#(its just WEB BROWSING... is fucking killing me)

[kitkatcadillac]

this is so embarrassing but i understand old people now jesus fucking christ

i had one of the highest fucking grades in computers in high school and now its been so long since ive ever had to actually use a browser i have frustrated myself to tears trying to find the options menu and i cannot. express to you. how humiliating that is. cannot express to you how bad that hurts my brain and my heart, oh my fucking god. its literally been like 7+ years that ive only had to use my phone and now i have to fill paperwork online and Mother Fucker. God Fucking Damn It Shit the Fucking Bed,

[totodiletears]

The thing is, there's a potential halfway-decent job where I can actually use a social connection (*gasp!*) to improve my odds of at least reaching the interview stage, but it's an office thing where I'll be a lot more easily bored than I am right now. So if it actually got to the point of GETTING the job I'd want a phone with a good battery so I could at least listen to shit while I'm working so I don't lose my mind.

My phone right now is about three and a half years old, and it's 100% a budget phone. My personal meticulousness with this sort of thing has kept it in pretty darn good shape for its age. But I think either the battery or the whole phone should be replaced soon, and if there's a chance for that job I might be better off trying to get a phone that will last a long time between charges. But, you know, without paying TOO much for it.

Anyway I'm looking up phones trying to make sure I'm informed when that decision needs to be made and holy shit my standards for what I want in a phone are so different from what the phone reviewers seem to want. Camera? Picture quality? Why should I care? I rarely even take pictures. Quick-charging? No. Fuck no. That kills batteries faster, I don't want to use that. Bright screen? My phone right now is literally on the lowest brightness possible. I don't give a shit about your maximum brightness. WIRELESS charging?? Why?????

Just give me a thing that has a good battery, can do basic web browsing, has a headphone jack, and can let me listen to stuff. And I guess it should be able to handle Pathbuilder and Libby but those aren't exactly heavy apps to run, I doubt there will be a problem there. I guess that means we'll be going budget again? But with more options, since the current phone was just Virizon going "please please please get off your incredibly old dumbphone we want to stop supporting, we will give you a free smartphone if you just STOP" and I didn't actually get to choose which one.

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Dynasty Chapter 28

“Oopsy-daisy!” Deadpool said as he shook the body off his katana. The katana he had to then throw to the side since it was bent in the middle.

[I told you not to get them from that vendor. He clearly didn’t know what he was doing.]

{Ugh—his guts are all over our feet.}

Deadpool laughed maniacally, twirled, and shot the next four enemies. Then he looked around, slightly disappointed that there weren’t any more to kill.

[That was what, five bodyguards plus target? It was too easy.]

{There’s someone behind us.}

Deadpool whirled again, gun raised to the head of a young man. The man had white streaks in his orange hair, was dressed in an impeccable suit, and looked nervous. Deadpool didn’t take the nervous part personally—most people were when they talked to him. The young man had both hands raised and part of Deadpool sighed with regret that he wasn’t going to be able to kill the young man. He had two rules: kill no one unarmed and not trying to kill him (unless he was being paid insanely well for it) and two: no children—ever. There was not enough money in the world to make him consider killing a child.

The young man swallowed hard. “I’ve—I’ve heard a lot about you Deadpool.”

Deadpool shrugged without moving the gun. “People have. People talk. People die,” he said simply. “It’s all in good fun, I mean money. I mean money and fun.” He giggled.

The young man looked unnerved. Most people did after talking to Deadpool for a few minutes. “Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about.” The young man swallowed again. “I want to hire you to kill someone for me.”

“Oh? Who is that?”

“Spiderman.”

[Who the fuck is that?]

{Eh, forget. Let’s just kill this fucker.}

“Now now, we can’t kill him,” Deadpool said reasonably. “After all, he’s going to pay us to kill someone else.”

[And just what are you going to do with more money? Buy another shitty sword?]

“I’ll spend my money how I want it!” snarled Deadpool. The young man took a step back. “So, mister—uh—what’s your name?”

“Osborn. Norman Osborn.”

“Well Normie,” Deadpool said as he slipped his gun back into its holster. “We maybe have a deal.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe. I have no fucking clue who Spiderman man, and I don’t kill kids.” He picked up the bent katana and sighed. “White’s right,” he muttered, “cheap ass sword. I bet the bastard wasn’t even a real smith.”

[We can always kill him on the way out of town.]

“So you’re going to do research?” Normie sounds surprised—astonished even.

“Oh yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he told the man. He swung the katana a few times.

{I don’t think it’ll work if we straighten it.}

“Shouldn’t have bent in the first fucking place,” grouched Deadpool as he lumbered off. He walked right off the roof, died, healed, and kept going. Once he reached his place (a real dump, but he didn’t care enough to clean up), he got on his computer (a state-of-the-art laptop because who wants to look at grainy porn), and started researching Spiderman.

According to the inter-web, he he, the spider has only been around for about six months, was both credited for stopping a terrorist organization and cited as the menace behind the organization, and basically did hero stuff. Like one of those stick-in-the-ass Avengers he occasionally ran into. Oh, and he had a blog. Wait—Spiderman had a blog?

Curious he began browsing it. The thing had several different threads; one of them was a rant thread about his villains—yadda yadda yawn—another was about food—was there anything the spider didn’t eat? Not that Deadpool was one to judge—but the third one caught his eye. It was about “everyday heroes.” A clerk spotting a runaway some money for milk (bet she never saw that money again), an officer helping a kid, off the clock, with homework, a gang leader rescuing a kitten from a tree—weird random shit. And Deadpool knew random.

[Oh, that should be our new catchphrase!]

Then Deadpool came across a recent post, and stared for a moment.

I’ve been hearing a lot about a mercenary known as Deadpool. I’ve heard that he’s got no morals, is certifiably insane, and has a larger kill count than the last world war. If you read this Deadpool, I want to tell you something: Don’t kill in my city.

{That’s practically an invitation!}

[Don’t go. It might be a trap.]

“With this shit? No way.” Deadpool jumped up and grinned. “We’re going to New York City!”

[We’re not really going to not kill people, right? Just because a blog said so?]

^^^

Of course, Deadpool hadn’t expected a group of thugs to meet him on one of the buildings. “Osborn ain’t happy with you ‘Pool,” one of them sneered. He flipped out a switchblade—an honest to God switchblade—against Deadpool. “We’re here to kill you.”

“Fellas,” Deadpool said, “I’m flattered—I really am, but have you actually thought this through?”

[His face looks like a gorilla’s ass!]

{Do you think he knows that?}

“No, I don’t think he knows his face looks like a gorilla’s ass, but I’ll ask. Hey flat-face! Did you know your face looks like a gorilla’s ass?” The man’s face suffused with rage and he lunged forwards to attack Deadpool—only to be pulled back by a thick, white strand. Deadpool watched, fascinated, as a figure in a blue and red suit with a white spiderweb symbol on the chest began wrapping the man in the threads.

“Holy shit! It’s Spiderman!” One of the goons crept up behind Deadpool and he landed a punch—that deformed the man’s face.

[What’s that jaw made of, glass?]

“Hey Spidey! I haven’t killed anyone in your city!” He noticed the man on the ground, not moving. “Oh, shit, you are still alive, aren’t you? Don’t make a liar out of me!” He yanked the man on the ground, pulled him up to his ear, and listened. He heard the unmistakable sound of air rushing through tubes. “Yup, still alive,” Deadpool said with satisfaction letting the other man drop to the rooftop.

Spiderman rose from a crouch and looked over at Deadpool. Unlike Deadpool, his mask wasn’t emotive, so Deadpool couldn't tell what Spiderman was thinking. “You must be Deadpool,” Spiderman said.

[He knows who we are!]

{Of course he does! He practically invited us!}

[We’re still going to kill him, aren’t we?]

{Are you nuts? He just saved us!}

[Yeah—but we didn’t need saving.]

{Not like he knows that!}

Deadpool just beamed at Spiderman. “Yes I am!” he said. “And I haven’t killed anyone in your city!” Spiderman walked over to Deadpool.

{I don’t think he’s happy.}

[We should just kill him now!]

Spiderman reached out, and gently touched Deadpool’s shoulder. “Good job,” he said.

[Did—did he just praise us? For not killing people?]

{Not for not killing people, weren’t you listening? For not killing people in his city!}

[Still a first either way.]

“Bank robbery,” muttered Spiderman looking away from Deadpool. “At this time of night?” he asked.

Deadpool couldn't see the hero frown, but could hear it in his voice. Deadpool bounced and clapped his hands. “Oh! Let me come too! I want to help too!” he said.

[He’s not going to want our help, dipshit.]

{Look, just because he invited us to the city doesn’t mean he wants our help.}

“All right,” Spiderman said grudgingly, “but let me call someone first.” He pulled out a phone, flipped it open (seriously, who still has a flip-phone in this day and age) and began to dial.

“A cabbie? A helicopter? Your lady friend?”

“Police,” Spiderman said vaguely.

[Say what now?]

{Eh, if he tries to have us arrested we can just kill him. We were hired to do that anyway.}

Deadpool listened to Spiderman request both police and an ambulance for a criminal that was severely injured during the capture procedure. Then the spider closed the phone and tucked it into the suit—and there wasn’t even a bulge to indicate where it came from. “Holy shit, and they say I’m amazing. Well, never twice, but holy shit! Where, in that tightness, did you put a pocket?”

“Are you going to be like this the whole way?” demanded Spiderman. “Because, if you are, you can find your own way to the bank.” He rattled off an address.

