confirmation that the dekuwood is made from the people who succumb to despair and exhaustion in the woods, right as we see it growing all around Aryll. Rhoam has been unaware this entire time of all the souls he’s sacrificed over the past several months, and now that he knows, he refuses to do it any longer. For he, like Midna, recognizes that Zelda would never want anyone to be harmed for her sake.

He’s also right that Link would never leave Aryll to such a fate, recognizing Link’s love and protectiveness towards his little sister. This is a point where my characterization of Link wildly diverges from that of Wirt, the protagonist of OTGW. I pulled some things from Wirt for Link and his arc, but one thing I didn’t keep was the resentment and initial callousness that Wirt displays for Greg, who is revealed in the tavern sequence to be his half-brother thanks to his mother remarrying, something Greg frowns at when Wirt mentions it. Aryll is also technically Link’s half-sister, as I revealed in the letters that his mother remarried some years after his father’s death and had Aryll with her new husband, but I could not for the life of me see him being resentful or unkind to his little sister. Whatever his faults, I’ve written him as being, at his core, an incredibly kind and deeply loving person, and his adoration of his sister is a part of that. He doesn’t view her as a “half” anything, she’s just his sister and he’ll do anything to protect her. Which of course is a big part of what led to his breakdown: his feelings of guilt over not doing as good a job of that as he thinks he should be doing.

- “Link, I don't... I don't think that's natural light. It looks more like...” This has a double meaning. The fire in the lantern is not the “natural light” of the sun, and it is also deeply unnatural, given that it’s the Beast’s soul in there.

- Speaking of that! The confrontation with the Beast plays out a bit differently here than it does in the show, thanks to Midna’s personal connection to all this. Rhoam’s mention of Zelda gets her attention, and the Beast uses her love for Zelda as a way to try and turn her and Link against each other with his attempt to make them choose which soul will go into the lantern. He’ll get fuel and kill Aryll either way, but why not pit these two against each other as a way to manipulate them into doing what he wants? Except it backfires, because Midna won’t harm anyone for Zelda’s sake, and Link figures out what’s going on anyway, thanks to remembering the words of Rhoam and Telma.

- Link stood up, his mind racing. It was like when the solution to a puzzle finally presented itself in a moment of stunning clarity. For all that he’s not that bright in so many ways, it’s important to remember that he’s canonically able to solve all those tricky puzzles we do, without benefit of a guide, just using his wits and the tools he has at hand. And so too does he solve this particular puzzle, by remembering what he’s been told and piecing it together with what he sees here, thinking about the fact that the Beast’s story doesn’t add up. Which saves the day, in the end.

- “Am I wrong?” Link repeated, his voice shaking with barely suppressed fury; he took a few more steps, forcing the Beast to retreat further. “No more lies. Tell the truth for once, Beast.” Referencing, of course, the fact that Telma told him the Beast lies. He’s absolutely furious right now because of the attempt on Aryll’s life; you do not mess with Link’s loved ones. The Beast, too, fucked around and found out the hard way.

- In the show, Wirt gives the lantern back to the Woodsman to blow out after the delivery of the “Are you?” line that I kept (and had Link nail the delivery of on his first try, unlike Wirt, because that’s what makes sense for both their characters). Here, I chose to let Link kill the Beast, because he is, after all, the legendary hero who slays the villain. But even more importantly, I felt he deserved and had earned such a moment with his growing courage over the course of the tale.

- “See you later, Link.” Hey, remember how Midna broke all our hearts by saying a similar line to Link in TP as she broke the mirror and went back to her world? I sure do!

- “Sleepers wake, dreams will fade... although we cling fast..." This, and the lyrics that close out this section, are the first few lines of the vocal version of Ballad of the Wind Fish that was done for the LA remake.

- There were lights and shadowy figures coming closer, and voices—was someone calling his name? As I would later reveal in the prologue of a place to start, Mipha was screaming his name as she ran down the hill towards him.

- The words he wanted so badly to say to her hung on the tip of his tongue And it shows on his face, that desire to express the love for her that is all but bursting out of him in this moment, and Mipha sees it. She sees that love shining in his eyes as they stare at each other, giving her her hope back and then some. In a way, Link was right: if he hadn’t hidden from her, she would’ve realized what his real feelings for her are. He just didn’t know how happy it would’ve made her. But he will soon.

- “—and that's how we got away from the evil possessed lady!” Out of the corner of his eye Link saw Aryll shake the frog triumphantly, and Mipha, distracted by the sudden commotion, looked away from him. A small, muffled chime sounded, and the amphibian's stomach glowed. “The ringing of the bell commanded her! Though she wasn't really evil, just...” The series is never clear on just what the otherworld the brothers enter is, but it is clear that it really happened to them, and I preserved that ambiguity in the same way, by showing the bell as still being in the frog’s stomach.

- Link nodded. “Yes.” It didn't matter anymore how it'd gotten into her pocket; he'd made it, and brought it with him tonight, with the intention of giving it to her. There was no more question of taking it back or denying it. Courage has been achieved; he’s no longer going to hide or pretend, or try to take back the gift he worked on so hard. Midna is right: he’s been so brave in the Wild, and it’s time to apply that bravery to confessing his feelings to Mipha and letting her know that he loves her. The words will have to wait till the next day, but for now he’s doing all he can to face his fears and stop running, by hugging her and holding her hand and wiping her tears away, letting his love show in his expression as he looks at her without avoiding her eyes. Plus, of course, admitting to his intentions with the tape and inviting her over to listen to it together. They’re finally getting a breakthrough after two months of separation and pain.

- The doctor, Syrup, is a recurring NPC throughout the series, a witch who brews up helpful healing potions for Link to use on his adventures.

- I'm home, Mipha. Calling back, of course, to Midna’s line about there being someone waiting for him and to go home to her. Not only that, but in Mipha’s letters, I had her mention wanting him to “come back to her”. And now he finally has.

and that wraps this up, as the epilogue is composed strictly of Miphlink fluff and sweet, sweet payoff. if you took the time to read the fic and these write ups, thank you, I hope you enjoyed them! ❤

[peepee-magee]

Reverse Au cuz God has forbidden me from sleep

I see a lot of reverse au stuff for the good omens fandom and it's all fantastic, but I can't get into most of them which sucks so I decided at this 3 am sleepless juncture to blurt my version of this AU because I have nothing else better to do.

In my head the ideal AU with the universes two most favorite dorks is one where Angel Crowley runs a flower shop/nursery, and is unabashedly loving of everything in the shop. He heals up plants who gets spots, he is unendingly forgiving of their short comings, and keeps the lesser plants for his personal garden in the hopes one day they'll be as magnificent as their siblings who he sells only to those who he knows know what their doing; unable to bare the idea of the wrong hands killing them.

As I see it canon Crowley has plants as a way to vent, and unleash millennia of pain and frustration which Angel Crowley wouldn't have much need for. In my AU Angel Crowely is, yes, frustrated from time to time with his lot but can't bring himself to let it out on his plants. They try to hard to be their best for him, and when he's really upset they even go so far as to produce new blooms just to cheer him up.

AU Crowely uses his plants for a similar but opposite reasoning. He uses them to try and heal pains he can't heal on himself or others. Guilt about that big flood rising up? Save a new plant, and try and make it grand. Doubt to the great plan? Well, time to grow a huge, complicated plant so hard to take care of he can think of nothing else. A certain demon he can't help with his suffering? Bring a plant back from the brink of death and cherish it in his pride collection for the rest of time.

Which is where Demon Aziraphale comes in.

In my head Demon Aziraphale would be semi the opposite. He's still hospitable on the surface, but only as a means to an end. He's angry he's fallen, but is unwilling to forgive and even more unwilling to accept things as they've been set. He works very hard while on earth to try and prove almost out of spite he would still make a good angel and it always ends up backfiring on him. He'll do a miracle to try and make someones life better, but accidently ends up making things worse.

(i.e: Miracles someones crashed computer fixed in a coffee shop in a thumb up 'ha, see did something good' only to have it turn out the person with the crashed laptop had been trying to hack everyone in the coffee shop via the shared wifi to steal their bank info.)

Every time he fucks up trying to be good and prove God made a mistake casting him out he feels both immense guilt and rage. Flabbergasted as to why she'd make (originally) an angel who could only do bad in the first place. He hates how comfortable he feels in hell. He hates being praised by his side for his misdeeds because all that are unassigned are normally unintentional. He proposes The Arrangement as a way to dodge having to do purely bad assignments as much as he can, and Crowely leaps at the opportunity at the globe just to try and ease a bit of his obvious frustration. (He said no in Wessex, but after all these centurys what started out as mild sympathy has practically turned the demons personal suffering into his own come on.) He practically clings to earth, and humanity for stability in the times he's not around Crowley to put on an 'all I do is on purpose' facade because despite him being born the worlds very best worst most humans still kind of like him. Love him in fact, because he's outwardly nice, friendly and helpful even when he's being guarded about himself, and his things. He still fucks up, but most humans appreciate his attempts especially when it's obvious he's really trying. Of course it's mostly an act, and long stretches of forced niceness just make him feel even more horrible for having to fake, but he really does give it his all to try and absorb as much of the act as he can in hopes it'll just leak into him and become natural at some point.

He still owns a bookshop and still collects rare tomes as well as his love for food, and it's really the only thing he uses his inherent evil for. ( Steals, bribes, cheats, and gambles his way to his vast collection.) Despite this however he really does cherish his books, and takes great pride in owning each one regardless of how he got them. Especially since he considers each nefarious gain it's own personal story for each book in addition to the stories already on the pages themselves.

They both work on the same street on opposite ends by just before antichrist time. Both know full well of one another, and both chock it up to their sides as 'keeping an eye' even though for YEARS since 1800 Aziraphale's bookshop has seemed to drift closer and closer with each move.

(First excuse to move shop was termites, then a fire hazard, then oh woops looks like there is a plumbing issue, leaks, can't have that with old books around.)

Crowley sees right though his shit by the thrid time he's moved but dosent say shit because he's both amused and curious to see exactly how close the demon can get before one of their sides notices. Only Hell really ever notices enough to care mentioning tho as Heaven trusts Crowley (he's been a very exemplary angel by all the reports he's sent in even tho at least 1/3rd of them are twisted truths, but it dosent hurt he also kisses major ass whenever he has to physically report in) and when Hell questions Aziraphale he just chocks it up to 'circling prey' all ominous like with a creepy smile (he's a vulture afterall) and Hell just kind of shudders and accepts that as an answer cuz all of Aziraphale's fuck ups have proven very well for his record as a demon.

By the time their living on the same street just at opposite ends Crowely finally takes the piss, and walks into Aziraphale's shop like he's any normal customer, and just starts talking him up about books much to Aziraphale's momentary terror because while indeed he's been telling Crowely about his moves he'd stopped saying where he was moving to after the 20th, and momentarily worries Heaven has sent him to intervene, but no. Crowley sees the fear on his face, and takes enough mercy to stop taking the piss long enough to invite me to lunch etc etc.

Basically Crowely is an angel easily attached to this to good, guilt riddled demon and for 6000 years finds little excuses to bump into him just to check up on how he's doing at first, but by Rome and oysters he's in love because he's just utterly enchanted with the demons leap and bound attempts to try and do good despite himself. (He didn't even try to corrupt the emperor he'd been sent to influence for heaven sake! Activly vented for an hour over oysters how he tried so hard to talk him into doing good only for it to backfire, and make things worse.)

While Aziraphale is smittin in the middle of the Reign of Terror when he needs to mircale his seemingly stupid angel out of chains all because he so despretly wanted to try and come see the gardens, and architecture before it was all destroyed, and best yet the angel makes up for the need of rescue by offering to pay for lunch with a face that reads 'what a good deed it was, saving me, right?' How is he suppose to say no to that, what?

Then after that it seems Crowley just dives head first into dangerous situations knowing full well Aziraphale will just jump at the chance to do good even though after 1941 they stop so much stroking the demons ego as they do start stressing him out cuz he is so deep in his feels at this point loosing him even for a bit would crush him, but Crowely at this point can't fucking help himself cuz watching Aziraphale squirm for him has slowly become a slight sadistic delight (as much as an angel can have one anyway) given that when they first met Aziraphale barely paid him the courtesy of their breif conversation. (Seemed aggravated to hear about the sword, and flew off after that with a huff.)

Crowley just can't help but soak up the attention now that he has it. Giddily returning it when ever he can through dates at the ritz or gifts which is as far as he's willing to leap since the first, and last time he kissed the demon on the cheek after a particularly dashing rescue the demon nearly brust into flames and avoided him for 3 decades.

I've been rambling a long time on this, and finally getting tired so I'll stop here pff-

Idk what to do with all this but might write since I can't stop thinking about it with all the other aus floating around.

[hellsangelsheavensrejects]

Present Day: The Headwaters of Lethe

Harry

“John,” Harry said, very softly, but with an audible crackle of ice so brittle it seemed on the verge of shattering, “what did you do?”

Memories crowded together in his mind, splintered and fragmented like so much broken glass, pressing against the seams of his awareness, re-opening wounds he didn’t even know he had.

The scar had been the tipping point, such a small thing to break the dam that had been steadily cracking and leaking since the moment he saw John in that New York tavern– a row of jagged white lines decorating his back. Harry didn’t often look in mirrors, and hadn’t even known he’d had it until last night, when he and Wynonna and John had been lying in bed together, tracing one another’s scars and telling old war stories.

He hadn’t known what had given him the scar. He should have remembered, but he couldn’t, and every time he tried, a skull-splitting headache came crashing down on him with such force that it nearly made him black out.

And John…

John had known something about it. And very quickly changed the subject.

He stood by the bed, staring at John where he lay next to Wynonna, at the way his reposed body seemed to glow golden in the early morning light, and wanted to throw his concerns, his fears, that sickening sense of betrayal right out the window. He wanted to take his lovers in his arms and lose himself in the moment. He wanted to hold on to that thing of exquisite beauty that had blossomed between John, Wynonna, and him in the past several months.

But he couldn’t, because John had tampered with his mind.

“What,” he whispered, and his voice rose in volume with every word as a blinding, torturous fury settled over him– “Did. YOU. DO!”

John

"What's this one from?" Wynonna had asked and John's heart had stopped beating.

"Which one?", Harry had replied, a frown creasing his brows as he turned to look where her fingers were following the marks.

Marks Mormo's claws had left. When she had come for Harry, trying to destroy the first of the two warlocks that held the secret to taking from her what she craved most.