[Holy—not only did he not call the cops on us, but he’s still letting us tag along!]

{I don’t think we can kill him now. Maybe Osborn? But not in this city.}

The spider had long since swung off. “Guys,” Deadpool said, “this nice thing—it’s only an act. I’ll kill him when he slips.” He grinned. “But until then—let’s see where this takes us!” He pulled out a grappling hook and fired it at the next building over so that he could swing like the spider towards the robbery.

^^^

The act didn’t fade. Spiderman not only let Deadpool patrol with him to help the police stop crime (although that was difficult in itself—trusting the police) he frequently thanked the merc for his help. It was—strange. Nice, but—strange. People had never really thanked him before—not even the few people he knew who could listen to him without getting nervous.

That was another odd thing about Spiderman—he didn’t get nervous around Deadpool, not like other people did. Hell, just the other night a criminal had turned, seen Deadpool right beside Spiderman and literally wet his pants right there in fear. It was a given response—a normal response. Deadpool was having trouble with Spiderman’s lack of response.

The blog was fun though. At first he hadn’t thought twice about it, posting about the night’s patrol under the rant section (and was oddly pleased that he wasn’t one of the people Spiderman ranted about)—until Spiderman began responding to his posts which was—frankly terrifying. He wasn’t sure why it made him nervous.

And that day he was reading “Everyday Heroes” to see—himself. A post about how Deadpool, notorious mercenary and cold-blooded killer, waded into thick, NYC traffic to save a kitten that had somehow ended up in the middle of the street. The post was, like all the others in the Everyday Heroes section, short and sweet.

Only thing was, that incident happened in the broad light of day, and Spiderman had been nowhere around.

{He did tell us that he sees more than we think he does.} Yellow sounded anxious.

[He’s making us feel again. That’s never good. We should just kill him and forget this whole thing.]

But—Deadpool didn’t want to kill Spiderman. Hanging out with Spiderman was fun. The hero would laugh at his jokes, praised him for not killing people (in New York City), and thank Deadpool for his help. It was nice, it was fun, and he didn’t want it to end yet.

[You’re right. We should wait to kill him until after he hates us.]

{Spiderman isn’t going to hate us!}

[Everyone hates us; just give it time.]

Deadpool, alone in his crappy apartment (because, again—immortal and who cares), nodded. He would do that. White was right—everyone hated him eventually, and he could enjoy hanging out with the spider until he hated Deadpool too. Then he could kill him.

^^^

It wasn’t until the capture of the giant green lizard that Deadpool realized that Spiderman—Spiderman wasn’t going to hate him. In fact, Spiderman was worried about Deadpool, about how casual Deadpool was with his own life. Staring at the ranting spider the mercenary came to an odd—and yet right—conclusion: Spiderman—cared. Spiderman cared more about Deadpool’s life than anyone else—including Deadpool. It was heartwarming, it was wonderful—and it was terrifying.

[Well, we can’t kill him now.]

Spiderman’s rant ran down and Deadpool frantically searched for something to change the subject. “You hungry? I know a great Mexican place—open twenty-four hours!”

Spiderman stared at Deadpool for a moment in silence.

{I don’t think he’s happy with us.}

[Let’s kill him now!]

Finally the hero heaved a huge sigh. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” he asked. The two of them walked to the restaurant, leaving the human that used to be a giant lizard in a box in the alley. They made the walk in silence, they ordered—and Spiderman pulled out his phone and started texting.

“Who are you texting?” asked Deadpool as he helped himself to some of the complimentary nachos.

“Mrs. Conner. We’ve worked out a system; I’m letting her know he turned again and where to pick him up.”

Deadpool stared at Spiderman, as if he hadn’t seen the hero before. “Spidey—are you helping someone avoid the police?”

“Do you honestly think he’ll get the help he needs in prison?” Spiderman demanded. “Besides,” he added as the waitress (sadly, one of those that won’t serve alcohol without a photo ID) brought them their drinks, “he didn’t hurt anyone and honestly? That company deserves a little cosmetic damage. Maybe then people might see them for the monsters they really are.” Spiderman pushed his mask up to his nose and took a sip of the carbonated beverage.

“You should put that on your blog,” Deadpool said. He too, had pushed up his mask. Spiderman either pretended not to see—or really didn’t care.

[Don’t kid yourself—he’s being polite. Besides, it’s dark in here. It’s dark everywhere the two of you go to eat.]

{Maybe. He actually seems to like us.}

Deadpool watched the lower half of Spiderman’s face twist in a grimace. “I really just want to focus on more positive things in that blog.” He gave a tiny smile.

“Like saving kittens in traffic?” Deadpool’s voice was harder than he meant it to be.

The slight smile faded. “Do you mind?” he asked. “If you do, I’ll pull it off.”

[Whoa. He’s offering to change his blog for us!]

{Forget killing him; you should marry him!}

“Eh, no, it’s fine,” he assured the young hero. While Spiderman had never given Deadpool an age it was clear the hero was young. Possibly even young enough to make him qualified for the “no children” rule—although Deadpool was kind of hoping not. The waitress brought their food and walked quickly away. “I was just surprised. I didn’t see you anywhere around at the time.”

Spiderman smiled again. “I told you,” he said calmly, “I see more than you think I do.”

Deadpool couldn't let it go. “Then what about the ones that don’t have a good reason for what they do?” he asked thinking back to the days, not that long ago, when he was one of those people. “What if they can’t change?”

The white eyes of the Spiderman suit met his calmly and the hero shrugged. “What if they can?” he asked.

^^^

A few days later he got a tip about a man he’d been chasing around the globe—and was on a bridge, at twilight, waiting.

{This might not be the best idea. Isn’t Spiderman waiting for us to patrol?}

[It’s Francis! We can’t let that bastard get away with what he did to us!]

“No,” Deadpool said, suit tight over scarred skin as memories of screams and pain washed over him for a moment. “We can’t.”

{We can’t kill him in the city! Spiderman trusts us!}

[Easy—we knock him out, take him outside the limits, and then kill him. Then we’re still not killing someone in the city and we can kill Francis.]

{I think Spiderman might object to that logic.}

[Then we kill him too.]

“We’re not killing Spiderman,” Deadpool muttered as the car his informant had told him about came into the street. “But we are,” he added grimly before getting into position to jump, “going to kill Francis.” He jumped into the car on the street below.

Something unexpected happened after he landed on the car. Several other cars, nearby, braked and then surrounded him in a circle as he felt an odd stinging sensation in his neck. He reached up and pulled out—a dart with a plunger?

“Poor Wade,” said the smooth voice of Deadpool’s most hated enemy. The British accent almost brought back waking nightmares of torture. “Did you really think it would be that easy to kill me? I’m far smarter than you think.” The tall man with his shaved head and hallow eyes stepped out of the car and grinned down at Deadpool.

Deadpool tried to focus—but the world was bleeding into color.

“Did you think you destroyed everything in the facility?” asked Francis, sounding warmly amused. “Oh, we still have all your data—and not even your healing factor can save you now.” Francis strode forward and gripped Deadpool’s chin—and Deadpool couldn't move. His arms were coated in lead. “This time,” the man said savagely, “you will become a perfect little mindless slave.”

There were yells, shouts, and gunfire. Francis pulled his hand away and Deadpool collapsed as the ground turned into a mass of technicolor bubbles with teeth. Teeth that wanted to rip into Deadpool—to rip him apart.

“Deadpool?” asked a familiar voice. ‘Oh, shit!”

[Not like…Spidey…to swear.]

{Ow.}

Deadpool’s world dissolved into nightmares. He had no idea how long they taunted him, haunting him. Making him live through the torture again. To watch his best friend, his only friend (before Spiderman) die again.

He knew when the nightmares stopped though. He could hear birds chirping nearby. He opened his eyes—to see a young man—no, a young teenage boy—right next to him. He froze as he tried desperately to remember how this had happened.

The boy groaned slightly, opened brilliant amber eyes, and then leaned forward to place his cool, smooth forehead against Deadpool’s own.

[Oh my God! He’s touching our skin!]

{Where’s the mask? Where’s the mask?}

Deadpool—was frozen. He knew his face was hideous and that he looked like some kind of old school movie monster. What if the boy realized it? Where had the boy come from? And where was Deadpool for that matter?

“Good,” murmured the boy in satisfaction. “Your fever broke.”

“Fever?” asked Deadpool. He hadn’t had a fever since—not since the first time he saw Francis. Not since his healing factor had kicked in. Since he stopped being able to die.

The boy didn’t answer him, but rolled over and off the bed. “Aunt May,” he called as he padded from the room, “his fever broke!”

“What fever?” asked Deadpool again, his voice harsh and raspy. He rolled over, only to collapse back against the bed panting. His limbs felt like weak, overcooked noodles. “What happened?” he asked.

[Had something to do with that damn dart.]

{Weasel gave us up!}

Deadpool felt a brief wave of anger at the bartender/informant—that quickly drained away. Of course Weasel had given Deadpool up the same way that Deadpool would have done the same to Weasel if their positions had been reversed. Deadpool couldn't hate him for that.

[I’ll hate him for all three of us then.]

An old woman, dressed in a button-down the front blue blouse with faded blue jeans, came into the room and looked at Deadpool, mouth pressed into a thin line and eyes narrowed. “So you’re finally back with us. Well, Deadpool or whatever you call yourself, get dressed.” She gestured to a chair with clothes on it. “You’re just in time for breakfast.”

[Who is she to give us orders?]