John had wrenched Harry away before she could have gotten a good hold, but she had shredded through Harry's shirt and skin, nearly exposing the bone of his shoulder blade.

"This one? Well, three. Like …", Wynonna had continued and Harry's frown had shifted from puzzled to pained.

"Ah … damn.", Harry had sworn and pressed a heel of his hand to his forehead.

John had tried to joke about it, but it fell flat, even to his own ears. "Go' a few of those, too. Go' too fuckin' sloshed to remember. Happens."

--- He'd hoped, prayed to anything that would listen, that that would be the last of it.

Well, he shouldn't have been surprised that his prayers had backfired spectacularly. Because whatever bringing up that scar had done, Harry remembered. John could see it in those dark, furious, sad eyes as he looked up at his lover.

Ex lover. Better get used to it, old boy. You can't bullshit your way outta this one.

"Harry…", John started quietly, gently moving Wynonna's hand from his chest. She didn't need to see or hear what was about to come.

But Harry wasn't listening.

Why should he? If he had even the faintest idea of what had happened …

A part of him wondered. Why? How was it even possible. John had taken those memories away and destroyed them, hadn't he? Had there been more left in Harry's mind than he had realised? But he couldn't have, in good conscience, taken any more of that year and a half, not without the risk of completely destroying that beautiful, brilliant mind he had fallen …

Harry's voice was like a whip and John flinched away from that one last, sharp syllable.

His insides were vibrating and he was feeling sick as he sat up with a glance at Wynonna, now startled from her sleep.

"I saved your life.", he said finally and his voice was hollow as he looked up at Harry. For the first time since that first evening they had met, actively searching out his eyes.

Harry

I saved your life.

The headache bore down on his skull again, needle-sharp pinpricks of light jabbing at his eyes, pain lancing at his temples. He could feel it, the barriers crumbling inside his mind, the memories that had previously leaked out in only a slowly building trickle now bursting through like a river being freed of its dam.

(The sick horror that accompanies the knowledge of an innocent child, senselessly suffering an eternity in Hell because of a well-meaning mistake. The crystalizing determination to do something about it. At any cost.

The scheme so hairbrained it might actually work. Weilding a demon as a weapon to storm the gates of Hell itself and tear the innocent young soul from her torment-- no matter that the plan is an echo of the very plan that had sealed Astra's fate in the first place. But this time it will be different. This time they will be working together, joining their combined power, their combined Will.

The horrible, sickening moment that he realizes it isn't enough.

Claws raking his back. Searing agony. John dragging him back just in time to prevent him from being fileted alive.

And another ritual. A trap for Mormo. A complex pattern of sigils for calling, for binding, a language all its own, strung together to form a coherent thought, a solid intention. This time it will work. This time, they will save the child.

The feel of magic reaching, reaching, digging cold fingers into his head, creeping through his memories, dragging them down, down, down where he can no longer see them... the sudden, heart-shattering knowledge that John is doing this to him...

John... what are you... no... nonono... Stop stop stopitstopitstopsssst-- pleasepleaseno—FUCK YOU! Fuck you fuck you fuck you ffff--

John's lips against his forehead as he feels himself lowered to the bed one last time, his face wet with tears. And the last words he hears before darkness overtakes him...

I love you.

I'm sorry.)

Harry lunged forward like a striking snake, scarcely aware of his own movements as he seized John by one arm, hauled him from the bed, spun him around, twisted that arm up his back, and slammed him full-bodied into the wall hard enough to crack the sheetrock.

Sheetrock that already had a rapidly spreading bloom of frost glittering on its surface.

Wynonna

"WHAT. DID. YOU. DO!" "I saved your life."

Sleep was wrenched from Wynonna at the exchange. She sat up, eyes automatically going to the two men. Harry didn't often use that kind of tone. Not with that sort of anger attached to it. And John...well he was rarely seen without a smirk, a wisecrack, and the notion that some sort of trick had just been played on you. The last time she'd heard him speak like that Zed had been in the hospital. Jesus.

Before she could speak Harry had pulled John out of bed and shoved him against the wall with enough force that a trip to Home Depot would definitely be in their future. The sound from the impact staved off what little sleep had tried to linger.

Wynonna, a touch slower thanks to fighting her way out of the tangle of sheets, shoved at Harry with everything she had even as frost started to crawl over the wall. Over John. Even over her. Shit he's pulling an ice queen. "Hey! What the hell has gotten into you, Harry?! You're going to break his arm."

John

John's resistance was token at best. Pure reflex making him tense up in Harry's iron hold. There wasn't anything John could have done. Not with this new, strange power giving Harry a strength far beyond that of human capacity.

Pain sparked through him at the impact, the sudden, unnatural angle of his shoulder and John hissed, face distorting into a grimace.

Gooseflesh pimpled his skin as the first, clawed fingers of frost reached his bare skin.

"Don't!", John snapped, eyes flickering towards Wynonna. "Stay … stay ou' of this!"

Not that she would.

"Harry.", he continued, voice strained by the increasing pressure on his arm. The strain of his tendons trying to hold his shoulder in its socket.

How? How in all the worlds was it possible that Harry remembered?

He had taken those memories.

Unless he didn't.

Unless … unless he made a mistake.

For John, the memory of that night was as clear as looking in a mirror. The sigils on the floor glowed in his mind.

The magnet for the energy. The trap.

The lock.

The key.

The destruction.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He'd extracted the memories and trapped them. Locked them away. Destroyed the key alright.

But energy doesn't just go away. Law of the universe. Not even John Constantine can change that.

So, where had the energy from the key gone after he had destroyed it?

Into himself.

And something … something about whatever that thing was that gave Harry these new powers had reassembled that key through their renewed connection and gleefully unlocked the trap.

Told you so, Johnny-boy.

The reflexive, shaky breath John took misted in the frigid air around them and the single falling tear was burning hot against his icy cheek.

"Harry … I'm sorry."

What else was there to say?

[certified-kingofnewyork]

Chapter 2

It’s here! I did it! I’m sorry it took so long! But I’ve got it out now so heck yeah :))

Prologue Chapter 1

Warning(s): None Word Count: 3.6K

A man sits alone at a table, tucked away in the back corner of the not-quite-a-town’s local hangout, the Moose Paddy. Anthony Higgins, more commonly known as Racetrack, is hunched over a drink, staring into it as if it held all of the worlds secrets. He looked to be dealing with a mixture of emotions that not even he could begin to explain, though he looked presentable as well, wearing earthy green and blue flannel, sleeves tugged down to his wrists, and a clean white shirt underneath. The cap he normally wore was sat across from him on the table, his dark blonde curls normally hidden by this accessory, but now they were out in an unruly form. His looks wildly contradicted the dark swirl of emotion that could be tensely felt around him.

On the opposite side of the building, a boy is joyously celebrating with his close friends. He excuses himself to go to the bathroom, swiftly walking past Race, who thankfully hadn’t noticed him just yet. Though the tall boy’s luck ran out on his return to his friends. Race saw his shoes, and he could have recognized them anywhere, his head shot up and a bright smile replaced his moody expression.

“Davey!” He called, sitting forward in his chair. The boy in question, Davey, more formally known as David Jacobs, stopped. He cringed inwardly and slowly spun on his heels to face Race, forcing a warm smile.

“Anthony!” He tried to replicate the excitement that Race felt, but his heart wasn’t in it. Race doesn’t notice this, he’s far too happy to see Davey to care. It had been ages, and that was entirely on purpose.

“Hey!” Race appeared to be a little too excited to see Davey, who could not reciprocate these feelings at all. In fact, he felt rather awkward, awfully awkward.

“Hey.” He didn’t know how else to respond, he just wanted to get back to his friends. But he supposed he’d have to tough this one out. Race lurched up from his chair and wrapped Davey in a tight bear hug. Davey make no attempts to return this hug, in fact, he tries to stumble away from it. It felt like far too long before Race finally pulled away from the hug, looking ecstatic.

“How you doin’?” It was clear at that moment that Davey was not getting himself out of this situation very easily at all. Race looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Davey sighed and got ready for whatever was about to happen.

“Doing pretty good! How are you doing?” There was a strain in his voice as he continued to try and reciprocate the excitement. He’d hate to break Race’s heart with a mere monotone answer, even if it would get him out of there faster.

“I’m doing good, doin’ good! How are you doing?” Oh jeezum, this would drag on for a while.

“I’m doing good! Doing good. How are you doing?” Davey was trying so hard to just get Race talking so he wouldn’t have to participate in this conversation that much, or not at all if he was lucky. With the way the conversation continued to unfold, he was not.

“Great, great! How are ya?” Race didn’t know how to continue this conversation, and he was flailing to keep it alive.

“Great...great!” Davey glanced back over to his friends, then back at Race, internally conflicted. Though that showed clear on his face, Race was oblivious.

 “Oh that’s great!”

“Yeah!”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah.” “That’s just great!” “Yeah..”

“You look great!” Race couldn’t help nor stop himself from saying that, it was true. Though it was sort of break up 101 to not ever say that to an ex, but since when did Race ever follow the rules?

“Oh..no…”

“You look great.” He restated, meaning it entirely.

“Thanks.” Davey frowned, feeling horrible. Race was oblivious to practically everything, including the ring.

“You do. You look so great.” “Thanks, Anthony.” That was the thing with Davey, he never called him Race or Racetrack, always used his actual name. Not even nicknames like Tony.

“So pretty. So pretty.” Davey shifted awkwardly, looking away again. Once more, Race didn’t notice.

“Thanks.” Jeezum. How would he break the news to him?

“Here! Have a seat.” Race pushed out the chair across from him and then he sat down. He looked at Davey expectantly yet again. “Oh, Anthony I can’t-” Davey started, but Race wouldn’t let him get too many words in, his plan had entirely backfired on him.

“Aw, come on! I haven’t seen you in well… months.”

“Yeah-” Reluctantly, Davey sat.

“And months and months and months and months and months and months and months. How does that happen? Live in the same town as someone and never see ‘em?” This, of course, was entirely intentional and planned on Davey’s part. He was trying to avoid Race the best he could. He could only hide for so long.

“I don’t know.” He lied.

“I mean, I haven’t seen you since that night before that morning when I woke up and you were just gone…” Race looked almost sad again for a moment, but it quickly wiped away, leaving another bright smile on his face.

“Yeah I uh-” Davey started, but he couldn’t finish again, this time because a waiter, with fiery red hair and a cheery smile, had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. 

“Look at you two! Tucked away in the corner over here! Lucky I found ya!” He smiled a Race, and then glanced over to Davey with the same smile.

“Ready for another round?” He asked. Before Davey could protest, Race began to speak.

“Sure, we’ll-”

“No!” Davey quickly cut in, “We’re not together.”

“Well-” we used to be.

“We’re all set. Thanks.” Davey shot Race a look, and for once, he wasn’t oblivious to it. His mood seemed to lower almost instantly.

“Well-” don’t you want a drink?

“All set!” Davey reiterated, making his point clear. It was the waiter’s turn to be oblivious, he didn’t notice the growing tension between the two.

“Okay-” Race relented, looking down. “Yeah we’re good.”

“Well, holler if you need anything.” His smile faltered as he noticed the way Race reacted, but it soon returned again, full force. 

“Thanks.” Davey smiled sweetly, though there was nothing genuine behind it.

“No really you gotta holler It’s busy up front!” And with that, the waiter left. Davey wished he could disappear from this table as easy as the waiter had. Race turned back to look at Davey.

“So um, ya here with anybody or-?” Race looked around, trying to find a familiar face. Alas, the entire building was full of them. It truly was a small town.

“Yeah um- with the boys.”

“Oh.” Race looked disheartened at this news.

“Yeah we’re uh-” He looked desperately for a cover story, “Having a boys night! We’re in the front.” Davey stood, starting to head out. “Actually, I just had to use the bathroom, so I should get back to them-” Race appeared frantic as he sat forward, not wanting Davey to leave.

“Aw! But I haven’t seen ya! They’ll survive without ya for a minute or two! So what’s been- what’s been going on? Whatcha been up to?” Davey looked back towards his friend for a moment before relenting and sitting down again.

“Well-” He started, not sure what to say or how to begin. He didn’t even want to tell Race what he had been up to since the night he disappeared. Guilt ate away at him.

“Did you know that I took over my dad’s business?” Race was trying to prove a point, he had matured. He was different now. Davey had to see that, right?

“Yeah! Yeah that’s great!” 

“I run it now!” He looked so proud of himself, and he was.

“I heard that.”

“I’m runnin’ it!”

“Heard that.” How many times must he say it?

“Runnin’ the buisness!”

“Congrat-”

“Runnin’ the whole show.”

“-ulations! Good for you! Good for you.” 

“The whole shebang- thanks- yeah. We still do heating and cooling.” Race seemed to be done with the main point he was trying to prove, or maybe not with the next few words he said.

“Yeah?” Davey supposed that the business would be a safe topic to talk about.

“And we’ve expanded, too: We do rugs now. We shampoo ‘em!” He smiled brightly and proudly.

“It’s a lotta work. A lotta work. I’m on call a lot: weekends, holidays, you name it, cause you know, your heat goes out, people die, it’s serious.” Davey just had to see how much he had matured, how responsible he was now! He wasn’t a kid anymore. He learned to be better.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Like I do Thanksgivin’, Christmas, cause I let the guys who work for me, like Crutchie helps with repairs, I let ‘em have the day off so they can be with their families since I’m all alone this year.” That hit Davey hard, he didn’t know how to react though.

“Oh.” Was all he trusted himself to say.

“Yeah.” There was a new point Race was trying to make, “I really don’t have anybody anymore really, my brother and sister got canned, so they left town-”

“Right…”

“And Mom and Dad retired, headed south.”

“Yeah, I heard that.” Not only was it a small town and word got around fast, but Race wasn’t one to keep his business quiet. This wasn’t news to Davey at all.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, winters there are a lot easier. And then- I don’t know if you heard, but then… Spot went and died on me.” He looked to the floor sadly, letting out a quiet yet obviously sad sigh, Race wasn’t trying to reel a reaction out of Davey, he was genuinely upset. He rubbed at his eyes, sniffling.

“Oh Anthony… I didn’t know that!” That was genuine, Race really must have kept that one a secret.

“Yeah. He was old, it was his time. He was a good fish though.” Race was clearly emotionally attached to this fish, Davey didn’t even need to look at him to know that.

“But, so, like I said, I really don’t have anybody anymore, really… but um, I was wondering… would you like to come over? It’d be fun! Catch up, hang out?” Race was clearly not over Davey, and Davey was not oblivious to this fact.

“Oh Anthony-” I really can’t.

At that moment, the waiter appeared again, like a gust of wind. Where had he even come from?

“And I forgot to tell ya- don’t forget: Friday night special at the Moose Paddy: Drink free if you’re sad. So if you’re sad, or if you two little lovebirds are ready for another coupla drinks or somethin’, you just let me know, all right?”

“No we’re-” not together.

“Okay!” Race responded with enthusiasm, the words the waiter had said only fueled his hope further.

“Okay!” And with that, he was gone again.

“Okay…” Davey agreed, sounding rather helpless. He had to get back to the others.

“So whatta you say? Wanna come on over, for fun?” He looked at Davey with a brightly hopeful expression, leaning forward in his seat once more as he waited for a response.

“No Anthony. I can’t. I can’t.” Davey got up once more. “I really gotta get back to my friends.” “Naw-”

“Yeah, Anthony, yeah I gotta. Cause see… Oh gosh, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while: There’s a guy, Anthony, I’ve got a guy.” Davey was being forceful but kind, he really had to go back.

“Oh.” Race tried his absolute best to not let it show just how much that hurt him.

“Yeah…”

“Well… good for you. Gettin’ yourself out there again.” Race was trying to make the best of this news, he wanted to be happy for Davey, he really did.

“Yeah.”

“Movin’ on.” He smiled sadly yet sweetly.

“Yeah, well, actually, Anthony, it’s more than me just getting myself out there and moving on. Um… this is my bachelor party.” Davey paused, sending Race an apologetic smile. “I’m getting married.”

Oh.Oh. Race looked devastated now, he couldn’t stop the hurt look on his face. He tried forcing a smile but it didn’t quite work.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah-”

“Wow.”

“...Yeah”

“Wow that’s-” He wanted to say something like amazing! Or awesome! But he couldn’t bring himself to do so, he just stared blankly at the table, heart sinking further down. He frowned, lines creasing deep in his face.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna do that. Get married. Thought it wasn’t for you, you told me.” He paused, coming to a heartbreaking realization. “Guess it was just wasn’t for you… with me.” Another pause, Race sulked for another moment before plastering a smile on. “So… who’s the lucky guy?”

“Martin Laferriere. You know him? The-”

“Yeah, the ranger guy, over in Ashland!”

“Yeah!”

“Wow!” He truly was a great guy, that was good, Davey deserved a great guy.

“Yeah!”

“He’s a legend! Legendary. I mean, if you’re lost on a mountain in Maine, he’s the guy you want lookin’ for ya!” It hurt more than he liked to admit that he knew just who this guy was, everyone knew who this guy was. 

“Yeah.”

“I mean, if you’re lost out there in this big bad northern world, Martin Laferriere’s the guy you want to have go out there and find ya!”

“Yeah.”

“And he… found you.” Race went back to looking disheartened, devastated and broken.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I never told you- I actually thought you woulda known, I thought you woulda heard?”

“How would I have heard?” Davey wasn’t like Race in the slightest, he kept his private life locked up tight, only told who it concerned. There was no way this news would have gotten to Race. They both knew this.

“Well, you know… people talk.” “Not about things they know you don’t wanna hear, they don’t. And I gotta be honest with you: That’s not somethin’ I woulda wanted to hear.” He paused, realizing he had yet again brought down the mood. “So… When’s the big event?” He had to stop asking questions that would end up hurting him even further.

“Um… Tomorrow!”

“Really.”

“Yup!”

“Well then…” Race downed the rest of his drink, then glanced over to the front. Holler if you need anything. He sat up, waving his arm forward towards where the waiter supposedly was.

“HEY!” Race called out, or rather, he hollered.

“What are you doin?” Davey hissed, hiding his face, he didn’t want to be seen with Race. That would take some explaining.

“Gettin’ our waiter, he said holler! HEY!” Race turned to Davey. “What’s his name?” “I don’t know, he’s new here-”

“HEY!” He waved his hand again, almost standing trying to get his attention. Davey looked away again, cringing.

“What are you doing?” He asked again, this time quieter and more urgent. Race needed to stop drawing so much attention to them.

“We gotta celebrate! You got found! And you deserve it! He’s quite a guy.”

“Aw, Anthony…” For the first time that night, Davey smiled genuinely. It was small, but it meant something and that clearly showed. Race could see it too.

“And so are you. I mean, you’re quite a boy- man- person!”

“Anthony…” There was another pause, Race looks at Davey, and Davey looks at Race, really looks at him. He takes in what’s changed about it, and what’s stayed. Guilt gnawed at his core, he so horribly dumped Race all those ages ago, he regretted the way he had done so. Race faces what he’s lost, the boy he chased away. There's a few more moments of silence, then Race raises his hand again and yells out once more. The sleeves of his flannel slipping down, revealing dark black ink etched into his right arm.

“HEY!”

“Anthony!” Davey hushed, then he noticed it. What was that? “Anthony! Whoa hey! What’s that?” Race glanced over to him, confused.

“What?” His head tilted to the side, confusion continuing to sink in. Davey pointed to his arm, to the dark marking.

“That!” He stared at it, eyes squinting as he tried to figure it out. Had Race gotten a tattoo? Race noticed his sleeve had slipped, he quickly tugged it back down.

“Oh, nothin’- tattoo-” He brushed it off before yelling again. “HEY!”

“What?” Since when was Anthony ‘Racetrack’ Higgins the type to get a tattoo?

“Tattoo.” Race just wanted Davey to drop it, it wasn’t important. “HEY!”

“What?” Davey wanted to know. “What? When did you get it?”

“Um, after you left.” He said, hinting that it was obvious. When else had he gotten it? Davey had been gone for so long, so much had changed in Race’s life. “HEY!!”

“Anthony!” Davey reached for Race’s arm, which he was still waving around wildly, he wanted to know what it was, what it said. ”Well- what’s it of? What’s it say?” Race shrugged it off, trying to act nonchalant about it.

“Nothin’, nothin’,” He looked over to the waiter again. “HEY!!” Davey sighed and reached across the table, grabbing on tightly to Race’s arm and tugging down his sleeve.

“N-No!” Race put his head down, his entire demeanor and mood changing, his smile was gone and it was replaced with an anxious look. To add insult to injury, Davey read it outloud.

“Villian…”

“Villain.” Race corrected in a mumble.

“Who’s Villian?

“Villain. It’s supposed to say, ‘villain’.” He looked up at Davey, the light dying in his blue eyes, it was replaced with a sorrowful and anxious gaze.

“What?”

“It’s supposed to say, ‘villain’.” He stated again, voice flat and monotone.

“Well it doesn’t say villain. It says, ‘Villian’.” Davey pointed out, gaze flicking between Race and his arm. He was racking his brain, trying to figure out why Race would get a tattoo like this.

“I know, I spelled it wrong-”

“What?!”

“-they spelled it wrong. It says Villian, but it’s supposed to say villain.”

“Well, why is it supposed to say villain? Why would you want a tattoo that says villain?”

“Cause!” Race didn’t want to explain, he put his head down again and stared at the table, Davey still holding his arm up. 

“Cause why?”

“Just cause!” He was sounding defensive now, why couldn’t Davey just drop it.

“Just cause why?” This was so far out of character for Race, he couldn’t understand.

“Just cause… When a guy’s got a guy like you… well I just think that losin’ a guy like you, driving a guy like you away-”

“Anthony, you didn’t drive me away-”

“-is just plain criminal! It’s criminal. It’s villainy! And it should be punished. So I punished myself, I marked myself a villain so boys would stay away so I’d never have to go through what I went through with you, again.” He twisted his arm out of Davey’s grip forcefully, folding his hand anxiously in his lap. Race looked at everything except Davey.

“You can get that undone...you know.” Davey suggested softly, his voice and smile genuinely kind.

“Yeah.” “I gotta head.” He gets up to go, for real this time. Race doesn’t try to top him.

“Yeah.” He paused. “Hey I’m- I’m glad you got found.” He was being sincere. Davey deserved it, Race had to remember that.

“Thanks, Anthony.” And with that, he was officially gone, walking back to his party with a little bounce in his step. At the same moment, the waiter appeared again, smiling apologetically. 

“Hey! Sorry! You were wavin’ me down. I saw you, but it’s so busy in the front! There’s this bachelor party: those boys! Good thing it’s not, “Drink free if you’re glad!” cause those boys are wicked glad. Gsh I had to fight my way through to find you, but I did it! I found ya! So: What’d you need, what can I do ya for? Another drink?” Race didn’t want anything anymore, he just frowned.

“Um, I’m ok, I’m good, thanks.” He looked towards where Davey had good, a sad look crossing his face and hiding deep within his eyes. The waiter saw the now empty chair, still pushed out. Oh. He felt bad about that. The boy had seemed so excited to be with this guy.

“Oh, pal...Um...Um...Well, remember, like I said, Moose Paddy special: Drinks are free if you’re sad. Okay? Just tell me you’re sad, and you’ll drink free.” A pause. “Just say the word. Let me know. Cause I know what sad looks like, and you’re lookin’ pretty sad.” There was no response for Race, he just continued to look very sad.

“Okay. Well, my name’s Albert, if you need anything.” He started taking a few steps away, backwards, still looking at Race.

“Albert?” He finally looked up at him, a light smile dusting across his face.

“Yeah?”

“Hi.” Race said rather weakly, but the light was slowly coming back to his eyes, he was brightening.

“Hi!”

“I’m not sad. I just would like another drink.” He looked down at his two already empty bottles and then back up to him, “Please.”

“All right!” He turns and goes, scribbling something onto his notepad.

“Albert?” Race called out again. He stopped abruptly and turned back to him.

“Yeah?” “I’m glad you found me.” He admitted genuinely, smiling wider now. He almost looked smitten.

“Aw…” Albert took a few steps forward, ripping a paper off his notepad and placing it in front of Race before heading off again to get his order. On the paper was his number.

“I’m glad you found me.” Albert echoed to himself. “That’s adorable…”

--

Tag List: @race-ace @justadisastereggu @aw-jus-let-em-try @jackie-think-about-it @revolutioninthesewers @pineappapizza

let me know if you want to be added!

[isobel-thorm]

all the questions :0

Deputy Ask Meme

I’mma do both the Deps again even if y’all only care about Nicalso tagging @teamhawkeye bc you asked for one of the sections for Nic

The Basics

1. Give their full name, and describe them or post a picture! (Height, build, hair, eye, and skin color, etc.) 

Nicolette Harper RaylanGrant Emmerson Lyons

2. How old are they?Nic: 29Grant: 37

3. Sexuality and gender?Both: Bi, Grant leans towards preferring men. Nic is female, Grant’s male. 

Pre-Game

1. How did they end up at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department? How long have they worked there?Nic: Fell on hard times career/finance-wise, so she called up father figure Whitehorse to see if he could put feelers out. He gave her a job instead. Grant: After his time in the Army went wrong, he tried to handle civilian life. Realized he was wired to be a hero too much, decided to get a police job in the middle of nowhere- thought it would be an easy and quiet life. Worst mistake of his life. 

2. Relationship with Pratt, Hudson, and Whitehorse?Nic: As mentioned, Whitehorse is basically her surrogate dad. She has a standard, not-too-attached relationship with the others. Grant: Nothing special. Standard coworker relationship with all of them. In the occasional universe where they co-exist, he adores Nic and sees her as a baby sister. He’d gladly die for her- just because she senses that he’s not a talker and doesn’t force conversation about his muddy past. 

3. Do they have an education?Nic: Went to college for forensic psychology, didn’t graduate because college didn’t end up being her thing. Grant: Only ever went as far as high school. Enlisted in the military ASAP to avoid his family. 

4. Where are they from? Did they speak a different language there?Both: U.S born and bred,   Nic’s from Missoula, Grant started in Texas. 

5. Is there anyone outside the valley that might have come looking for them?Nic: Depends on the ‘Verse. Mother would. In one AU that’s currently in the works, John brings her mother to her but his motives are selfish.Grant: No

6. Did they have a religious background of any kind?Both: Atheist because they’ve both had an ‘if there’s a God he abandoned me a long, long time ago’ moment. 

Inside Hope County

1. What was going through their head when the helicopter went down and during the subsequent chase?Nic: Every expletive in the English language and “I’m going to kill Burke slowly and painfully and TAKE THE FUCKING TRUCK AND LEAVE HI- goddamn it he’s already here”Grant: Half “I knew it” half being absolutely open to finally, finally dying. 

2. Were they afraid of Joseph and Eden’s Gate? Angry?Nic: Not particularly either of them. Part of some of her education made her understand them a little more than she’d like. She’d never justify their means/beliefs, but she gets it. Grant: Just more insane people who need to be knocked down some pegs. 

3. Did they trust Dutch?Nic: Weary up until he mentions not having her running all over creation, because ‘a guy with less than questionable motives wouldn’t bother mentioning that.’ Grant: Equally apprehensive, but as a fellow military man part of his gut said trust his brother in arms. 

4. How did they feel about their team being taken by the cult, did they count them as lost, did they want them back, did they not care?Nic: Far more concerned about Whitehorse’s well being than the others. He was her first priority, even if she didn’t have high hopes about any of them.  She know she’d be utterly lost without him.  She still wanted the others back safe and sound but she figured they could withstand more. Grant: Assumed they were all dead, vaguely surprised and relieved when they weren’t. Wanted them back but more out of a sense of duty rather than attachment. 

5. How did they take to the idea of being part of, if not leading, the resistance?Nic: Rolled with the punches and went with it. Grant: The last time he was a leader people died, so he was less than thrilled. 

6. Which companions did they recruit, and who did they travel with the most?Nic: All, but traveled with Sharky, Nick and the animals more than the rest. She kept in constant contact with Addie but kept her at the Marina just to have an active base. Grant: All, mostly stayed solo but occasionally took Nick and Jess with him. 

7. Did they have time to find romance amidst the chaos? How did they do it?Nic: “Hey maybe if I keep John alive I can have a bargaining chip against Joseph”     Her plan: backfires    John: *forced to work for the Resistance*     Nic: *catches feelings for him eventually* “Now HOLD ON A SECOND” Grant: Depends on the ‘verse. In one, he and Staci are both Jacob’s biggest victims so they heal together and then get together.  In the one I’m working on now, Grant also gets attached to John, as much as he’s not a fan of the idea. 