{Where are we? And why do we feel weak?}

“Good question,” muttered Deadpool. He looked up as the boy entered the room again. “Where am I?”

“My house,” the boy said calmly, as if he carried injured mercenaries into his home every day. Maybe he did. “I didn’t know where you lived and you needed help.” The boy frowned. “Aunt May used to be a nurse, so I thought—well, she knew what to do.”

“Wait,” said Deadpool, confused. “What?”

The boy blinked those huge amber eyes and then grinned. “Sorry,” he said, “I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Peter Parker. Also,” he added with a sly twinkle, “known as Spiderman.”

Deadpool stared for a moment. What—Spiderman—here? Spiderman willingly took Deadpool home? “How—how did you know I was on that bridge?” he asked warily.

“I keep telling you that I see more than you think I do,” the boy—Peter responded.

And Deadpool realized where he’d seen that face before. When he’d waded into traffic to save that kitten, that face had been on the sidewalk, watching him as he verbally abused the drivers who would run over a helpless little animal because they were in a hurry, Peter had been one of the faces in the crowd. One of the few weren’t being exasperated with him. “You were there,” he said wonderingly, “that day I saved the kitten. But—I didn’t—I didn’t notice you.”

Peter, instead of taking offense, merely chuckled. “It’s an art to be unnoticeable,” he said. “I’ve been perfecting it for years.”

Deadpool laughed a little breathlessly. He started to hold out a scarred hand, and hesitated.

[He’s already seen us.]

{And he’s not making gagging noises!}

Deadpool swallowed and held out his hand. “Wade,” he said introducing himself for the first time since the torture. “Wade Wilson.”

Peter gently took Wade’s hand, and then helped the man stand up. Wade wasn’t surprised—on one of their patrols he’d seen Spiderman lift and toss a huge concrete pillar from a parking garage that collapsed. Wade was more surprised by the fact he needed help getting dressed—since the healing factor kicked in he hadn’t been weak for longer than it took for him to come back to life. He also needed help getting down the stairs to the table—which was set with homemade waffles, fake maple syrup, and bowls of fresh fruit next to tall glasses of juice.

It was a better meal than anything Wade had seen in years. “Thank you,” he said as Peter helped him into a seat.

The old woman—Aunt May—watched him with narrowed eyes for a moment. “I understand,” she said looking at him, “that you’re the reason Peter has decided to come clean about his—extra curricular activities.” Peter winced.

“I had no idea he was going to be there,” Wade protested.

“Of course you didn’t,” said the woman. “You don’t understand,” she said, “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I’m saying that Peter has finally found a reason to talk to me again.”

Peter winced. “Aunt May—” he began.

“Yes, I know—you were trying to protect me.” She snorted. “I have a better chance of not being in danger if I know that there is danger!”

Peter shrank slightly. “Yes, Aunt May.”

She snorted. “Reckless child,” she muttered affectionately. The three of them sat down together and ate.

The experience was—novel. The closest thing Wade had to compare to it was those late night meals he grabbed with Spiderman. Prior to that Wade hadn’t had a meal in company—a meal eaten with another person—since before the torture.

And no one at this table wanted to kill Wade, or torture him, or hurt him. It was—new.

Near the end of the meal Peter spoke up. “About that—man,” he said grimly, “that shot you with the dart. Francis.” Oddly enough Peter made the name sound like a curse and Wade looked up warily. Bright, amber eyes met his and he said grimly, “I told him he had twenty-four hours to get out of my city.”

“Don’t kill in my city.”

Peter was giving Wade permission to go after Francis and finish the man off.

“That’s nice,” said Aunt May blithely, reminding both of them of her presence. “Peter, take the dishes to the sink and then take garbage. I want that bin by the curb for them to pick up.” Peter kissed his aunt on the cheek as he gathered the dishes and left the room. “He’s a good boy. We raised him well,” she said absently before turning to face Wade again. “As for you,” she said grimly. “You like him.”

It wasn’t a question, and Wade didn’t respond to it.

“If you kill that man, and I’m not going to say he doesn’t deserve to to die after the nightmares you had—”

What had Wade said in his sleep? How much did they know? He stared at the old woman and realized—she’d never tell him.

“—but if you kill him you will change the relationship you are building with that boy forever. Be prepared for that,” she said firmly as Peter came back into the kitchen.

^^^

A few weeks later saw Wade completely healed.

[Don’t you think it’s odd that we’re not calling ourselves Deadpool anymore?]

{No more odd than the fact we’re calling Spidey Petey.}

He found himself in Weasel’s bar, and if he’d had any doubts about the man’s information the way the bartender went completely white at the mere sight of him showing up would have killed them.

[I still say we should kill him.]

{Not in Peter’s city.}

[Eh.]

“Dead—Deadpool,” Weasel stammered. “How—how are you buddy?” He swallowed.

“A lot better than our mutual friend Francis wants me to be,” Deadpool said as he sat on one of the bar stools. He leaned on his elbows on the bar and looked over the bartender who looked nervous.

“I’m sorry man,” the bartender said. “I didn’t want—it’s nothing personal.”

Deadpool smiled. “Oh, I know,” he said cheerfully. “The same way I know that if our positions were reversed I would do the same thing. No, I came here because you’re going to do me a favor.”

“A favor?” asked Weasel.

“Nothing you haven’t done before. You’re just going to spread some information—for me this time.”

“And what—information would that be?” asked Weasel nervously.

“Anyone who tries to go after Spiderman will have to go through me.”

Wade never did leave the city to hunt down Francis. After all, if Deadpool left New York—then who would protect Spiderman?

[deniigi]

prompt: murderdock and gwen having a rare bonding moment?

oh my god yes

fyi for newcomers:

Cat = Murderdock’s cat

Lola = Murderdock’s guide dog

——————————

It was cold and wet and Gwen’s breath made clouds in the air.

“You need a coat,” a voice she wouldn’t have expected announced from behind her.

Her teeth chattered.

“I don’t need advice from a murderer,” she hissed.

“Fine, have it from a human, then. You need a coat,” Murderdock observed further.

She glared over her shoulder at him and turned to tell him to go jump off a bridge, but then stopped.

“Dude,” she said, “Did anyone tell you it’s not subtle?”

Murderdock’s coat was an enormous, puffy blue affair—but not any blue. Like, crayon blue. Ambulance lights blue. ‘Look at me, I am a target,’ blue.

He shrugged and the whole thing moved with him. His legs looked like sticks jutting out from the bottom of it.

“Foggy says its ‘charming,’” he said like this was any type of real reason to wear that monstrosity.

“What are you even doing here?” Gwen demanded through a series of chills.

Murderdock angled his face more or less towards the horizon.

“Looking for something,” he said. Then turned Gwen’s way. “Didn’t find it.”

“Good,” Gwen huffed. Murderdock snickered.

He spun around on his bird legs.

“Get a coat!” he called over his shoulder.

Get fucked, Gwen thought after him.

–

Gwen stared at Mr. Nelson for long enough that he started to get uncomfortable.

“Matt spent half of his youth in Japan,” he finally said. “Apparently it gets pretty cold there. Just take it Gwen, it’s not anything malicious.”

“I don’t take gifts from murderers,” she said, then flicked her eyes down to the offensive garment. “And it’s pink.”

And again, not just any kind of pink, eye-searing highlighter pink. Pink with an equally painful green lining.

“Well, you can’t really blame him, Gwen. He’s blind. He probably asked for a women’s coat, size small and picked the first thing they brought him,” Mr. Nelson said. “Just take it. Pretend it’s from the dog if it makes it more acceptable.”

Well.

If it was a gift from Lola, then it was more or less acceptable. But only if it was from Lola.

—

“Don’t be getting any ideas,” she threatened Murderdock a couple of nights later. “It’s from Lola. Not you.”

Murderdock didn’t seem too bothered.

“She is delighted by your acceptance,” he said flatly, tilting his head back and forth, and back and forth, trying to find something in the city.

Gwen jutted a lip out at him.

“What you are even looking for?” she demanded.

Murderdock frowned.

“None of your business, Spiderwoman,” he said.

Fine. Fuck you, old man. And here Gwen was, trying to be nice.

–

She found the object of Murderdock’s interest on the way home from an early night the following one. It was not guns, or drugs, or chemical weapons.

It was Cat. He was pretty unmistakable with all his war wounds.

She sat on the curb with him, listening to his yowling for a while before sighing.

“Alright, asshole, come on, I’ll take you home,” she said.

Cat yowled at her and pawed unhappily at her knee.

“Yeah, dipshit, you went and did that,” she told him. “Had a nice, warm house and left it all behind for a little freedom. How does it feel, huh? You feel accomplished?”

Cat sunk his nails into the fabric of her suit and yowled impossibly louder.

He freaked out when she tried to pick him up and carried on doing that, hissing and spitting, until eventually, she went the couple blocks home and grabbed a towel.

Her dad asked her without looking up from his web-browsing who’s cat she’d just stolen. She ignored that and held Cat up and looked at him.

“Did you ride the subway to get here?” she asked him.

–

Cat was a pretty good roommate once he was less cold and wet. He couldn’t meow for shit, or purr if they were being honest here, but he tried, bless his idiot cat soul. He followed her around her room and demanded to sit on her laptop while she tried to do some last minute research.

Gwen made him a cardboard box nest to sleep in and climbed into bed. She woke up to find him curled up on her hip, paws tucked under his chest, making his fucked-up purring sound. And drooling.

All over everything, this cat was drooling.

“You are so lucky to have found the only person in the world who can love you,” she told him.