8. Feelings about Joseph?Nic: Begrudgingly gets his motives and appreciates how he cares for his family. Still hates him for all he’s done, but doesn’t want to go as far as killing him. Grant: “Two questions, where is he, and how do I kill him?” Just wants another tyrant wiped off the map ASAP.

9. Feelings about the other Seeds?Nic: Hates Jacob and takes pride in killing him for all the damage he did, likes John most before everything because they have similiar senses of humor and she acknowledges that he’s at least trying to connect with her without forcing anything that much, she respects that he tries to understand her motives/acknowledges that she ‘thinks’she’s trying to help.  Was indifferent towards Faith until Faith took Whitehorse, then all bets were off and the bitch needed to die slowly and painfully because you don’t take her father away from her. Grant: Genuinely distressed about Jacob because of the brothers in arms things. He’s heartbroken that they both had an Army mission go so horribly wrong that it fucked both of them up so badly. He’s well aware that if he was in worse mental shape, he could’ve easily fallen as far as Jacob had. As much as he hates Jacob, part of him dies with the man too because he feels like he failed him in some way, even if there was no other way of ending things.     Indifferent to John, hates his whole aesthetic and constant need for attention.      Avoids Faith and the Bliss at all costs because he doesn’t like an unfair fight. 

10. How did they handle having to kill animals and other humans? Had they done it before?Nic: Super distressed about it until doing it so often nearly desensitizes her to it all. It’s not until she kills Faith that it all catches up to her and she has a breakdown though. Grant: Did it before, can and will do it again if he needs to. 

11. Which canon ending did they choose in-game, and would you have changed the ending at all?Nic: Branches off at the Walk Away ending because she uses John as a bargaining chip to try to get Joseph to let her leave/undo the conditioning. Those events lead to the Collapse still happening- just free of the actual Resist part because Joseph and her are on slightly better terms than the canon Resist ending. 

Personal

1. Favorite weapon(s)?Nic: Souped up version of the sniper rifle with the Whitetails paintjob. Grant: .44 Magnum, and when that fails, his bare hands. 

2. Stealth or firepower?Nic: StealthGrant: Firepower

3. How did they spend their time, when not fighting peggies?Nic: Hanging out with Sharky and the RyesGrant: Fishing

4. Where did they live during the events of the game?Nic: Couch surfing between Sharky, the Ryes, and Mary May’s apartmentGrant: Abandoned house in Falls End

5. Any other facts you want to share about your Deputy!Nic: Had a Thing with Skylar for a little but until she realized Skylar deserved better than to be stuck in the county with her and wanted her to get out/to safety at all cost. Grant: Had the nickname “Wide Man” in high school because he’s got the build to match- it’s stuck his entire life and he hate-loves it. 

[throughtheglassdarkly]

Scorched Earth, part 4

Welcome back. When you last tuned in, we brought a giant crystal spear back from Scáthach’s keep and Pam made all the bars.

So let’s get one thing out of the way first: I love my motley. I really do. That does not preclude me wanting to strangle some or all of them on occasion. And reading through what happened in this particular misadventure, you’re probably going to have a similar impulse. Onward.

I’ll pick up here a couple of weeks after we brought the spear back to camp. By this point, we’d ingratiated ourselves pretty well into the army. I won’t say we were part of the gang, but we were definitely no longer the outsiders we were when first we arrived. The couple of weeks’ downtime we had between missions was mostly quiet, a lull, even a little boring for most of us. Most of us. Yours truly was the exception to that. I had to follow Amberleigh everywhere around camp, constantly taking notes and writing down logistics. She was trying to formulate some sort of plan for an attack on Scáthach’s keep and I had to write things down, scratch them out, write over them, and then watch as she tore them up out of frustration. I’m telling you now, being a secretary sucks.

On the day in question, I’d been following Amberleigh across most of the camp, writing down anything and everything that came out of her mouth. That’s why I was caught off-guard when she turned to me and told me to gather my friends because she had a mission for all of us. I didn’t question it, I just turned and started walking. Yova had taught me a finger exercise for stretching that most pianists use, and without it I probably would have had my entire hand fall off. Amberleigh is very exact and I had to write down every single word that came out of her mouth.

I found the rest of the group (minus Pam, who was out gathering some supplies with Nash) at the training grounds. Day was trying and failing miserably at knife throwing while Yova and Bella were watching and giving him some lip. Around this time, it was getting more evident that just about all of us were changing our appearances in some way. I mentioned earlier how Yova was looking more beautiful and suave than ever, always in really good lighting. It was like there was a glow around her. Day had managed to get both taller and wider. He went from about my height (5’8 on a good day) to nearly six feet and had definitely gained some girth. Bella’s appearance was mostly the same, but it was getting harder to notice her when she approached you. It was easy to lose sight of her. She also looked even slighter, somehow. As for me, I didn’t really notice much, other than my fingers being nearly pitch black. The sap I was using for ink stained nearly everything and I knew I probably wasn’t going to get the ink off my fingers until I could scrub them with turpentine.

I told Day, Bella, and Yova that Boss Lady wanted to talk to us and led them back over. When we arrived, Amberleigh gave us a slight nod (it must have been my birthday) and then got right to the point: there was word that Scáthach was trying to start some new alliances. Intelligence had it that she was going to be meeting some of these new allies in a goblin market near her keep. Amberleigh told us that she wanted us to infiltrate, find out what the nature of those alliances were, and disrupt them if possible. Day, who’d been in a particularly bad mood recently, started bitching at Amberleigh about things he’d rather be doing and how he wasn’t a knife fighter. Amberleigh, with a surprising amount of patience (that is to say, almost none) explained about technology in Arcadia: basically, the farther we were from Earth, the likelier it was that human technology would go haywire. She asked Day if he wanted to use a gun that had a big chance of backfiring every time he pulled the trigger and he begrudgingly admitted he didn’t. Amberleigh charged me with capturing every word the enemy said, especially if there were any pledges. I could already feel my hand cramping up, but given our oath, there wasn’t much any of us could do: if Boss Lady said go, we had to get gone. We weren’t going to get to have anyone come with us, either – Amberleigh picked us because we were the least likely to be recognized and we’d only have a map to get there and back.

None of us were especially thrilled about our new mission and we all decided to go off and do our own thing until we had to leave at dusk. Day went to look for slings and arrows, to find something other than knives to work with. He ended up finding a hand crossbow (he named it Julie after someone from his past, the big softy). Bella asked me for some paper, which I gave her, and she also grabbed some charcoal for sketching and general supplies. Yova went to find Cassi and ask her about the goblin markets. Cassi told her it probably wasn’t as bad a mission as Yova made it out (to be fair, she did describe it as a “suicide mission”). The market we were going to was called The Emerald Caravan and it was mobile, moving from place to place. Cassi said that changelings usually tried to avoid it and warned Yova that the markets would take everything we had if we weren’t careful. She said it was a good idea to buy something small to blend in, but to otherwise avoid the wares.

I went off to look for Adrian and see if he had any advice. I found myself looking for him more frequently as the days went on. Along with Cassi and Nash, he was one of the people I trusted most in camp and I liked spending time with him. I found him playing with Paisley out near the tent he shared with his motley. He had a string attached to a stick that he would flick around for Paisley to chase and she would dart and fly after it. She spotted me and zipped over, nuzzling against my face and my hair and zipping around my face. I gave her a scritch behind the ears (just how she likes it) and Adrian said it was good to see me. He was only able to see through Paisley’s sight, but I still always looked at him when I spoke to him. I asked him if I could talk to him about the mission we’d been assigned and told him the particulars. He seemed… upset isn’t the right word, but very, very concerned. He started pacing around a bit and asked me if I was okay with it. I said that it wasn’t so much that I was okay as much as I had to do what Amberleigh asked due to the oath and wanted to know if he had any advice.

He stopped pacing and looked at me with a deep breath. He told me that every goblin market dealt with “hard to acquire” merchandise and that this particular market dealt in people. When he said that, my stomach knotted up and I realized I’d been asking him about the place where he was taken to and sold to his Keeper when he was brought to Arcadia. I felt horrible and apologized, but he said that it was okay, and that he probably had a bit more insight than some of the others because he’d gone back there with his Keeper a few times. He warned me that free humans weren’t common and that we’d stick out, so we should try to be discreet. There were also large gorilla brutes as security. He told me that he wanted to make sure that my motley and I came back safe. I smiled and told him, “Of course I’ll come back safe. Who else would be there to obnoxiously flirt with you?” He blushed at that and turned his head a bit, stammering out, “Um, yeah… there is that…” and even Paisley turned her head away so he wouldn’t have to see me. Sweet girl. I promised him I would be safe and thanked him again before I left to join the rest of my motley.

We set out at dusk, with the promise that this trip wouldn’t be anywhere near as long as the one to the caves under Scáthach’s keep. In the Hedge close to the camp there was what’s known as a trod. If you’re a nerd, it’s fast travel. If you’re a different type of nerd, it’s a teleporter. If you’re not a nerd (and why you’re reading this if you aren’t, I have no idea, but maybe you’re bored), a trod is a gateway in the Hedge to a specific location. It isn’t open all the time, but does open when it needs to. I got the map from Amberleigh and a few coins and gems that we could use as currency in the market. As she turned away from me, she muttered something about it being nice to not have a little bird fluttering over her shoulder all the time. This in spite of the fact that she commandeered me as her assistant and demanded I be by her side from sunup to sundown every single day. I smiled tightly at her until she turned and then stuck out my tongue. I heard some quiet giggling when I did that and shared a knowing smile with Belle. If there was any one person in camp who understood what being around Amberleigh all the time was like, it was her.

After about fifteen minutes’ walk into the Hedge, we found the trod. It was an archway of vines that none of us had seen there normally. It was surprising how you get to learn parts of the Hedge that you’re close enough to; I’d occasionally gone out for walks with some of the others in the camp and learned before too long that the Hedge actually looked quite different depending on where you were in it. At first it had looked just like an endless maze of thorns and overhanging brush, but you learned quick enough what was what and where was where. Yova and I warned the others what Cassi and Adrian told us about the market. Yova made Bella promise not to talk to strangers. Bella took Day’s hand and Yova led us through the arch.

I was expecting the goblin market to be dark, dreary, and scary, but it wasn’t that way at all. It was very bright and looked like a village courtyard, with colorful tents, cheery music, laughter, and people laughing and haggling with enthusiasm. Day seemed distracted by all the pretty colors and Bella kept him from bumping into too much. Yova was scanning to get an idea for the layout of the place. For me, my attention was taken up by all the different creatures there. I saw a lot of different types of goblins and fae, too varied and numerous to write down here, but all of them radiating a strange pressure. It was something I’d experienced before – all of them were giving off a strange pressure. Most of the patrons appeared to be fae, but not all of them looked like they were hostile. A few humans were accompanying them; I figured they’d been taken but hadn’t completed their transformations yet, as they were sticking pretty close to the fae who they were accompanying.

Mercifully, we seemed to go unnoticed for the most part as we entered the market. Yova got the idea to ask around for any meeting places to offer her services as a minstrel. She got the advice to ask around for Jenny, who was responsible for organizing all mistrelry. We got directed toward the center of the goblin market. Walking through was an experience kind of unlike any other I had in Arcadia. There was a cacophony of really unpleasant sounds that somehow managed to sound pleasant altogether. We also saw a few changelings the deeper we got, but all of them had some sort of marked accessory on them. It reminded me how dangerous of a situation we were in and I tried to walk a little closer to the others.

We eventually found a corkboard with a very thin, very tall (relatively speaking) goblin woman tacking up notices and taking them down. Yova asked if she was Jenny and she got a distinct once-over. The goblin asked who Yova’s employer was and Yova managed to redirect the conversation to her own skills. She gave an impromptu performance and the goblin was very impressed (thank God she loves to showboat). She introduced herself as Jenny and invited Yova to perform at an afterparty for some of the more generous patrons in the goblin market. Yova accepted and we started to plan how we were going to go about approaching this meeting.

This, unfortunately, is where things started to go south. This whole time, Day was trying to see if anyone was noticing us. He managed to spot a very large figure at the edge of the stalls. It wasn’t as large as the Gristlegrinder we saw in the caves below the keep, but it was still enormous, with broad shoulders and meatfist hands. It was hunched over like a gorilla with large tusks poking up from its bottom lip and it was staring at us with suspicion. We decided discretion was the better part of valor and made like collective trees.

But then. Then. Bella decided she wanted a piggyback ride. She gave Day the puppy-dog eyes and Day, though he would sooner die than admit it, is a sucker for the puppy-dog eyes. He let her climb up on his shoulders and ride through the market. Now, you may be wondering, why didn’t Yova or I tell them this was a bad idea? “Derek!” I can hear you say, “why didn’t you tell them that you were trying to avoid attention, you absolute walnut?” And the answer is because Yova and I were getting sassy with each other. She tried to tease me about Adrian, and I gave it right back to her by telling her that I did see him and I also got to see Paisley, who is possibly Yova’s favorite thing in the world entire. “You see, Derek,” she said, “I want to love you, but then you say such hurtful things.” “I got to give her scritches and see her face scrunch up,” I told her in response. So it was important, you understand. And my mind was elsewhere. And Pam wasn’t there. We really shouldn’t have been left unsupervised.

Yova decided she should have some sort of costume disguise for her performance so she wouldn’t be recognizable. We found a boutique that was selling all sorts of clothing, from the mundane to the exotic, arranged by color. Yova found a snazzy burgundy outfit and matching veil that would keep her face from being seen. I was prepared to pony up some of the coins and gems to pay for it, but the goblin asked instead for a story as trade. Yova got really into it, imbuing it with tons of emotion. I’d love to tell you what the story was about, but she told it in Russian. The goblin fully accepted it, saying, “I have no idea what you just said, but the way you told it was awesome!”

We tried to leave the stall next. But as we did, I spotted a large shadow and turned just in time to shout, “Gorilla!” at Bella and Day. The gorilla was right behind them and trying to grab Bella off Day’s shoulders. We all started running. Yova and I managed to get away pretty easily, but Bella and Day weren’t so quick. They managed to dodge the gorilla once, but the second time, he grabbed both of them. As we watched from a hiding place, he lifted them both up and inspected them carefully, then started walking in the opposite direction with them. We had no idea what to do.

While all this was happening, you probably want to know what Pam was up to and why she wasn’t with us, don’t you? Well, Pam got up early as usual (even earlier than me, and I had to be up with Amberleigh at daybreak) and went out with Nash into the Hedge to pick some roots and vegetables to stock the larder. They had a pretty easy go of it at first, collecting things they recognized. Pam even found a nest full of some type of eggs that they were able to get without whatever laid them coming back. Things got weird when Pam was looking around a clearing. Her vision started to blur and she got a vision of her garden back home and her kids. She got dizzy and Nash made her sit down for a while and brought her some minty leaves to chew for her headache. While she was sitting there, she got another vision of her daughters playing jump rope in the back yard while she got lunch ready. Rather than resist it, Pam tried to lean into this vision and hold onto it as much as she could. She almost felt like she was there, hugging one of her girls, but then she felt a strange presence in her mind, a pressure there. It didn’t hurt, she said, but it was like someone was resisting her. Then she heard a voice almost like her own say, “Get out, this isn’t yours anymore.”

That was enough to break Pam’s concentration and she sat there for a minute, trying to figure out what it meant. Pam is nothing if not sensible, however, and she decided that it would be best if she processed it later. She and Nash continued collecting some nuts, roots, and veggies, and made their way back to camp. When she got there, she learned that the rest of us had been sent off on the mission by Amberleigh and got to work cooking. She was really good at making something out of nothing and before long had whipped up some sort of vegetable casserole with amaranthine, a bright-red eggplant-like veggie. She had a lot of grunts coming by trying to see what was cooking.

One of the things that both Pam and I were frustrated by in our baking efforts in camp was the lack of flour, so she started trying to make potato flour (it’s a maddeningly time-consuming process, but Pam has the patience of a saint). While this was going on, she noticed that Belle was standing on the edge of the tent, watching her. Pam asked if she wanted to help and Belle agreed to help peel the potatoes. They had a nice moment where Belle complimented Pam’s cooking and Pam asked her if she remembered anything in particular that she liked eating so Pam could try and re-create it. Belle said it was hard to remember exactly, given that she wasn’t real, but that she thought she remembered liking alfredo sauce, especially the garlic. Pam made a mental note about looking for milkable beasts of some kind.

While they were chatting, Belle tried to talk to Pam about what it was like to be her and yet not her. A quirk of Belle’s is that she referred to both Amberleigh and herself as “me,” and she told Pam that when they were apart, the other part of her didn’t know what she did. She also implied that at some point, she’d be whole again. Pam told her about the vision she had of seeing her kids and Belle suggested that there might be another Pam somewhere, a Fetch.

Before they finished peeling the potatoes, Belle leaned in and told Pam quietly that she had a bad feeling about the rest of us and our mission. She said that she didn’t think Amberleigh intended or wanted us to come back from the goblin market and suggested Pam go look for us. She told her that there were some delicious berries in the Hedge not far from camp, but warned her not to fall through the archway that led to the goblin market. Pam understood and told Nash that she was going to head out and look for those berries. He offered to come with her, but when she declined, warned her about the predators in the Hedge. Pam ended up taking one of the hand crossbows with her for protection.

Before she left, Pam decided to talk to Adrian and see if he had any bad vibes about the situation. She found him outside his tent with Paisley, watching the clouds overhead. She asked him about whether he could determine what was happening and he said he couldn’t divine the present, but could look at the future. He asked her to go grab something from my stash (mm-hmm) that I wouldn’t miss and Pam set out to our tent. She told me later that when she got to my cot, she noticed some small gray down feathers on my blankets. This was strange because we had certainly didn’t have anything plush enough to have down in it. Nobody else seemed to have any feathers on their cots. She managed to get a few feathers and a small shred of the clothing from the clothes I wore to Arcadia. (We’re not going to mention the small scrap of paper she found which may or may not have had “D+A” written on it. Shut up.)

When she got back to Adrian, he took the scrap of my shirt and brought it up to his shoulder, where Paisley lit it ablaze. He inhaled it and processed the vision, and whatever he saw made him falter, almost losing his balance. Pam helped him down into a sitting position and he sat there for close to a minute, staring in the distance before he said anything. He finally told her that he saw bars and strobelights and felt terror, a horrible feeling. He was really worried about what was happening to us. Pam told him that she was going to check on us and he told her it would be ungentlemanly of him not to accompany her. The two of them set out into the Hedge to try and track the rest of us dumbasses down.

And that is probably a good place to leave it for now. When we come back, you’ll get to know just how badly things went for us in the goblin market. Until then, stay safe, and may your friends never ride piggyback around goblin gorillas.

[mvretti-blog]

fat albert vc: hey hey hEY!! good day pals lemme start off by sayin i’m suPER stoked to be here woweewow i haven’t rped in almost a year so excuse me if i’m a lil rusty omg. below the cut is more information on vance including but noT limited to: background, personality, fun Facts, etc.

(( hey, look over there! isn’t that vance moretti, the twenty four year old junior at uw who’s majoring in criminal justice. he is part of the baseball team and lives in the iris building. people who know him say he is gallant but also stubborn. ))

trigger warning: mentions of drug trafficking, gang activity, violence, dumb stuff

HISTORY; alrighty so he was born in staten island, new york to a small family, vance being the youngest of three sons. his family (other than his intermediate fam) actually lives in italy, the moretti folks packing up and moving their kids to america about two or three years before thIS fella popped out. overall he had a great childhood, always playing outside and easily maintaining solid friendships with the other kids in his neighbourhood. his parents worked hard for their money and they weren’t considered to be well off by any means, but they never went hungry or had to worry about being able to pay off their bills on time.

fast forward several years and vance is a lanky teen with two older brothers that already built a reputation around the moretti name. a name now affiliated with gang violence and criminal activity, he had been set up for failure and instead of taking a difficult path to bring honour back into his family, vance followed right along in his elder brothers’ footsteps. however, while they were way deep in the criminal underworld with a drug cartel, trafficking and collecting due payments by any means necessary, vance was doing the bare minimum; selling dime bags to his peers on school grounds and high school parties, sometimes even harder shit if it was relentlessly pushed on him by his brothers.

a small time skip; one brother in jail, the other dead, while vance was a free man. he was basically ostracized from his family not only because of the horrible path he’d followed but because he was also the reason for the current state of his older brothers. by trying to get them all out of the criminal life together, it backfired. he was deemed a snitch and therefore in jeopardy of being hit at any time, any day. the only way out was to flee without a trace so he did, he moved across the whole country and ended up in washington. he wasn’t sure what exactly the reason was for picking that particular place, probably from one of the countless travel brochures he skimmed over, but whatever the reason, he’d made the move and he was starting fresh.

the last time skip; after volunteering for the police department a few times (around working a job with late hours but great tips), vance is taking the necessary precautions and steps to become a man of the law (ironically enough) by attending the university in washington and majoring in criminal justice.

PERSONALITY; oh boy oh boy this guy looks like a hardass bc he has a bad case of resting bitch face howeVER he’s a gentle giant, through and through. he would do anything for his friends, which has been one big reason why he hasn’t had a serious longterm relationship for several years, and he tries to Fight for Good and not Evil but a guy’s gotta let loose sometimes, especially when a good handful of your friends are into or associated with the party scene. but he doesn’t go hard bc 1) hey he’s tryna keep a clean record and 2) he doesn’t wanna slip back into old bad habits.

he is very much a Dad in the sense that he wants to be cool and not hated but he also wants everyone to do their best and achieve their dreams and not go to jail woO. if anyone of his pals ever needs a designated driver, vance will gladly pull up in his trusty Ol’ Reliable aka a pontiac that had been given to him from his dad. he would much rather u call him for a ride home at like 4am rather than end up hurt or dead. vance is also a great person to vent to, will listen for hours or however long u need him to, and is always there to lend a helping hand for whatever. not violence, but he doesn’t shy away from making stern promises (that may sound like threats) to anyone who hurts his pals. he’s not a stickler i stg he just cares a lot abt the ppl he’s close to and wants them to have a Happy n Healthy full life so he’s just overly protective

as for relationships, previously mentioned he doesn’t really have a track record worth counting. the last serious girlfriend he had was probably during the first year he’d lived in washington. it wasn’t until after she moved in with him in the apartment he had at the time that she realized how invested he was in his friends and his work, which were both obviously prioritized over her. so the messy break up ensued, something he never wanted to experience again. vance has tried relationships that had no strings attached; flings or friends with benefits, but it's too hard for him noT to get attached and catch feels, which leaves him in an even messier situation. so if he can help it, he tries to avoid anything more than a one night stand.

basically just a protective cool single dad tryna make it in this crazy world

FUN FACTS; he’s been working as a stripper for the last four years which is how he was able to pay for school without any debt chasing him but its a secret sh. the routine he’s best known for is pretending to be a cop claSSIC

speaking of classic.....classic rock and old rap are his absolute fav music genres that’s lit all he listens too with the exception of a few new songs he’ll catch on the radio

he still keeps in touch with his ma bc i mean heLO she’s his ma his #1 aka he’s a mama’s boy and he talks to her at least once a week

idk thats abOOT IT I G

[journeysintowebcomics]

Worm Liveblog #52

UPDATE 52: Slaughterhouse Nine

Last time the Undersiders were getting ready to leave! But the reinforcements arrived – it’s Dragon with her speed armor. She came aaaaaall the way from Canada to Brockton Bay in, what, a few minutes? Since it’s an armor specifically designed for speedy travel, there’s a chance she won’t be able to hit as hard as she would otherwise, but I’m not going to think that means the Undersiders will have a clean victory. This will be tough!

Dragon’s first move is to fill everything with containment foam, spraying the lobby as if she’s wielding four firehoses and the place is on fire. Say, are the defeated heroes and agents still lying around? Guess they’re going to be even deeper in foam. Parts of the foam gets attached to the Undersiders and swell, making it harder to move.

Hm, Weld is being more like an...a side character in this fight now that Dragon is here. He’s having trouble fighting Shadow Stalker and one of Heckpuppy’s dogs, he doesn’t want to risk injuring his teammate.

The way Regent was having Shadow Stalker fight, there was no self preservation or defense, which worked out to being a more effective combat style than anything else, in its own way.

I’d like to remind you, dear reader, that Shadow Stalker is conscious and seeing what Regent is making her body do. Can you imagine how horrible it must be to feel your own body diving onto Weld and trying to attack him with everything she has? Getting battered and not being able to do anything to stop it? Not knowing just how painful the next blow is going to be? This is some bonafide nightmare fuel, that’s for sure. I’d feel sympathy for Shadow Stalker if it wasn’t for, uh, everything she has done and been during these ten arcs. That kind of got rid of any sympathy I may have.

Skitter is as resourceful as always, trying to use her bugs to fight back against the foam, but a bunch of bugs aren’t very good against something with the strength of a firehose. She had intended to cover bugs in foam and drop them onto Dragon, to hinder her movement. Ah...even if the bugs could carry foam, I don’t think that would do much. I’d be very, very surprised if Dragon didn’t make her armor immune to the foam. That just seems like the right thing to do when you’re shooting containment foam around like you’re shooting confetti at a kids’ party.

The bugs can carry glass, at least!

With this glass, I did my best to catch and block the outlying flecks and drips of spray as it flew through the air, at the periphery of the streams.

Ah, I think I get it, yes. She’s not using the bugs to block the streams – task that already proved to be impossible – she’s just trying to diminish how much foam will be sprayed around out of the hose’s stream. It still seems rather, uh, inefficient even though I understand the purpose, but better this than doing nothing, and also, credit where credit is due: that’s more than I’d have been able to plan in a moment of crisis.

“She’s got a disadvantage,” Tattletale spoke, her voice low, “This suit is meant to fly to serious crises at a moment’s notice, deal with dangerous foes.  She’s packing too many lethal weapons.”

Oh, that’s good! Heroes don’t aim to kill criminals, yeah. Even Shadow Stalker and Armsmaster had the decency of trying to hide their attempts to kill villains – at least the minor ones. The Undersiders are waaaay below the level of threat lethal weapons would be required for.

Skitter tries to use the foam she has gathered to impede the armor from moving and seeing, but it’s not working. Hm. What now? Part of the reason why this may not be working is Tattletale’s theory that Dragon is controlling the armor remotely. Makes sense to me.

“There’s someone in there, I tried using my power on her, experimenting, and I felt some kind of nervous system.  Too much material between me and it for me to do anything with it, and I wouldn’t really try it while I’m controlling Shadow Stalker anyways.  I’d probably backfire.”

Oh, Dragon may be here, after all. Or...at least someone is in there. It’s not confirmed it’s Dragon, but who else could it be? Does Dragon have assistants or something? Will it turn out Dragon is some kind of...I don’t know, team of people working under one name, since apparently Dragon likes to do things remotely?

Then again, she is the best tinker in the world. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has an ace up her sleeve.

Skitter continues directing her bugs to cover the armor with glass, but she’s not placing her hopes on this strategy. It’s not going to stop Dragon and she knows it.

The real issue was that this was too slow, and we were on a tight time limit.  Less than a minute, and the Protectorate would arrive.

Tattletale already said it, didn’t she? She said they had no odds of getting out of there before the Protectorate arrived. Heck, even if they did get out of that place, I’m pretty sure Dragon and the Protectorate wouldn’t stand around in the lobby doing nothing, surely they’d pursue the Undersiders. As I see it, it’s impossible there won’t be a confrontation. Maybe it’ll be for the better to get ready for that.

I bet this chapter will end before this ‘less than a minute’ passes. Time sure has a funny way to dilate when things are tense!

Looking for a way to gain time and, you know, not get captured in three seconds flat, the Undersiders get into the gift shop, gaining some reprieve that doesn’t last very long.

Sensing this, Dragon started to advance further into the lobby.  Her broad, mechanical feet began hissing with vapor, and the goo my ground-borne bugs were hauling towards her began to run, losing its consistency and stickiness.  She set one foot down directly on a pile of foam, and lifted it up again with no difficulty.  It was clear: the foam wouldn’t hamper her.

Hah! I knew it! Apparently it’s moot if the armor itself is immune to the foam or not, dissolving the foam with vapor is something that can be done.

It seems Imp wants to fight, and wonders if Dragon can see her. Hm. Given that stuff like security cameras and those watching them can see Imp, I’d say Dragon can, too. My guess is that electronic monitoring kind of...bypasses Imp’s power. She’s not as invincible as it sounded at first – at least in terms of stealth. In middle of a fight she still can be rather effective, in my opinion. Imp doesn’t listen to the warnings and tries to get to Dragon, apparently. It won’t go well, will it?