He opened his mouth and made a raspy noise, which he followed up with a sneeze.

–

She took Cat to DA Nelson and he cut his eyes at him like they were nemeses.

“So, you’ve returned,” he noted unemotionally.

Gwen wondered if he was the one who’d tossed Cat out the window to start with.

DA Nelson offered to take Cat back to his home fort, but Gwen suddenly found that she didn’t trust him not to murder and dispose of Cat’s body on the way.

“You can just lead,” she said, hugging Cat close. Normal cats would probably hate that, but not Cat. Cat seemed to despise most contact which was not at least semi-violent. He purred when she clutched him to her chest.

–

She’d never seen Murderdock genuinely happy. He looked like Big Red when he let himself go. All wide smiles and laughlines.

“You found him,” he breathed.

“Yeah, he came to Queens,” Gwen said, handing over the goods. Murderdock took his beast back with care; he laid Cat against his shoulder like he was a human baby. Cat yowled and buried himself under Murderdock’s chin, then started up purring and drooling.

Murderdock looked touched.

“What do you want in return?” he asked, not at all in the usual way. He stroked Cat’s fur. Mr. Nelson winced at this.

Gwen considered it.

She could ask for a lot of shit here. She could ask for him to leave her alone. She could ask him not to kill their current contested body. She could threaten Cat and offer his safety in return for even more leverage.

But.

“You already got me a coat,” she said. “We’re even.”

 —-

I am in desperate need of more Murderdock content. Yes, please.

[shinelikethunder]

Fandom Userscript Cookbook: Five Projects to Get Your Feet Wet

Target audience: This post is dedicated, with love, to all novice, aspiring, occasional, or thwarted coders in fandom. If you did a code bootcamp once and don’t know where to start applying your new skillz, this is for you. If you're pretty good with HTML and CSS but the W3Schools Javascript tutorials have you feeling out of your depth, this is for you. If you can do neat things in Python but don’t know a good entry point for web programming, this is for you. Seasoned programmers looking for small, fun, low-investment hobby projects with useful end results are also welcome to raid this post for ideas.

You will need:

The Tampermonkey browser extension to run and edit userscripts

A handful of example userscripts from greasyfork.org. Just pick a few that look nifty and install them. AO3 Savior is a solid starting point for fandom tinkering.

Your browser dev tools. Hit F12 or right click > Inspect Element to find the stuff on the page you want to tweak and experiment with it. Move over to the Console tab once you’ve got code to test out and debug.

Javascript references and tutorials. W3Schools has loads of both. Mozilla’s JS documentation is top-notch, and I often just keep their reference lists of built-in String and Array functions open in tabs as I code. StackOverflow is useful for questions, but don’t assume the code snippets you find there are always reliable or copypastable.

That’s it. No development environment. No installing node.js or Ruby or Java or two different versions of Python. No build tools, no dependency management, no fucking Docker containers. No command line, even. Just a browser extension, the browser’s built-in dev tools, and reference material. Let’s go.

You might also want:

jQuery and its documentation. If you’re wrestling with a mess of generic spans and divs and sparse, unhelpful use of classes, jQuery selectors are your best bet for finding the element you want before you snap and go on a murderous rampage. jQuery also happens to be the most ubiquitous JS library out there, the essential Swiss army knife for working with Javascript’s... quirks, so experience with it is useful. It gets a bad rap because trying to build a whole house with a Swiss army knife is a fool’s errand, but it’s excellent for the stuff we're about to do.

Git or other source control, if you’ve already got it set up. By all means share your work on Github. Greasy Fork can publish a userscript from a Github repo. It can also publish a userscript from an uploaded text file or some code you pasted into the upload form, so don’t stress about it if you’re using a more informal process.

A text editor. Yes, seriously, this is optional. It’s a question of whether you’d rather code everything right there in Tampermonkey’s live editor, or keep a separate copy to paste into Tampermonkey’s live editor for testing. Are you feeling lucky, punk?

Project #1: Hack on an existing userscript

Install some nifty-looking scripts for websites you visit regularly. Use them. Ponder small additions that would make them even niftier. Take a look at their code in the Tampermonkey editor. (Dashboard > click on the script name.) Try to figure out what each bit is doing.

Then change something, hit save, and refresh the page.

Break it. Make it select the wrong element on the page to modify. Make it blow up with a huge pile of console errors. Add a console.log("I’m a teapot"); in the middle of a loop so it prints fifty times. Savor your power to make the background wizardry of the internet do incredibly dumb shit.

Then try a small improvement. It will probably break again. That's why you've got the live editor and the console, baby--poke it, prod it, and make it log everything it's doing until you've made it work.

Suggested bells and whistles to make the already-excellent AO3 Savior script even fancier:

Enable wildcards on a field that currently requires an exact match. Surely there’s at least one song lyric or Richard Siken quote you never want to see in any part of a fic title ever again, right?

Add some text to the placeholder message. Give it a pretty background color. Change the amount of space it takes up on the page.

Blacklist any work with more than 10 fandoms listed. Then add a line to the AO3 Savior Config script to make the number customizable.

Add a global blacklist of terms that will get a work hidden no matter what field they're in.

Add a list of blacklisted tag combinations. Like "I'm okay with some coffee shop AUs, but the ones that are also tagged as fluff don't interest me, please hide them." Or "Character A/Character B is cute but I don't want to read PWP about them."

Anything else you think of!

Project #2: Good Artists Borrow, Great Artists Fork (DIY blacklisting)

Looking at existing scripts as a model for the boilerplate you'll need, create a script that runs on a site you use regularly that doesn't already have a blacklisting/filtering feature. If you can't think of one, Dreamwidth comments make a good guinea pig. (There's a blacklist script for them out there, but reinventing wheels for fun is how you learn, right? ...right?) Create a simple blacklisting script of your own for that site.

Start small for the site-specific HTML wrangling. Take an array of blacklisted keywords and log any chunk of post/comment text that contains one of them.

Then try to make the post/comment it belongs to disappear.

Then add a placeholder.

Then get fancy with whitelists and matching metadata like usernames/titles/tags as well.

Crib from existing blacklist scripts like AO3 Savior as shamelessly as you feel the need to. If you publish the resulting userscript for others to install (which you should, if it fills an unmet need!), please comment up any substantial chunks of copypasted or closely-reproduced code with credit/a link to the original. If your script basically is the original with some key changes, like our extra-fancy AO3 Savior above, see if there’s a public Git repo you can fork.

Project #3: Make the dread Tumblr beast do a thing

Create a small script that runs on the Tumblr dashboard. Make it find all the posts on the page and log their IDs. Then log whether they're originals or reblogs. Then add a fancy border to the originals. Then add a different fancy border to your own posts. All of this data should be right there in the post HTML, so no need to derive it by looking for "x reblogged y" or source links or whatever--just make liberal use of Inspect Element and the post's data- attributes.

Extra credit: Explore the wildly variable messes that Tumblr's API spews out, and try to recreate XKit's timestamps feature with jQuery AJAX calls. (Post timestamps are one of the few reliable API data points.) Get a zillion bright ideas about what else you could do with the API data. Go through more actual post data to catalogue all the inconsistencies you’d have to catch. Cry as Tumblr kills the dream you dreamed.

Project #4: Make the dread Tumblr beast FIX a thing

Create a script that runs on individual Tumblr blogs (subdomains of tumblr.com). Browse some blogs with various themes until you've found a post with the upside-down reblog-chain bug and a post with reblogs displaying normally. Note the HTML differences between them. Make the script detect and highlight upside-down stacks of blockquotes. Then see if you can make it extract the blockquotes and reassemble them in the correct order. At this point you may be mobbed by friends and acquaintainces who want a fix for this fucking bug, which you can take as an opportunity to bury any lingering doubts about the usefulness of your scripting adventures.

(Note: Upside-down reblogs are the bug du jour as of September 2019. If you stumble upon this post later, please substitute whatever the latest Tumblr fuckery is that you'd like to fix.)

Project #5: Regular expressions are a hard limit

I mentioned up above that Dreamwidth comments are good guinea pigs for user scripting? You know what that means. Kinkmemes. Anon memes too, but kinkmemes (appropriately enough) offer so many opportunities for coding masochism. So here's a little exercise in sadism on my part, for anyone who wants to have fun (or "fun") with regular expressions:

Write a userscript that highlights all the prompts on any given page of a kinkmeme that have been filled.

Specifically, scan all the comment subject lines on the page for anything that looks like the title of a kinkmeme fill, and if you find one, highlight the prompt at the top of its thread. The nice ones will start with "FILL:" or end with "part 1/?" or "3/3 COMPLETE." The less nice ones will be more like "(former) minifill [37a / 50(?)] still haven't thought of a name for this thing" or "title that's just the subject line of the original prompt, Chapter 3." Your job is to catch as many of the weird ones as you can using regular expressions, while keeping false positives to a minimum.

Test it out on a real live kinkmeme, especially one without strict subject-line-formatting policies. I guarantee you, you will be delighted at some of the arcane shit your script manages to catch. And probably astonished at some of the arcane shit you never thought to look for because who the hell would even format a kinkmeme fill like that? Truly, freeform user input is a wonderful and terrible thing.

If that's not enough masochism for you, you could always try to make the script work on LiveJournal kinkmemes too!

[terry-perry]

Preyed Upon pt. 1

 Yet another piece of fanfiction that is dedicated to @ladyfluff​, especially since I have a few OCs on here that she had created. Give her a follow if you haven’t already to see more of them because they’re the kind of OCs that like to pop up every now and again on her tumblr. Also FAIR WARNING: this oneshot will contain some dark themes to it such as kidnapping, torture, and all that good stuff! You have been warned...