Dragon’s mouth had opened wide, and she was spewing something like an ignited accelerant into the lobby.  With this fluid, she drew a three-foot wide line of flame onto the lobby floor, stretching from just below her to the stairwell door by the front desk.  She’d cut off our escape route.

...hm. Completely unrelated thought: where is Grue? Covering him in foam to ensure he won’t get away once he can move again would be wise. I don’t think he was in the lobby, so I don’t think Dragon may have seen him, but if he was frozen there then by now he must be under a bunch of foam, right? Sorry, it’s just that the mention of escapes reminded me of that.

Weld attacks Imp without actually managing to hit her, thanks to Dragon relaying instructions to him – through the earpiece the Wards use, I’d say. Just like I had guessed, Dragon can see Imp. I suppose she’s out of combat, then. With Dragon tattling on her, she won’t be able to do much.

There’s a lot of property damage in this gift shop, what with the foam, the fire, the broken glass, and everything else that surely will happen from now on. Dragon will be willing to pay for all damages – her data is the priority. Makes sense to me! She did show getting her work stolen is a sore spot. Stopping them is far more important than the physical integrity of that shop.

Grue is back again! Just in time, pal, things have gotten a lot more troublesome while you were frozen. He coats Dragon and Weld in darkness. Do Dragon’s sensors work in Grue’s darkness? Maybe not, since his darkness is unlike normal darkness.

“Dragon’s here!?” he shouted, aghast.

Okay, he wasn’t in the lobby. Now that I think about it...do the people frozen in time stay conscious about everything around them? Or to them it’s like fainting and then waking up – like everything around them changed instantaneously, from their perspective. Maybe it’s the second one, or else the Wards wouldn’t be so horrified about Shadow Stalker being conscious while Regent controls her.

Now that Grue is here, they finally can try to get out, and the way they choose is to cross the gift shop and get through the window that leads to the street. Heckpuppy’s remaining monstrous dog leaps through the glass, opening the escape route into the gift shop. My bad, it seems they were in front of the gift shop windows back then, they hadn’t gone in yet.

The electric gun Tattletale uses to try to melt the bars covering the window to the street starts to malfunction, but at least it finished the job. Once she made sure the trigger would stay pressed, and tried to dissuade Dragon from following by aiming the electrical arch at her, she escaped through the window, Dragon right behind her.

Dragon heaved herself over and beyond the electrical surge the gun was still pumping out, chasing Tattletale, swiping with one mechanical claw.  I got the sense she was pulling her punches to avoid murdering my teammate, because the attack was slow.  Tattletale slipped past, stepping onto the bookshelf to clear the window.  Or maybe it had something to do with the bugs I had gathered on her sensors.

Frankly I find more likely it’s the first one. It’s unlikely bugs will be able to cover up enough of the sensors to hinder Dragon. It’s good to see Dragon showing restraint, though. Even though Tattletale is on the brink of getting away with all the data she gathered, she’s still careful about not harming her. In this world where some heroes have showed less then desirable traits, it’s still nice to see some that don’t let the situation stray them from their rules and principles.

Regent and Imp escape shortly after that, even though Dragon’s armor becomes electrified. Only Heckpuppy, her dogs and Skitter are left inside the gift shop, with Dragon trying to block the window to the outside with her armor. Since the spider silk she used gives her some insulation against electricity, she uses Dragon’s foot as leverage, making sure to make as little contact as possible. It was a...it was ‘something risky and borderline stupid’, in Skitter’s own words, but hey, if she escapes and is unharmed, then it’d have been worth it. Fortune favors the bold!

The gamble and assumption I was working with was that electricity followed the path of least resistance.  Insulated costume vs. vapor in the air?  It would travel through the vapor.  Insulated costume vs. metal leg?  It would travel down the leg.

I’m not entirely sure, but I think Skitter is right in this assumption. Electricity needs a conduit to pass through, and Skitter simply isn’t very good of a conduit thanks to her costume. This should be fine.

Unfortunately, during her jump she was thrown off balance by something large brushed against her, making her fall towards a side, towards foam. She doesn’t fall face first, thankfully, but her entire arm gets submerged into it, up to her shoulder. It doesn’t matter how much of her body gets covered, what matters is that, well...the foam caught part of her. She’s not getting free from that.

I tried to raise myself to see Dragon looming above, but the foam offered only a rubbery resistance.  It had set with the contact, bonded to my costume.  I was pinned face down on the ground.

What I did see, as I raised my head as high as I was able?  Bitch was astride Bentley, who’d grown large enough to ride, and they were standing near the window leading into the street.  I could only see her eyes behind the plastic of her mask, and everything else was communicated through her bearing, her posture, the angle of her head.  I’d seen something similar when I’d first met her.

It hadn’t been Dragon that knocked me into the foam.

...

...

...oh. Well...

...I should...have guessed something like this could happen sooner or later. Heckpuppy was furious and really didn’t want Skitter back. I should have guessed she’d try to get rid of Skitter sooner or later, and here was the best chance for that. The rest of the team had gone ahead, there was a very good way to trap Skitter, and if the rest asked something, she could lie and say Skitter stepped wrongly or something like that. Tattletale may find out what truly happened, but would that matter? The Undersiders aren’t going to risk getting all of them captured just to rescue Skitter.

In terms of getting rid of a traitorous teammate, that was decently shrewd of Heckpuppy, especially for the short window of time that’d be Skitter jumping in the air.

Dragon turned her upper body to strike at Bitch.  As she moved, her back leg was close enough that some of the vapor was getting on me, slowly liquefying the foam.  It was too slow to matter.  Dragon had me.

Hm. Maybe not everything is lost! Most of Skitter’s body is free, if enough vapor gets on her before the Protectorate arrived, then maybe she can get free?

Not lucky enough for that. Dragon can ask Skitter questions, trying to get her to say where the Undersiders are taking the information. I had noticed before that it seemed the Wards weren’t aware the Undersiders worked for Coil, this confirms it further. Would they be able to deduce the Undersiders are working for someone, or would they think they’d make use of that information by themselves? With some luck, it’ll be the latter.

“If they aren’t going to be loyal to you, why protect them?”

Because someone else was depending on it.  But I wasn’t going to say that out loud.

Hoh! I don’t mean to demean Skitter or anything like that, but in my opinion, Dinah’s freedom is depending on Skitter herself. If Skitter dies or gets captured, I’m pretty sure nobody in the Undersiders would keep trying to get Dinah out of Coil’s clutches. It just...yeah, Skitter’s the one that whole thing is relying on.

The questions stop when the lightning gun starts whining louder. Is it about to explode?

“Move the insects away from my suit, now,” Dragon ordered me.

...okay, uh, looks like, hm, I was wrong. Skitter’s insects really were hampering her sensors in some way. Alright. When will I ever stop doubting the effectivity of Skitter’s bugs? Because almost every time I doubt it, I get proven wrong.

Since the gun is about to explode and undoubtedly cause a lot of damage, Dragon hurries to cover the gun in a dome, spraying with foam, trying to contain most of whatever will happen. You’re kind of wasting your time trying to convince Skitter to abandon the Undersiders – even Heckpuppy, I bet, despite what Heckpuppy just did.

When the gun explodes a large portion of Dragon’s suit is destroyed. Worried and hoping Dragon survived, Skitter approaches and finds that, yes, Regent was right. Something was inside.

It looked like a fetus, the features were crude, barely humanoid in any sense of the word.  The eyes were half-formed, and it had no nose, only a beak-like mouth.  The head was half-again as large as the body below the neck.  Wires wove in and out of orifices.

Three words: what the hell?

But this means both Regent and Tattletale were right: there was something inside the armor, and Dragon was controlling this remotely. I’m not sure what this...thing...inside the armor was, but it’s impossible it was Dragon. I’m clueless as to how any of this works, though. I suppose the best tinker in the world has methods that are far beyond my comprehension, haha...

To avoid what happened with mercenaries taking parts of Dragon’s armor, it self-destructs, melting the metal and charring whatever that thing was. Say, now that this fight is ending...

...has ‘less than a minute’ passed yet? Because I feel like two or three minutes have passed, what with everything that was said and everything that happened. Did the Protectorate stop for snacks and a bathroom break along the way or something?

Skitter leaves the place, confused as to what she had just seen. Precisely what I’m wondering, Skitter, what the hell.

Had that been someone who was physically affected by their powers?  I wasn’t even sure if it was human.

I had a growing, uneasy feeling that this wasn’t related to powers and trigger events in the conventional sense.

I’m not sure if I should be excited to find out someday, or if I should feel dread. I’m both nervous and eager to find out more.

Ah, there’s the Protectorate! They’re already fighting the rest. Right! And they’re already losing. Well that sure was an inconsequential arrival. Skitter doesn’t care right now, she’s striding straight towards Heckpuppy. This won’t be pretty, will it?

Hm...I could stop right now, but...I don’t know, I think I’ll continue ahead a bit more. Just one chapter more. It’ll mean I’ll have to post this update tomorrow instead of today, it’ll be worth it to have more content.

O-kay, priorities, Skitter: bludgeoning a teammate in the middle of a fight with the Protectorate would be a stupid thing to do. Tattletale barely can do something to stop her, trying to get her to listen, but she can’t get not even two words out before smoke billows around them. It’s not bug spray, at least!

The smoke came from grenades Miss Militia is throwing, surely it’s a way to counter anything Skitter can do. By now they must have ways to deal with the insects before Skitter manages to do some crazy move to get the upper hand, yep.

The bees I had in the smoke were acting funny.  I was surprised to find out why.  I’d known that beekeepers used smoke to pacify the bees before collecting the honey.  My assumption had been that it acted as a tranquilizer, putting them to sleep.  In reality, it was forcing them to revert to instinctual behavior.  It made them want to eat and feed and to flee.  For those near enclosed spaces or even the corners of walls or the foundations of buildings, it made them adjust their wingbeats to divert the flows of oxygen.

If she’d been intending to use the smoke to screw with my insects, she’d underestimated my power.  I canceled out the instincts and sent the bugs through the smoke, blind, feeling out for her.

Huh. Really? That’s why beekeepers use smoke? I thought the smoke knocked out the bees, not that it made them use only instinctual behavior. You learn something new every day!

When Skitter alerts the others that Miss Militia was charging towards them, she also alerted her of her position, leaving her vulnerable to shots from a shotgun. Ouch! Even if it’s nonlethal ammunition, that must sting! As payback, she directs the remaining capsaicin-loaded bugs she has, so Miss Militia is the one who feels the sting now. Hah! Get it? Because the bugs have stingers and—sorry, this isn’t time for stupid puns. At least the capsaicin is effective against Miss Militia.

Darkness covers the area. Things go much easier when Grue is around, eh?

Tattletale helps Skitter stand up and guides her out of the darkness, where Grue is waiting. Apparently the smoke makes it troublesome for Grue to see. Pretty smart of Miss Militia, to make Grue unable to see! Good strategy! Speaking of strategies, what the Undersiders want to do now is run away, to achieve that, Skitter tells Grue where the rest of the team is at in middle of the darkness, and limps away.

Protip: if you get shot with nonlethal ammunition, it’d be swell if you told the ‘nonlethal’ part in the first sentence. Grue must have been rather startled for a moment!

The place to hide while everything calms down is in the lobby of an apartment building, three blocks away from the PRT building. Tattletale makes sure to send a message to Grue, most likely telling him where they’re hiding, and to Coil, surely telling him the mission was a success. Once another day of successful villainy!

Tattletale starts apologizing for what happened with the gun, saying she had deduced Dragon would deal with that above anything else – and she was right, yeah – so Skitter rightfully tells her she has nothing to apologize about. She doesn’t say what Heckpuppy did, though. That’s to be dealt with once the rest of the team arrives.

They’re still taking Shadow Stalker around, huh. For how much longer will they keep her? Do they intend to keep her captured or something?

Heckpuppy is surprised to see Skitter and tries to ask how she managed to get away, but Skitter is too furious to say even a word. She strikes her with the baton on the thigh, then backhands her.

It hurt. Damn it, I’d never really hit someone with my hands before.  I wondered if I’d managed to break something.

It’s not so easy to break anything with a backhand. I can’t say with certainty, but maybe you’d be at bigger risk of breaking a bone or two in your hand?

Everyone moves to try to stop Skitter, she avoids Grue and Imp’s attempts, and warns Shadow Stalker/Regent from interfering. Not having any other option, Grue demands an explanation. “Ask her”, Skitter says right before shoving her baton into Heckpuppy���s mouth. Well she’s not going to answer any question now, is she, Skitter. Not that she would have.

Once Heckpuppy is shoved down with the baton in her mouth, and Shadow Stalker is away enough and unable to hear anything, Skitter explains what happened. Wow, Skitter is using swears and all! She’s truly furious. Heckpuppy tries to fight back, forcing Skitter to move in a way that’d ensure she wouldn’t get hit in any place where it hurt.

“You’re a coward, Rachel,” I spoke, “You just did the very same thing you hate me for almost doing.  You stabbed me in the back.  You fucked over your own teammate.”

...uh...well she’s not wrong! Heckpuppy did what they thought Skitter would end doing – betraying a teammate. In terms of actions, Heckpuppy’s sins are heavier, so to say. Can there really be no retaliation for this from Heckpuppy later? Skitter’s trying to force her to not do anything else, telling her to just accept Skitter is back and to just...chew on that resentment and do nothing because Skitter’s not going to tolerate any further backstabbing.

I’m not sure if I approve how clear Skitter is making this be, or if I repudiate her methods. I feel a weird combination of both feelings. I mean, I know Heckpuppy can take the punishment with no problem, so...yeah, maybe if she was doing this to a civilian, I’d be disapproving this much more.

When I spoke next, I bent low and whispered the words for her and her alone, “When you’re tossing and turning and trying to sleep, remembering what I did and said here and getting pissed off about it?  Remember that you were the weak one.  You embarrassed yourself, fucked up, you were the weakling, the wuss who couldn’t even confront me face to face.  And knowing you like I do?  I’m betting it’s going to gnaw at you.  That’s as much a punishment as I could inflict, I think.  That’s on you, not me.

Wow. Just...wow. That’s savage. Savage and most likely effective. She finishes with a threat to break Heckpuppy’s jaw for real if she tries to backstab her again and is unsuccessful at that. Well this isn’t going to cause bad blood at all, nope, no sir! I’m not sure if she’d take this as an invitation to try again or not...