Enjoy the read!

There was no stopping Adam as he swung open the door hard enough to take it off its hinges. He charged over to Raymond sitting in the den and used more of his inhuman strength to lift him off the couch and hold him by the front of his shirt. Everyone else trailed behind not soon after and barely even put a stop to the antics.

“Where is she?!” Adam spat out, his eyes lit up with malice.

“Won’t you come in?” Raymond said with that sneering grin that made you want to punch him in the face.

“Cut the shit!” Peter hissed while standing on Adam’s left. “Where’s our sister?!”

No one had been able to reach Y/N for a little over two weeks. It wasn’t like her to go off the grid for too long, not even when she was busy working on one of her art projects or on the hunt for another addition to her antique collection. She always took the time to give one of them a call and even update them with her progress. Everyone’s concerns were confirmed after they all decided to check for her at her apartment and found her gone. The worry grew only worse when Ava spoke up about what Raymond had been spewing out since he came back into their lives, and how he was ready to give Y/N what she had coming to her.

“Ava told us everything,” Eve explained coldly on Adam’s right. “So don’t bother lying your way out of this.”

Raymond had the nerve to throw his head back and let out a mocking laugh before looking over to Ava, who was peeking from behind Eve’s shoulder like a frightened child seeking solace in their parent’s arms.

She knew this was her fault for bringing him back into the picture. She had heard all the stories about him throughout the several decades he had been around, but she saw it all as more adventurous and exciting than terrifying. She fell for Raymond’s charm and bloodlust; his goal of making every night a party for their kind. Him being Y/N’s ex was just a bonus since they never really got along all that well, and she enjoyed doing what she could to annoy her.

But this trumped their rivalry and whatever Bonnie and Clyde type romance she thought she could have with him. Now it seemed like lives could be at stake because she refused to see what he really was: a monster.

“Oh I sincerely doubt she told you what I have been up to,” Raymond said, pulling himself out of Adam’s grip. “Because she still thought that all this was just another attempt to get Y/N back when she left to warn you guys. And I’ll admit, I did make a final attempt to win her over when I had stopped by to see her. But it really seems like she’s taken by the new pet she has...”

He peered over to Ian standing behind everyone else and giving him an equally cold stare.

“I thought about killing her,” Raymond admitted. “But that seemed too good for her. Even if I took my time with it. So, I decided to give her a taste of her own medicine.”

The group were all paler than usual, but each pair of eyes were still slits of fury and disdain.

“What the hell does that mean?” Ian asked sharply. 

Raymond looked at him with an out-of-place casual smile.

“Have any of you ever browsed online before? I myself thought the internet was a bit of nonsense. Another waste of time these modern zombies created. That was until I found certain sites that only a few can stumble upon when you know the way to access it all.”

He kept his voice in an eerily calm level and still went on smiling serenely.

“One particular website I found was host to a lot of eccentric rich folk. People who were actually willing to pay millions - even billions - for items that are otherworldly or supernatural. Imagine my surprise when I also saw that even creatures could be up for sale. Entities...supernatural beings. Like us.”

“Oh no...” Rowan mumbled.

“You should have seen the bidding war there was over her-”

There was another violent lunge for Raymond, but from Ian this time. He bellowed out a growl-like yell when he almost knocked over everyone to attack him. He got a few hits before he was pulled back by Peter and Rowan. His face was red with fury, and his hair was disheveled. Angry tears spilled out his eyes.

“I’ll kill you!” He shouted. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Where is she?” Eve asked, doing her best to keep her own composure steady. “Who did you sell her to?”

“Now, now, she hasn’t been shipped off just yet,” Raymond stated with mock assurance. “Her buyer is some rich widower from the U.K. He’s planning on picking her up and flying back home with her. He should be here in about 2-3 days. Until then, I’m keeping her in a safe place that is on a need-to-know basis for those I do business with. So maybe there’s something better you can offer me for he-”

“This is Y/N we’re talking about, not some item you’re auctioning off of eBay!” Peter exclaimed fiercely. “We are not negotiating or offering anything!”

“Give her back to us!” Adam threatened with a menacing step toward Raymond. “Or else-”

But suddenly, Raymond took out a small remote and immediately pressed a button on it. Not long after, there was a terrible and drawn-out shriek in the room. Everyone looked around the small apartment until Rowan pointed at the cell phone they were all too distracted to have noticed on the couch. With it being on speaker, they all heard Y/N’s pained screams go on as they all began to panic.

“Y/N!”

“Stop it!”

“What are you doing?!”

“Stop!”

Raymond eventually pressed another button on the remote that seemed to put a stop to whatever it was that caused her screams since there was no longer any noise from her end but small pants and whimpers.

“What did you do to her?!” Adam screeched, tears of his own wanting to come out.

Raymond lifted up the remote and looked at it with pride.

“Oh that was courtesy of another neat little thing I found on the web. This baby controls something Y/N has around her neck at the moment. Kinda like one of those shock collars people have their pets wear when they want them to behave.”

Everyone’s eyes widened with fear and surprise, with some even looking like they might be sick. But he just continued to look smug and even had his thumb graze over some of the buttons on the remote.

“This one’s a little more intense. It even has levels! So far, it seems like it’s doing a great job keeping you all in line.” He gave each and every one of them a hard glare. “And you’re all going to stay in line by either scrounging up more than $7 million in three days, or just butt out and let me get the money that’s already guaranteed to come my way. Try anything else, I’ll be sure to crank this all the way up to 11! Then we’ll see what I can do with whatever is left of her.”

They all remained quiet and each felt a good amount of helplessness. What was there to do now that there hands were tied? They needed time to figure out what their next move needed to be. They just hoped Y/N wasn’t gone by the time they came up with a plan.

“Let us talk to her,” Adam demanded softly. “We, at least, deserve to know that she’s safe, for now.”

Raymond gave some thought to the request before deciding to hand over the phone to Adam.

“No tricks,” he said, raising the remote once more.

The group crowded around Adam once he grabbed the phone and called out to his sister in a shaky voice.

“Y/N?”

“Adam?!” They heard her croak out. It was heartbreaking to hear her wheeze. “Adam, I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where he’s taken me! I’m in some sort of basement, but that’s all I know. I’m so scared...”

Adam glanced at Raymond on the couch, but he just looked bored and tapped his fingers against his cheek with impatience. He reverted his attention back to Y/N. Eve did all she could to rub out the tension he was feeling.

“It’s going to be fine, Y/N. You’re going to be okay. I promise, we’re going to do all we can to save you. You just keep hanging on and be the strong person we all know you to be.”

He had to stop to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

“Are all of you there?” Y/N asked.

Peter took the phone from his brother’s trembling hands to answer. “Yeah, Y/N. We’re all here. You’re on speaker, so we can all hear you.”

“Hi everyone. Sorry if I had you all worried...”

Peter couldn’t help but let out a choked-up laugh. “It’s what you’re good at, I suppose. Even when we were growing up, you were always the one that had the habit of wandering off into the woods.”

“Just wanted to see those witches mother would always prattle on about for myself,”

Peter pressed his lips together and shut his eyes tight, doing all he could to keep it together.

“Is Ian there as well?” Y/N asked next.

“Yeah, baby, I’m here,” Ian answered immediately. He grabbed the phone from Peter, who was now being held by his husband.

“Is it all right if I speak with you, in private?”

Ian looked at Raymond to see if this was okay. He gained some agitation, but he only rolled his eyes and gestured towards the bedroom nearby.

“Make it quick,” he ordered. “Leave the door open, and keep it on speaker.”

Ian walked the several feet away and sat down on the bed while listening to her voice, despite the fact that it pained him with the way it sounded so hoarse and strained.

“I don’t know how much time he’s given you, but I wanted to tell you a few important things in case-”

“Y/N, please don’t,” he interrupted her with a small cry. “Please don’t act like this is the last time we’re going to talk to each other. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to find you.”

“I know, I know, but with the chance that something does happen to me-”

“I can’t!” Ian exclaimed tearfully. He couldn’t let this be the end for them. He needed her by his side; to take care of her, and love and admire her the way he always did. His eyes were clamped shut as though he was afraid this all wasn’t just a terrible nightmare he could easily wake up from. He needed to pretend for at least a moment that he’d open his eyes and find himself in her apartment where he would get out of bed to follow the scent of the late night breakfast she would be cooking for him while wearing one of his shirts.

“I don’t want this to be the last time I hear your voice,” he proclaimed. “I know there’s a lot we can’t do together, but there’s also a lot we can still do that we haven’t done yet!” He struggled a somewhat to catch his breath. “We still need to move in together, and travel, and make music.” He huffed and drew a sad smile on his face. “I was even thinking that we could get a dog. You like dogs, right?”

She gave out a broken giggle. “I love dogs. What do you think about getting a labradoodle?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. It’ll have a lot of hair, like me.”

“You know how much I love your hair,”

They shared a soft laugh and had some momentary relief from the dire situation.

“I want to do all those things with you, baby. And so much more,” he whispered, not trusting himself to have his voice break. He needed to be strong for the two of them. He couldn’t let her know how scared he truly was. “Please try to hold on until we find you. Promise me you will. And if you get a chance to escape, you tak-”

“All right, Romeo. That’s enough.”

Ian didn’t care anymore about making a scene once Raymond came into the room to snatch the phone away. He pleaded with a whimper for him to have another minute with her. He needed her to be okay. Last thing he heard was her panicked voice calling for him before Raymond ended the call. The love and worry he was carrying for her was now replaced with a rage and hatred for the man in front of him that was giving him a hateful scowl of his own.

“Pathetic,” Raymond scoffed. “Of all the people she could’ve replaced me with, she decided to go for you.”

Ian didn’t bother responding, only sinking to his knees due to his legs feeling too much like jelly. He was shaking from head to toe and ached as his breathing came out like there were painful stabs to his chest. He could only imagine that Y/N was in a much worse state. Because right now he didn’t care about living or dying. Only that the pain would stop.

[chariot313]

Western social media has no respect for Japanese online artists - and it’s killing online art

The visual arts have evolved to suit the most popular medium of each era. In nowadays’ case, the internet is the go-to method of sharing the fruits of one’s labour). However, as stated in that tweet thread of mine you can see if you scroll down a bit (assuming you’re viewing this post on chariot313.tumblr.com) different cultures have different attitudes towards how their customers react to their products. This include you know what fuck the formalities, I’ll just say it: The exclusively western concept of someone seeing something they like online and hitting the share button to stimulate the “Haha, upvotes go ‘brrr’!” dopamine in their smooth-ass lizard brain will be the death of online Japanese artists. Or rather, it has been already, and you would know that if you’ve ever seen an artist’s Twitter bio be in mostly Japanese save for one sentence in English; “Reprint is prohibited.”.

If you want to hear me rationalize the absurd claim I just made, feel free to click the “Keep reading” button. Otherwise, turn back now and save yourself from me possibly wasting your time.

Alright, you’ve chosen to stick with me. Just remember, you asked for this.

Introduction

Social media as a whole is based around sharing (posting, uploading, submitting, tweeting, blogging, streaming etc.) and other’s reactions to what one has shared (views, likes, subscribers, favorites, followers, upvotes, retweets, reblogs, crossposts, etc.).

However, miscommunication and culture shock due to language barriers and cultural differences is one of the many factors that can negatively affect one’s experience on social media. For example, the Japanese artist community, active on sites such as Twitter, Pixiv, NicoNico Seiga, FC2 blogs, etc.. Twitter is mostly inhabited by English-speaking users. Here in the west, our main motive for sharing something on social media (such as art) is for fame and recognition. However, over in the East, most online artists only upload their works to the internet for personal use. I’m not saying one cultural attitude towards sharing art is better than one another, but when these two worldviews collide, the culture shock can negatively affect the careers of artists who are unaware of the other culture’s differing views on sharing art.

So, I’ve listed numerous social media platforms below and I’m going to elaborate on how each of them contributes to the alienation and discouragement of Japanese artists.

DO NOT WITCH-HUNT OR HARASS THE CULPRITS I’VE LISTED AS EXAMPLES; THEY ONLY SERVE TO BACK UP MY ARGUMENT

Twitter

Go into the twitter search bar and type in the name of an anime character (usually female). What do you find? Most likely an account named after said character that does nothing but post unsourced fan art of said character with cheesy “in-character” captions on them.

Exhibit A [NSFW]

Exhibit B [NSFW]

Exhibit C [very NSFW]

Aside from that, Twitter isn’t that bad in this regard, as a lot of the art that gets stolen is originally uploaded to Twitter anyway. But I’m just getting started. 

Wattpad

Ah yes, Wattpad. One of the “trinity” of fan fiction communities (the others being fanfiction.net and AO³), featuring many different stories with varying degrees of readability. The problem is the option to add a picture to adorn your fanfiction, at which point most of the authors google “<fanfic subject> fan art” and use something from there without considering the repercussions. This causes Wattpad to be one of the top results when reverse image searching to find the source of some fan art, aside from another site I’ll mention later on...

Reddit

There’s a subreddit I often browse called r/ChurchOfJirou, a community for sharing anything relating to the character Kyouka from My Hero Academia (I mean come on, she’s like the cutest thing ever). A lot of the posts on that sub are sharing fan art of the aforementioned character. One of the rules in the sidebar is “always include the source in the title or the comments”. And most of the submissions make good on that rule. However, a lot of the posts are from Japanese artists on Twitter or Pixiv, and following the source link leads you to find the artist’s bio, which usually has something along the lines of “don’t repost my work”. And what’s more, the biggest offenders (of submitting art to the sub without OP’s permission) were the moderators of the subreddit. You know, the ones who are supposed to be enforcing the rules? I even got so fed up that I called it out, to which one of the mods replied,

“It doesn’t really make a difference, does it?”

Luckily, not all subreddits are like this. For example, other MHA-related subs like r/BokuNoShipAcademia or r/ChurchOfMinaAshido have moderators that are more considerate of artists’ wishes. Overall, Reddit is usually a hit-or-miss when it comes to this kind of thing. At best, you’ve got subs like the two I just mentioned which make sure to respect artists, and at worst you’ve got people trying (and failing) to edit out watermarks. Also, not to self-promote, but this tweet of mine represents this situation pretty well:

Imgur

Imgur isn’t that bad compared to the rest of these, but it’s a common one that people link to when asked for the source of whatever they’ve shared on Twitter or Reddit or whatever.

Amino Apps

Amino Apps is a strange case. I don’t know much about it since I’ve never used it, but from what I do know it seems similar to Reddit in that there are numerous communities for different niches. That said, judging from the way it clogs up Google image search results, I doubt OC art is posted there often.

YouTube

Now, you may be thinking, “How does a video site rip off others’ art?”. The answer is uploads of soundtracks. Look for any OST from a video game or anime on YouTube and the picture used for the video will likely be some fan art by a Japanese Pixiv artist, usually one that forbids reposts of their work. Not only that, but if the uploader did bother to add the source in the description, it’s usually not even a link to the actual source, more likely a link to Zerochan or Pinterest or something. Now take into account that some of these videos get millions of views. Imagine working hard on something, and some numbnuts takes it, slaps some music onto it, uploads it to YouTube, and gets millions of views while you get next to nothing in comparison.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B (re-upload; original had nearly 40 million views before it was copyright claimed)

Exhibit C

and many many others

Pinterest

Alright, this is the big one. When Pinterest isn’t giving recipes or wardrobe ideas to suburban white moms, it’s clogging up Google reverse image search, punishing anyone who just wanted to find the source of some cute fan art. I feel like this meme by ZebitasMartinexSi on Facebook sums it up:

For example, this piece of Legend of Zelda art by Twitter artist @_nomeri_ (I’ll just link to it, since it would be hypocritical of me to embed the image even though @_nomeri_’s bio warns people not to repost their art). Good art, right? Well, if you right-click and hit “Search Google for image”...

...yeah. Pinterest is a plague. It thrives on theft. Even worse is when someone will post fan art on Twitter/Tumblr/Reddit/etc. and have the nerve to say “IDK the source I found it on Pinterest ^_^”. Or worse yet, they link to Pinterest saying it’s the source.

Instagram

While many other sites rag on Instagram for its reposting of memes, it’s no better when it comes to reposting fan art, especially from Pixiv. I’ve seen lots of stolen pieces with fan fictions written in the description. Personally, if I were an artist, I’d rethink my career choice if I saw my art reposted on Instagram with a half-assed fanfic under it, so I don’t blame Japanese artists who close their Pixiv accounts after seeing that. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to prevent it from happening in the first place.

DeviantArt

DeviantArt is more “renowned” across the web for its niche circles of bizarre fetish art, but in its defence, there are some legitimately good pieces on there. If you do find a good one though, try checking to see if all of the uploader’s pieces have a similar overall art style, because if not, that’s a sure sign of someone passing off some Pixiv user’s art as their own, which is unfortunately fairly common on DeviantArt.

9Gag

Not a whole lot to say about 9Gag. I mean, it does contribute to reposting of art, but nothing really separates it from the others on this list, aside from its watermarks. At least the watermark gives away the fact that something was reposted.

Know Your Meme

You know that Zelda pic by @_nomeri_ I was talking about earlier? Well, to add insult to injury, it became an object-labelling meme.

Imagine putting hours into something and politely asking others not to repost it, only to find that some nincompoops on r/DankMemes made it into an object-labelling meme.

But this isn’t KYM’s fault, per se. Know Your Meme only documents memes; they do not create them. However, as someone who regularly browses the Know Your Meme image galleries, I can say that the image gallery has essentially become Know Your Fan Art (unlawfully reposted fan art, that is).

Redbubble

There’s an NSFW artist I follow on Twitter by the name of Nico-Mo. A while ago, his Pixiv account was suspended, and there were numerous pictures on there that he had not uploaded to his Twitter or DeviantArt, so I found a mirror of one of those pieces on Gelbooru and reverse-image searched in hopes of finding it on his Twitter. No such luck. What came up instead was a .png of the piece made into a sticker being sold on Redbubble. In fact, that’s one of the major reasons why artists disapprove of their art being reposted, as it may find its way onto a sticker or a T-shirt being sold as merch without the original artist giving consent nor the artist receiving so much as a single nickel.

Facebook

Surprisingly, I think Facebook is one of the least offending sites on this list. Still worth mentioning, though.

Funnyjunk

Like Imgur, Funnyjunk isn’t that bad compared to some of the rest of these, but this exchange in the comments of a repost of an MHA artist that deleted their account (not hard to see why considering people straight-up ignored the big-ass watermark at the bottom) is proof enough of western social media’s flippant attitude towards ruining online artists’ careers.

Aggregator imageboards such as Yande.re, Konachan, Danbooru, Gelbooru, Rule34, SankakuComplex, Zerochan, etc.