Now that she made very clear what the situation is, Skitter lets Heckpuppy stand up. She’s not immediately attacked by Heckpuppy, I’ll take that as a good sign, although if looks could kill, well, Skitter would be six feet under right now. Sensing she has control over the situation, she extends the olive branch, making clear this isn’t a sign of weakness, of course.

“I fucked up, you fucked up, whatever.  Insult for insult, blow for blow, I’d like to think we’re even.  So now I’m going to trust you to have my back.  I’m going to put myself in more situations where you have a prime chance at fucking me over, backstabbing me, catching me at my most vulnerable.  Because we can’t function as a team any other way.

“I’m going to treat you like a damned teammate, Rachel, but I’ll go one step further. You think you can put this behind you and satisfy yourself with what you tried to pull earlier tonight?  Cool.  Because if you’re willing, I’ll come with you to help take care of your dogs.  I’ll bring fucking lunch, if you want it. That’s the deal I’m offering you, pissed as I am right now.  I’ll be your damn friend.”

She’s right again, a team can’t work together if they have to watch out for backstabbing all the time. Either they bury the hatchet, or this simply won’t work at all. I don’t think Heckpuppy will ever think of her as a friend ever again, but yeah...continuing the feud isn’t a viable option. I wouldn’t count on Heckpuppy letting you come close of her or her dogs ever again, Skitter. I hope you’re not getting your hopes up on that regard.

But hey, at least she’s trying to defuse the situation, and that’s what matters. Even if it doesn’t work, she tried and that’s what’s important, and everyone else in the team will see she did try. If anything further happens, it’ll be clear Skitter won’t have any of the blame in it.

Surprise surprise, Heckpuppy’s not going to take the deal. Thought so. The matter is closed, though, so...yeah, what’s next? Right, deciding what to do with Shadow Stalker. Imp wants to keep her around, as if this was some random pet picked up from the streets but everyone else wants to let Shadow Stalker go – including Regent, he can’t control anyone while he’s sleeping.

“This kind of mind control is pretty high up there on the scale of fucked upness. People are going to respond to that. It might be the nudge they need to start responding to us with lethal force.  Think of how different tonight would have played out if Dragon and Miss Militia hadn’t held back”

Skitter’s making a lot of good points tonight! Truly, it’s in their best interests to keep a relatively low profile in the scale of danger. Is there someone in Brockton Bay who warrants being fought with lethal force? I think the global threats like the Endbringers and the Slaughterhouse Nine would be the only ones who would be a target for such measures, or those capes with powers that’d mean it’d be too dangerous to leave alive – dangerous as in ‘everything will be destroyed’ or ‘a lot of people will die’. I don’t think any villain from Brockton Bay would receive lethal force. Heck, Bakuda planted bombs all over the city, detonated them, killed and injured a couple hundred people, surely caused hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage, and yet she was captured and sent to the Birdcage.

Now that it was decided what would be done with Shadow Stalker, Regent makes her stand in front of him, and liberates her from his control. She drops to the floor, grunts, and stands up again with a bolt ready to shoot. Speed truly is her forte, eh? Not that she gets any time to shoot, Regent stops her rather easily.

“There’s a catch,” he spoke. “My power?  Once I’ve figured someone out?  It’s a lot easier to control them, after.  Any time you come near me, I can do this.  I can use my power and retake control in the blink of an eye.”

Oh, yikes. That just right there? She was turned into a liability. Nobody can count on Shadow Stalker to fight the Undersiders from now on, unless some way to stop her from being controlled is invented in the near future. That sure must be frustrating for her, because if there’s something Shadow Stalker loves, is to fight. Physical violence is another thing she’s good at, and now she can’t approach the group she’ll hold a grudge on. That’s going to gnaw at her forever!

Besides, uh, how near is ‘near me’? What’s Regent’s ratio? I wouldn’t be surprised if he controlled Shadow Stalker for kicks and giggles just because she’s nearby, even if she’s fighting someone else, or just hanging around as a civilian. Regent pretty much has Shadow Stalker under his thumb.

Ah, there he goes, he does outright mention Shadow Stalker is now a liability.

“Unless you leave.  Skip town. Join another team.”

So...yep, Regent and the rest just obliterated Shadow Stalker’s life. She now has to leave everything behind to go somewhere else, to a place where Regent can’t reach her. I feel a fuzzy feeling of satisfaction, although...this would mean Shadow Stalker wouldn’t appear anymore in Worm, then. I may dislike her a lot, but it can’t be denied that of the three bullies, she’s the one I can say I tolerate the most. She’s the one with the depth and with the ‘heroic’ role, after all. She has a purpose and a reason to be an antagonist to the main characters, the story would change a lot if she didn’t exist. The other two bullies are much less important. Emma is a small fry in every way possible, now that Skitter won’t return to the school anymore, and...and...uh, whatever the third one was called matters even less. Madison, was it? I can’t even remember.

The bright side is that I can’t say with certainty Shadow Stalker won’t appear anymore. Mr. Wildbow has showed he isn’t afraid of messing around with characters, showing some that seem minor but appear again...yeah, despite how this looks, I’m not 100% thinking this is Shadow Stalker’s swan song.

It’s decided Shadow Stalker will be freed once she’s on the other side of the city, to avoid she following them. They still have to meet Coil and give him the information, yep. They’re not going to his hideout, they’ll meet him somewhere else, where he and a lot of mercenaries are waiting.

I’m absolutely unsurprised to hear Dragon has this information encrypted. Coil’s workers are the very best, though, with a whole team working on this they should be able to break the encryption and fill in the blanks the interrupted download caused. That’s a lot of talent! But that’s not what’s important right now, Coil has priorities: files about the Slaughterhouse Nine. Oh, please tell more about them! I’m curious. I have heard the Slaughterhouse Nine are rather popular villains among the Worm fandom, I wonder what kind of villains they are?

I felt a chill, but didn’t say anything.  Was he intending to hire them?  It would be a huge mistake in my book, if he was.

I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think the Slaughterhouse Nine are the kind of people you can hire. They sound a lot like loose cannons – in a way – and Coil doesn’t strike me as the kind of person that’d be willing to hire people who could turn dangerous in a moment’s notice. Dangerous towards him, I mean.

It’s known the Slaughterhouse Nine have been going around, preying on civilians and disrupting recovery efforts. Preying...hm. I have to wonder if that’s literal. I mean, I don’t mean in a cannibalism sort of way, it’s more like if their powers require killing people, or something like that. In this world such thing would be possible, right?

When Coil asks Dinah how likely it’s for one of his teams to encounter the Slaughterhouse Nine, Dinah asks who they are. Time to reveal one by one what kind of capes the Undersiders will unavoidably deal with in the future!

“Bonesaw.” he spoke.  The girl on the screen looked barely older than Dinah, maybe the same age as Aisha. The image showed her wide-eyed, a spray of dried blood painted her face at a diagonal.

That tells me absolutely nothing about her power, unfortunately. ‘Bonesaw’ is quite the ominous name, though. Whatever she can do definitely won’t be pretty.

“Shatterbird.” A dark-haired, brown-skinned woman with a helmet covering the upper half of her face, in a beak shape.  I was reminded of Iron Falcon, the boy I’d tried to help, who’d died in the Endbringer attack.  From what I’d read, Shatterbird usually used her power as the Nine arrived in a city, to maximize panic and terror.  I supposed they were flying under the radar for now.  Fuck, I’d have to do something about my costume, just in case.

What power is it, though? Some kind of psychological influence in the population, perhaps? I don’t think ‘Shatterbird’ is a real word, and I’m wary about looking in Google if it really is a word. I don’t want to stumble into spoilers, after all.

It’s strange Skitter is worried about her costume, though...I can’t seem to figure out why.

“Crawler.” No portrait, this time.  It was a still from a surveillance camera, a misshapen silhouette, not even humanoid, in a shadowy area.  I’d come across stories about him when I’d been researching possible superhero names for myself.  Not pretty.

You can’t say something like that and not go into detail, Skitter, welp. Crawler sounds dreadful, just from the fact there’s not even a clear image of him.

“Mannequin.” Another long-distance shot.  The figure was standing by Bonesaw in the photograph, with other hulking figures within the shadows of the background.  He stood almost twice her height, and he looked artificial.  His body was in pieces, each section wrapped in a hard shell of ceramic or plastic or white-painted metal – I couldn’t be sure.  His joints were a mix of loose chains and ball joints.  A Tinker with a body-modification fetish.  I couldn’t say how much of the transformation was his own power and how much was Bonesaw’s work.

Well, it looks like Mannequin was responsible for one of the bodies the Wards found, then. I can already guess what kind of power he has. Body modification, huh.

“The Siberian.” A woman, naked from head to toe, her body painted in alternating stripes of jet black and snow white.  She had gone up against the Triumvirate – Legend, Alexandria and Eidolon – on a dozen occasions, and she was still around to talk about it.  Or around, at least.  From what I’d read, she didn’t talk.

There’s an inherent irony on someone called ‘The Siberian’ going around completely naked. Siberia isn’t really a temperate place, you know. No clue about her power. I wonder if the stripes on her body are something she paints on herself, if it’s related to her power, or if her skin turned like that when she gained her powers?

“Burnscar.” Younger, maybe an older teenager or a young-looking twenty-something.  She looked almost normal, with her dark hair badly cut, but then I saw the vertical row of cigarette burns marking each of her cheeks, and a faint glow to her eyes.

Descriptive. I’d be rather surprised if her power has no relation at all to fire.

“Hatchet Face.” This was one I hadn’t even heard of. The man didn’t wear a mask, and his head was shaved.  He looked like he had been beaten, burned and just plain abused so often that his face was as much scar tissue than flesh, and he didn’t look like he’d been handsome to begin with.

Kind of an insensitive question that immediately crossed my mind: did the Hatchet Face moniker come before, or after his face was like that? Then I realized that was kind of a messed up thing to think. My bad.

“Jack Slash.” Jack looked like someone on the attractive side of average, his dark hair cut short and styled with gel.  His beard and moustache were immaculately trimmed so that each had a serrated edge, and his shirt was wrinkled, only half buttoned so his hairless upper chest showed.  He had kind of a Johnny Depp look to him, though he had more of a widow’s peak, a longer face and lighter eyes.  Good looking, if you looked past the fact that he was a mass murderer.  He held a small kitchen knife in the photo.

Pffft, you just had to namedrop Johnny Depp, Mr. Wildbow, didn’t you. You thought that’d be fun, didn’t you. Now every time Jack Slash is mentioned or he appears in the story I’ll forever picture him as Johnny Depp. Thanks a lot, buddy.

The Slaughterhouse Nine are people that were already pretty messed up before acquiring powers. I wonder what kind of situations were the trigger for them? It sounds like Jack Slash is the leader and Bonesaw is...I’m not sure...a recruiter, kind of, given what it says about Jack being able to keep the group more or less intact and Bonesaw attracts psychos. There are also eight members and they may be looking for a replacement for the ninth member, since the members change quite often.

Okay, uh, what comes is a bit long of a copy-paste, but it needs context, so...

“Mmm,” Dinah said.

“What is it, pet?” Coil murmured.

“It’s him.”

“Who?”

She pointed at the screen, at Jack Slash.  “Him.”

“You’re going to have to explain it to us, pet.  What about him?”

“He’s the one who makes everyone die.”

I shivered. What?

“Everyone here?”

Dinah shook her head, her hair flying out to either side.  “Everyone.  I don’t understand.  Can’t explain.”

If there were any feeble doubts about the main characters getting in the way of the Slaughterhouse Nine, all those doubts are now gone. It is unavoidable they will. Jack Slash is already being built to be a major antagonist in this story, just from Dinah’s prediction he’s going to kill everyone. ‘Everyone’ and ‘kill’ are not words you want to hear together, after all.

“Sometimes it’s in two years.  Sometimes it’s in eight.  Sometimes in between.  But if he’s alive, something happens, and everyone on Earth starts to die.  Not that everyone doesn’t die anyways but they die really fast when that something happens, all one after another, and in a year almost everyone is dead.  So I said everyone, if that makes sense and a few live but they die pretty soon after anyways and-“

Global apocalypse, then? And Jack Slash is the one who causes it? No, her wording is a bit odd. If he’s alive something happens. She doesn’t say he’s going to kill everyone. Maybe Jack Slash will trigger something, accidentally or intentionally, that will lead to the end of the world. Maybe his mere existence causes it. Heck, maybe some inconsequential action from him snowballs into something big and bad. All that matters is that something will happen and it involves him.

“His power isn’t all that, I don’t think,” Grue spoke, slowly, as if considering the words as he spoke.  “Space warping effect, so any blades he’s holding have an edge that extends a horrendously long distance, all with the optimal force behind the swing.  Swings his knife, cuts through an entire crowd. Doesn’t make sense that he’d be able to murder everyone on Earth.”

Well that sure is a fitting power for a superpowered killer. The edge must be rather sharpened, too, if it’s capable of cutting through an entire crowd like that.

“Unless he somehow cuts the planet in half,” Tattletale mused.

Sounds like the natural progression of his power. Who knows, maybe the more time passes, the more powerful he becomes, and in a few years his power is strong enough to be able to cut through kilometers of Earth crust all the way down to the core of the planet. Hey, this is Worm, something like that is theoretically possible.

The odds he destroys everyone are disquietingly high. Eighty-three percent? That’s...way too high! And the odds of successfully killing him soon are not very high. Thirty-one percent of someone killing him. The end of the world still happens, though. Hm. In that case, it sounds more like Jack Slash hastens whatever’s going to happen, it’s not his existence causing it. Welp. Everyone’s hella doomed, then!

If Coil sends one of his teams to kill Jack Slash, well, it’s more likely the team dies. The Travelers only have twenty-two percent odds, the Undersiders have even less. No sending any team, then. There’s no way he’s going to risk the deaths of his teams senselessly.

Oh, there we go! Sixty percent chance the Undersiders encounter some of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Only sixty percent? More like one hundred percent, Mr. Wildbow, you’re not fooling me. They’re so encountering them, and it won’t be pretty at all. There’s no way they won’t encounter them, not after everything you have written and done. At least Coil has the good sense to order the Undersiders to have staying alive as their priority, even if it involves abandoning a job. Hm. Now I have to wonder which ones of the Slaughterhouse Nine they will meet.

Coil may actually contact the heroes to let them know about what will happen. Would he actually do that? Well, most likely, if it’s beneficial to him, and I think the world existing would be mighty beneficial for him.

What follows is reorganization, giving to members of the Undersiders locations to be stations for them. They’re also expected to recruit people. Fantastic, the Undersiders have gone from an inconsequential team to full-fledged villains, now that they’re expected to recruit people! That’s bound to be fun. Everyone receives a territory, Heckpuppy and Tattletale even will have henchmen working for them already. This is going to be really fun, seriously!

Everyone will receive an email at their new location...I’m not sure why, but that sounds kind of sketchy, like they each will receive an order the rest can’t find out about. The Undersiders are dismissed, Skitter requests to talk to Coil in private.

I wasn’t sure I liked that our group was being split up like this.  The timing seemed bad.  I’d sort of been hoping I could repair the divide, and that would be hard if we were each in our own territories, doing our own things.

I don’t know, I think it may be for the better. The city is pretty much falling apart, making sure it won’t may be more important than mending bridges with the rest of the team. Besides, even if they’re separated, they still can talk to each other. Something could be done.

The reason why Skitter wanted to talk to Coil alone is because she’s now prepared to ask for her reward for helping him, like he had offered in the limousine.

“I asked you to fix the city, you told me you planned on doing that anyways, that I should ask for something else.”

“And you’ve decided.”

“Yeah,” I took a deep breath.  “Dinah. Your… pet.”

That’s not going to work. Coil is too attached to Dinah’s power to just let her go because Skitter asks that. No, this won’t stand. And indeed, he won’t. Skitter hurries to clarify, saying that once Coil has succeeded in taking over the city, he should let Dinah go. That sounds a tad more reasonable, I guess...not perfect, definitely not good for Dinah, but eh. It’s more reasonable to Coil than if she outright demands Dinah to be freed right now.

The problem is just how long it’ll take for Coil to take over the city. Months? A year or two? It’s not like there’s infinite time, I mean, the deaths of everyone on Earth is in the near future.

It’s a deal. Skitter now has an incentive to perform really well and help Coil. She goes downstairs, where Grue and Imp are unpacking their supplies for their new center of operations, and goes outside.

I took a deep breath, to calm my nerves.  I could do this.  Whatever I had to do, I was going to help that girl.

She’s making progress, at least. It’s not a definite solution, and Coil still has complete control over the situation, but it’s a start. I bet Dinah’s freedom will be a big turning point in Worm, like the Endbringer attack was. Given how the Slaughterhouse Nine’s presence seem to be the current focus of the story, I’d say that’s what will bring the most change for now, and once that plotline is done with, the Dinah plotline will be continued and finished.

I think I should end this here. The next chapter is the Interlude, so that means this was the end of Arc 10. Once another arc masterfully executed! I especially liked Dragon intervening, that I never saw coming. This chapter gave her more time to show her personality and convictions, and I liked what I saw. It also sets up plotlines, and shows more stuff is going to change in the Undersiders’ lives. The story continues, the pacing is good, I’m content. I like this.

I would add more points to the plot-o-meter for Worm, but it’s already full.

Thank you for reading!

Next update: in two updates

[fireandgloryrpg]

Name: Alexander James “AJ” Braeden

Age: 29 years old.

Faceclaim: Nathaniel Buzolic.

Heritage: Son of Aurora.

Affiliation: First Cohort Legionnaire.

Status: Taken. (played by Liv)

Headcanons:

AJ really loathes the use of his full name by anyone for the most part barring those he considers incredibly close to him and even then he tends to get tetchy when people use it. He feels it keeps him attached to a weaker version of himself that wasn’t able to defend those he cared for when it was required of him, because of this he trains hard and often pushes himself to and beyond limits and follows a relatively strict fitness routine and meal-plan.

Several times in his career and time in the legion AJ was approached and offered the position of Centurion and at one point in his life he was set up for running to be elected for the role. He’d proven himself a capable warrior several times over especially during the battle of Mount Tam where he led and directed a small company of soldiers through the destruction. But after the death of his girlfriend in the Argo II attack on New Rome he grew reclusive from life in the legion and stepped away from any offers of power or advancement preferring to stay out of the limelight and operate in the darkness. Ironic, considering his parentage.

Biography:

!! tw death mention and bullying !!

Alexander Braeden never saw eye-to eye with anyone in his life after the shooting of his parents, be it the therapists, counsellors or foster parents who adopted him after he was put into the system. He could never grasp what he had done wrong to end up in such dire straits– an orphan left behind after a picnic lunch in the park went horribly wrong, the sounds of laughter and joy cut off by the shrill ring of bullets as they showered down around him. Only later would he learn about the consequences of the gang shootout that would shift the axis of the world as he knew it. By some grace, or was it godly power? Who could say, a boy from a poor loving family woke in hospital a few days later to the news his mother and father had been killed on site.

The young boy was quickly swept up into the system and bounced from home to home, never really quite fitting in anywhere. He was an odd child that most struggled to comprehend despite their best efforts and to say AJ’s behaviour grew unruly, obstructive and erratic after the death of his parents would be an understatement to say the least. School was another battle in itself, despite his best efforts his ADHD and dyslexia meant lessons were a struggle that left him feeling further and further ostracised from his classmates and those around him who seemed to have everything in the world he wanted.

The only reason he survived the downward spiral his life seemed to be taking was by establishing control elsewhere; in the brief death-defying moments teetering on the scale up a building, the burning lick of a flame, the refusals to eat or even the first time his fist collided with a bullies face after a particularly nasty taunt. He always was a smart and creative boy but found during school hours no matter how hard he tried to apply it he couldn’t do so in the way people wanted him to leading to frustration and outbursts of anger over why he was different. With no one to guide or explain the reasons to him, he grew up stuck in a vicious cycle without any clue how to escape.

Until, one day he did escape.

He decided to run– hitting the streets where he learned real life lessons about survival, becoming a skilled street-thief known as Scrappy due to his short stature and seemingly wild method of brawling when he did end up getting in a tussle. He learned to rely on his instincts, to trust only himself and that if you wanted to live you had to adapt to be faster than the bigger thugs on the street with him. After all, if you could wear them out even the tallest person would fall eventually. Eventually, he left his hometown of Los Angeles being drawn North where he came across The Wolf House in Sonoma Valley. It was here he discovered the truth about who and what he was much to his shock.

With the aid and training of Lupa, AJ took his first steps in order to turn his life around. A very serious, quiet, observant boy he displayed a remarkable amount of personal strength developed from years of taunts along with skill set that was only enhanced by what he learned at the Wolf House he excelled under Lupa’s tutelage. Unfortunately, his life of taunts wasn’t over and the legion made him feel like he was stepping right back into school but being around other people like him helped curb his temper some.

Unfortunately, his dislike for authority figures wielding power over his life means he often pushes back against orders he disagrees with earning him a bit of a reputation as a rebel. Combined with his parentage it left him open to taunts about his Godly parent simply being a woman of loose morals and that he was likely just another bastard strung on the line. It was his driven and determined nature that earned him his place in the first cohort when one of its legionnaires stood for him immediately granting him a place in their ranks. In the first cohort was where he began to learn how rely on others, although it’s still an incredibly foreign concept he isn’t entirely comfortable with to this day. AJ prefers to do things independently and will more often than not forge his own path along the route he believes is best which has both succeeded and backfired spectacularly in the past.

Recently, AJ has spent the summer touring Europe with his best friend Adriana and has returned to camp where he’s settled back into life in the legion. However, feeling he’s getting a bit too old for the same old monotonous routine he has recently been considering moving on from life in the legion. As it currently stands, AJ still serves in the First Cohort but also works part-time in a pub known as Dauntless in New Rome though most know him for his career in the Colosseum - having struck up a rather remarkable tally of wins (and winnings) across the years from his association with the venue.

[tismydeath-blog]

"Being strong"

(I’ve been waiting a while for this one…)

So, about 11 months ago I decided to walk out of the life of a person I call “Virgo♍” or “My Virgo♍” its also around the time I decided to let everything out, I told my mother about everything I’d ever thought about her. Now before that, I’d like to add that my mother had never been a good mother, not even a respectable one, she gave me up to my grandmother when I was 1, all because the man I’m supposed to call my “father” walked out on her after telling her to either abort me or have me as a single mother. After I was given up to my grandmother, my “father” came back and hooked up with my mother, they created my 2 beautiful sisters, 3 and 4 years younger than me. As a kid, I’d always begged my mother to be with her, I’d always wanted to know her, but she would always answer with “I’ve got no room for garbage.” As the years passed, the insults on her part became worse, she’d never allow me a chance to know her, never seemed at all interested in me, I grew hatred for her, respect was never something present in my life towards her, she was nothing but a stain in my messed up life.

When I turned 8, she allowed me the chance to live with her, only catch was, it had to be in the US, away from my grandmother, I, like the idiot I was, accepted. 4 years I spent with this devil of a woman, 4 miserable years, it was hell, I wasn’t allowed anything, no friends, no help with school work, no fun whatsoever, I was to be quiet at all times and never question her “authority”, this started backfiring real soon. I developed an even deeper hatred for her, everyday I’d pray to God to take her in the most distasteful ways, that never came to be. At the age of 12 we moved back to my old island, I immediately went to my grandmother, whom I hadn’t heard anything from in 4 years, I did everything to stay with her, but in the end, I ended up living with mom, so my hell continued. I started getting into fights at school, long before I’d moved back to my island, I developed a habit of having partners I really didn’t feel much for.

(did that till I was 17, but that’s for another day.)

I started getting physical with mom on most occasions, whenever I received ANY type of criticism, I’d respond with “you want something done your way, you do it yourself”, it went from that to pushing her against the wall when she tried to put her hands on me, putting my hands around her neck, I got so fed up, I really didn’t care whether I was hitting a woman or not. By the age of 15, I had put hands on my mother a good 15 times, maybe more, it goes without saying that I was thrown out every one of those times, grandma was always there though. 17 was when I met my father, horrible man with nothing but bad wishes for all, I still don’t see him as my “dad” I like to think my “dad” died the moment he gave my mother an ultimatum about my life.

(I don’t fell like writing about that experience again, just scroll down and you’ll eventually find a post with the story.)

So when I return to my old island, I break things off with “little miss Colombian” (also mentioned in the same experience) and meet someone new, Virgo♍. I grew attached to her quickly, because she came at a point of my life where I was looking at suicide as the only possible way and she changed that without even knowing it. Now me and Virgo♍ were as close as close can be, I still think we are, we were together for about a year and 9 months, happiest time of my life, sadly, things ended, my heart was broken, but again, in the past, don’t care for writing about that now. Instead of leaving things as they were, I decided to try and get her back, it was cruel and unsuccessful and in the end, on October of last year, I decided to walk away from her, leaving her with her problems to herself, the problem with this move was that I only did it because I had began realizing I was toxic for her and that she needed to grow, for that, I needed to be out of the picture. The same day I did that, I went home, angry at what I’d done, but even more angrier at the fact that I had given up so easily. Little things set me off, anything set me off that day actually and it was all made worse when mom came back from work. That day, I hadn’t eaten, I went to her school, told her I was leaving completely, both from her life and from my island and upon arriving home I locked myself in my room and waited to fall asleep, mom got home and started interrogating me;

“did you eat?” “why were you at Virgo’s school today?” “Why haven’t you been out of here since you got back.”

(I suffer from hypoglycemia and often forget to eat, so the first question, as stupid as it seems, is always necessary.)

When she walked in, I was crying and as soon a I heard her nagging voice, I snapped. I got up from my bed and held her by the collar of her work shirt. I bit my lips, as an avalanche of words began trying to escape me, words I knew would hurt her and they did. I still remember what I said, word for word…

“I hate you… I’ve always hated you, from the moment I realized what a bitch you are, you have no idea how many times I wanted to snap your neck with my own hands, how many times I wanted to stab you in the heart, how many times I wanted to see you bleed out and laugh at you as you slowly left this world. You call yourself a mother, YOU! You ain’t a mother, you’re a slut that got pregnant at 16, was left by her spouse and threw her child away as a result, I could care less about what kind of “trauma” you went through, whether it was his leaving that forced you to become the bitch you are today or something totally different, you gave me away, like if I was a lifeless object, I’M NOT DAMN OBJECT, I’M A FUCKING HUMAN BEING, I FUCKING FEEL EVERYTHING YOU THROW AT ME, MY HEART AIN’T MADE OF STONE… I just want to be loved, I want someone to hold me, to tell me everything’s gonna be OK, I want someone to really mean it when they say they’ll never leave me, that they’ll never stop loving me, I DESERVE THAT MUCH, AFTER ALL THE SHIT I’VE BEEN PUT THROUGH, THAT MUCH I DESERVE! Why is that so hard to ask for… Why is it that when I find someone who actually makes me feel loved, they leave, why is it that my own mother could care less whether I live or die, why is it that my life has been an endless cycle of hatred, an endless cycle of loneliness… Would the world just be better if I disappeared? If I’d stopped existing… WHY WONT ANYONE LOVE ME DAMMIT!!!“

… I broke down then and there, on my mother’s shoulder and as I slowly fell to my knees and cried like I’d never cried before, for the first time ever, I felt her embrace… I felt the warm, loving hug of my mother… That broke me even more, I curled myself up, pathetically, a 19 year old, curled up at his mother’s side, crying like he’d never cried before, just letting out ALL THOSE PENT UP FEELING I’ve held throughout my life. From that day on, I made a mends with my mom, I forgave her, for everything, I broke my grudge for her and accepted that living with hatred, was never gonna get me anywhere. While at it, I forgave everyone, my father, the people who called themselves my friends, those people who cheated me, Virgo♍, but the most satisfying of all… My mom… After all that, I decided a change was in order, I decided I no longer gave a fuck, I don’t care about what people say/think of me, don’t care if I’m cheated, don’t care if I’m liked or not. I started forming a new relationship with my mom, I can’t really say I love her yet, but I totally tolerate and respect her now, living without hate, without jealousy, without that constant fear of not being loved… It feels good.

( I forgot to fit the title in with the context😅. It’s good to be strong, but people make it seem like being strong is holding all their feelings in and living with whatever it causes them, whether its pain or despair, this is wrong, being strong is knowing its time to stop bottling up your feelings and talking about them to someone, whether you have bad feelings for someone of something, its important to let your feelings be known, don’t live with the pain inside, let it out, be strong in a way that doesn’t cause you suffering.)