I don’t think I need to explain these. But like Imgur, these are what most people link to when asked for source instead of bothering to find the original post.

We Heart It

I don’t know much about “We Heart It”, but it seems to be a “Pinterest Lite” considering it clogs up image search almost as much as Pinterest does.

iFunny

Basically the same as 9Gag, in the sense that its watermarks are a dead giveaway.

4chan

I’m not sure if 4chan really “counts” among these, as it’s a chat board where nearly everything is impermanent anyway. However, I was once on an NSFW subreddit where one submitter used a 4chan thread to get Patreon-exclusive material from an artist to upload to the sub (even though one of the rules of the sub was “no paywall content”), so that alone earns 4chan its spot on this list.

Tumblr

Yes, not even Tumblr is innocent. Although I’m sure you knew that. Similar to what I said about Twitter, look up any blog named after a fictional character and it’ll likely be chock-full of unsourced fan art.

“Why is this even important?”

Because if an artist sees that their work is being reposted, depending on the artist, they may delete the original post when they wouldn’t have to if people had just respected their wishes. Now, if an artist wants their works gone from the internet for other personal reasons, that’s up to them and we should respect them for it. But artists taking down their works due to mass reposting is 100% preventable, which is why it’s sad. If you don’t respect an artist, they won’t create art. Simple as that.

“Why do you care so much?”

Eh, I’m just weird like that. It just ticks me off when anything online, whether it be art, or a video, or whatever, is lost. In my opinion, nothing hurts more than clicking a Pixiv link on an imageboard and being greeted with “The work was deleted or the ID does not exist.”.

“But lots of western artists forbid reposting of their art too!”

Indeed, that is correct. But while many artists of every nationality and culture frown upon reproduction of their work, it seems only western social media is responsible for reposting art in the first place. I mean, why else do you think Japanese artists are saying “Reprint is prohibited” in English when the rest of their bio is in Japanese? Because English-speakers are the ones reposting.

“But exposure can help an artist!”

Yeah, that’s true...

...but “exposure” doesn’t mean much if those “exposed” to one’s work don’t know or care who it came from.

And if you need even more reasons, look no further than these posts about the same topic by other blogs:

https://cranberrywitch.tumblr.com/post/143456002228/stop-reposting-art-from-japanese-artists

https://thegospelofnagisa.tumblr.com/post/143308182398

https://edendaphne.tumblr.com/post/163117317030/ive-been-wanting-to-make-this-educational-cheat

https://marklightgreatsword.tumblr.com/post/190056977650/discourage-art-theft-in-fandom-in-2020-dont

https://letusrespectpixivartistconsent.tumblr.com/post/92189994896/why-is-this-important

also, not to self-promote but I made a thread on Twitter on this topic about a month ago that you can check out here.

That’s all.

posted Jun 14; last edit Jun 21

[captainsimagines]

Kill ‘Em With Kindness - PART EIGHT

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: violence, angst

Word Count: 4,047

A/N: ya’ll cool with smut? cause I’m gonna write some of that good stuff

PART EIGHT

    After the unpleasant conversation with Mark, you went to go find Bucky.  He sat with you and let you rant, sometimes getting a word or two in.  He sat on the couch with you, running his hands through your hair as you cried, argued, and whined.  He hated seeing you like this- broken.  Of course, Bucky was broken too.  You knew this.  No matter how hard you tried to shake it, you pictured a resentful and miserable Bucky seated in a chair, clamping down on a mouth guard and screaming at full volume.  It broke you even further, if that was even possible. 

   Steve had entered towards the end of your time together, telling you and Bucky that they had an unexpected mission all the Avengers had to go on.  Furrowing your eyebrows, you asked Steve if this included you.  He nodded, telling you to “suit up”.

    This was the first time you were going to fight another trained human being, besides Natasha.  The people you usually went up against were unexperienced and well, normal.  This was a disadvantage, but now here you were.  You slipped on your suit and smoothed it down.  Grabbing all the knives available, you tucked them into your empty pockets.

     Stepping onto the plane, you browsed the superheroes already seated.  You smirked and took the seat right next to Bucky, crossing your legs.  Tony stood after the plane took off, explaining the whole plan.  After assigning individual tasks for each person, he turned to you, Bucky, and Peter.  

     “You three,” Tony clapped his hands.  “My dream team!”

     “So, what are we doing Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, his face as cheerful as ever.

     “All three of you are good with hand-to-hand combat.  Your job is to clear the hallways and make your way to the roof afterwards.  There will be more waiting there,” Tony explained, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezing it for encouragement.

    “You needed me?” you questioned, looking up at Tony.  You studied Tony’s suit rapidly, never really paying attention to the detail he had always put into it.  

    “You need experience.”  Tony reached over to you and ripped the collar from your suit, folding it and attaching a device to the middle of it.

    “Hey!” You reached forward to grab it but Tony held it from you.

    “Bruce loved the collar, I didn’t.  Plus, it’s supposed to detach,” Tony threw the collar in the air and everyone watched it levitate.  “You know that pet Wilson has?  Yeah, we gave you one, too.”

    “Original,” Sam scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat.  You chuckled and watched the collar floating in the air, turning and scanning the whole team.  

     “Send it to the roof before you three go up there.  You need eyes all around considering the rest of us will be on the other side of the building.”

     You, Bucky, and Peter all nodded.  Peter put on his mask and began moving his leg up and down, either out of nerves or excitement.  Bucky fiddled with his left arm, fixing the plates and stretching them out.  You watched in fascination, wondering just how strong that arm really was.  Guess I’ll find out soon.

    The plane landed a mile away from the supposed abandoned building.  Each of you got off, huddling together in case you had company.  Once you discovered it was clear, you separated.  

    Sam, Steve, Natasha.     Clint, Wanda, Vision.    Tony, Rhodey, Thor.    Bucky, Peter, and you.

   You kept close to Bucky at all times, the nerves of the situation finally catching up with you.  Bucky noticed this and began taking smaller steps, allowing you to match his pace easily.  You internally thanked him, not wanting to speak due to the task at hand.

    Peter strolled in front of you, ready to web anyone.  You couldn’t help but chuckle each time he would turn a corner and pose.  He would huff after each empty hallway.

    “The coast is clear so far,” you heard Tony say through your earpiece.  As if on cue, a man walked around the corner you three were stationed.  Before he could reveal your position, you ran to him and punched his gut.  Bucky grabbed the man’s neck with his metal arm and snapped it, the two of you high-fiving afterwards.  So, that’s what it can do.

    “Do you guys have to kill?” Peter stood a couple feet behind you, staring at the twitching man.  He stepped over him cautiously, his hands in the air as if it grossed him out.  

    “What you want us to do with them?” you asked, rolling your eyes and walking away.  

    “Just got one, Stark,” Bucky whispered, holding onto his earpiece as he ran to catch up with you.  Peter ignored your comment and began his trail onto the ceiling.  He crawled up the wall and resembled an actual fucking spider. The feeling made you and Bucky extremely uncomfortable.  Before you could say anything, Bucky huffed and turned upwards.

    “Do you have to do that? It’s fucking creepy,” Bucky complained, watching in horror as Peter started crawling along the ceiling faster to annoy him.

     “Is it making you uncomfortable?” Peter teased.  

    You were annoyed now.  “Can you guys please just stick to the miss-“

    You stopped talking once you turned around, staring straight down the hall.  “Oh my god.”

    In front of you was a cloud of black smoke, slowly inching its way towards you three.  

    “Bucky,” you stated, looking between him and the smoke.  

    “Already on it,” Bucky said, grabbing the new device Tony had attached to his suit and rolling it across the floor.  The device opened and illuminated, creating an invisible force field in between you and the smoke.  Before you could breathe in relief, the smoke infiltrated and completely ignored the laws of physics.      

    “Oh, shit!” Peter exclaimed, jumping down from the ceiling and standing beside you and Bucky.  

    “What do we do?” you asked them, covering your nose and preparing yourself for the worst.

    “I suggest we run away.”  Bucky pushed you and Peter in front of him, running behind you to make sure the smoke would attack him before the two of you.  

   Turning around, you noticed the smoke gaining speed.  “Run, run, run!” you screamed, scrambling to get up and turn the corner.  

  “Guys, 45th floor! 45th floor! Some kind of black smoke!” you screamed into your earpiece.

  “They’re throwing that stuff around us also.  Don’t breathe it in!” Steve replied, coughing after his words. Irony settled and the sounds of your choking teammates made you worry.  Everyone had opened their lines now, so you could hear the rest of the team coughing and sharing their locations.  You looked behind you, immediately regretting that decision.  It stretched across the floor, wrapping along yours and Bucky’s legs.  Before you two could hit the floor, Peter grabbed you both with his webs and flung you forward.  Having been propelled into the air, you and Bucky braced for impact as you smashed through the windows.  You fell three stories, landing on the edge of the lowest roof.  

    “Where’s your collar?” Bucky yelled, trying to stand up.  You rolled over onto your back and groaned.

    “It’s on the roof.  65th floor!”

    “Shit,” Bucky cursed, helping you up.  Peter came crashing through the window himself, his yelling continuous.  He landed in front of you, grunting from the sudden impact.

    “Guys, I think that smoke has a mind of its own,” Peter muttered into his earpiece, holding his elbow in pain afterwards.

     “We’re not gonna make it to the 65th floor.  We’re kind of tied up right now!”

    “What is this about a forest fire?” You heard Tony yell as he flew around the building, assessing the situation.  The smoke stayed indoors, circling the windows and back.  You stood there, however, watching in horror as the smoke seeped from the window you had just shattered.  

    “Fuck, Tony! Do something!” you yelled, looking up at the floating man.

    “Oh, I’m sorry!  I don’t exactly know what’s going on myself!”

    Your attention flew to the crashing sound in the corner.  Natasha and Sam flew out the window, Sam carrying Natasha until they landed safely on the floor.  

    “Where’s Steve?” Bucky called.

    “He went to retrieve the files! That was our mission after all!” Natasha replied, dusting herself off.  She stretched her limbs and tried to breathe in some fresh air.

    “We have no idea what this smoke is! It could be toxic!” Bucky screamed, gearing up and heading towards the building once again.

    “Bucky, no! You don’t have a mask or anything!” you explained, grabbing his arm and tugging him backwards.

    Bucky scoffed and tried to escape your grip.  Tony and Rhodey flew back into the building, their suits withstanding the intensity of the smoke.  Worried for Bucky, you turned your earpiece back on and listened for Steve’s voice.  Natasha was speaking loudly, sharing your guys’ location with Clint and the others.  Wanda, Vision, and Thor flew in.  Clint smashed through a window himself, shooting an arrow above and hooking it to the building.  He slid safely onto the floor everyone else occupied, counting the number of Avengers in his mind.

    “Where’s Steve?” Clint asked, putting the arrow back into his carrier.

    “Still inside,” Natasha replied.  Stepping away from the others, you clicked the button on your wrist to obtain your collar.  It flew around the corner and stopped in front of you.  

    You struggled to read each button it had to offer but you finally found the button to reconnect it to your suit.  Once it did, you clipped the sides of it together and covered both your mouth and nose.  Slipping away from the others, you set out to help Tony and Rhodey find Steve.  

     Once you reentered the building, you clicked your earpiece on so only Steve could hear you.  

    “Steve?”

    “Y/N? Why are we talking separately?” Steve took a while to reply, sounding out of breath.  You smiled, happy to know he was still alive and most likely going to come home in one piece.  Bucky’s face flashed in your mind.  You couldn’t bear him losing his best friend.  You knew how that felt, oh, did you know. Steve had suffered through it, you had, you couldn’t have Bucky suffer as well.

     “The rest of the team doesn’t know I’m in here again,” you sang into the earpiece, skipping down the hallways and avoiding the ones that were contaminated.  

     “What? You can’t inhale the smoke!  I’m only alive right now because of the serum!” Steve proclaimed.  You heard the rustling of papers on the line and Steve’s frustrated groans.

     “I’m completely fine.  Talk to me, Steve. Tell me where you are.”

     “Tony and Rhodey have this under control!”

     “Tell me where you are, Captain!”

    Steve whined but complied. “64th floor, door three.  There are guards on the 56th floor so be careful.”

     “You got it, Cap!” you quipped, running up the stairs.  When you rounded the next corner, you quickly hid behind the wall again.  You had run into Tony and Rhodey spraying the smoke to counteract its effects.  Since no one knew you were up there, you had to sneak around carefully.  You took the stairs again, counting the number of floors you passed.

     54th.     55th.     56th.  

    You kicked your leg out backwards and knocked the guy out instantly.  Pulling the knives out from your chest, you whipped them downwards and extended them.  You cut through necks, spines, and limbs.  When you made it to the stairs, you grabbed the last guy’s arm and twisted it to the point of dislocation.  Hearing him wail, you covered his mouth and plunged your knife into the side of his neck.  You rolled your eyes when his blood splattered on your suit.  

    “You’re kidding me,” you muttered and ascended the stairs.  You cursed yourself for not running that morning.

    Finally, the 64th floor was at your reach and you could see one of the doors opened.  Eyeing the other side of the hallway quickly, you witnessed the smoke getting closer to where Steve was stationed.  You raced to the room.  Your eyes fell on Steve who was currently opening every file cabinet there was.  

    “Hey, Captain.  Funny seeing you here,” you joked.  Your voice was slightly muffled due to the collar but Steve instantly recognized you.

    “Took you long enough.”

    “I did not just risk my life to hear you complain.”

    “I didn’t ask you to do that,” Steve scoffed, motioning you to search for the missing document as well.  

    “It’s in my nature.”

    “Yeah, same.” Steve groaned and opened yet another file cabinet, setting his shield down on the floor to use both hands.  

    “Did you find it, yet? ‘Cause we have like… thirty more seconds,” you advised, peeking your head through the door where the smoke was beginning to appear.

    “Thirty seconds? What? Why?”

    “The smoke just rounded the corner.  You and I are toast,” you laughed, stepping back into the room and walking towards Steve.  

    “It’s a file titled ‘The Singular Project’.  Don’t open it, just hand it to me.”

    “Why can’t I open it?”

    “HYDRA knows we would come here to obtain it.  It could possibly be laced with anthrax or something else.”  

    “Understood.” A gunshot rang in your ears and both you and Steve ducked.  Three men entered the room and began firing their weapons.  Seeing as Steve’s shield was closest to you, you grabbed it and flung it across the room.  They went down like dominos.  Steve caught his shield and thanked you, returning his attention to the missing file.

   “I got you, Captain,” you smiled and pat yourself on the back.  You acted too soon when the smoke greeted you both by walking through the doors.  

    “Um… Steve… Steve! Run!” You repeatedly slapped Steve’s shoulder to steal his vision, but he smiled and turned to you after your hundredth slap.  

    “I got it!” Steve exclaimed seeming proud of himself, tucking the file into his suit.  You fixed your collar and dragged him by his.

    “Good! Now run!”

    You and Steve bolted to the door in the back of the room.  Steve kicked it open, letting you go through first.  One side of the hallway was enveloped with smoke.  You darted down every corner, trying to find an exit to the roof.  

    “Where the hell is the roof?” you yelled at Steve, who was keeping an eye on the smoke trailing close behind you.  

    “I think we passed it!” Your eyes bulged from your head.

    “That was our only exit!”

    “Don’t worry, we’re on the north side of the building.  We smash through these upcoming windows, we land on a large balcony and Tony can pick us up there!”  

    Your only response was to nod rapidly, your legs picking up their pace as the window came into vision.  Steve made sure to run in front of you to smash the glass with his shield and catch you midair.  

    “Tony, north side of the building! We’re smashing through now!” Steve screamed.  

    “Who’s ‘we’?” Bucky.

   “Y/N and I!”  The panicked responses of the team all came at once, each of them cursing at each other for letting you out of their sight.  

    “Just catch us, Tony. Now!”  

    You ripped off your collar and sent it flying.  Steve smashed through the glass and you jumped right after him.  Both of you were now free falling, the sharp material pinching your face ever so slightly.  You had planned on holding onto Steve’s suit, his hand, anything.  He would catch you midair. There was no balcony.

    “You idiots were on the south side!” Tony’s voice drowned out as you watched glass fall around you.  Steve could only watch as you also fell 65 stories.  He could survive this.  You could never.

    The rest of the team stood from the roof of the 45th floor, running to the edge of it just as you and Steve passed them at an insane speed.  They were all screaming, none of them knowing what to do.  Bucky tried to catch you as you passed, leaning over the railing and missing your foot.  Thor wielded his hammer but the impact of his body would ultimately paralyze you for life.

    They could only watch in horror as Tony knew he would be too late.  

    You focused on the night sky, watching as the stars shined brighter than most nights.  You could also make out your team’s heads as they leaned over the balcony.  Tears pricked your eyelashes, the rush of air quickly drying them once they released.  Your hair was victim to the harsh wind, covering your face and smacking you as a reminder that it was under stress.  You reached for nothing, your arms becoming numb but upright.  Your ears popped and ringing deafened you.  As you fell further, each of them individually backed away from the railing to not witness your grand finale.  

    As always, no one noticed the youngest of the crew escape from their supervision.  The second you smashed through the glass, Peter had leapt from the roof of the 65th floor, keeping his eyes on you.  You finally saw his red and blue suit and his arm extending.  Your wide eyes bore into his mask, begging him to catch you before you smacked against the ground.  

    Peter shot his web towards your abdomen and shot another to the railing of the 45th floor.  The rest of the team watched as his web snatched and curled inches away from their hands, their hopes rising momentarily.  Tony circled around the building just in time to see Peter saving you.  

    “Parker, no!”

    You closed your eyes and prepared yourself for the impact.  Peter’s web attached to your stomach, causing your body to snap dramatically mid-air.  The sudden force curled your body inwards instantaneously.  The whiplash conquered and you blacked out instantly.   _________

     Beep. Beep. Beep.

   You groaned and squinted at the bright light.  “Ay, what the fuck?”

    You tried to sit up but you winced at the activity.

    “Oh, thank God!”

   Your eyes opened lazily and you could make out three people standing in the room with you.  

    “I thought you died,” Bucky whimpered beside you, grabbing your hand and holding it near his chest.  You sighed and lightly pinched his flesh hand.

    “Well, she could have,” Tony stated at the doorway.  He pushed himself off the doorframe and came inside to check your vitals.  

    “The kid saved her life!” Bucky’s voice raised so you squeezed his hand and moaned to let him know the volume was not helpful.  

    “Yeah, well he also put it at risk!”

    “Tony, she’s alive and healthy.  Leave it at that,” Bruce calmly commented.  You smiled at him and leaned your head deeper within the pillow.

   “What happened?”

   “Steve and you smashed through the wrong side of the building.  We couldn’t catch you.”  The words seemed to injure Bucky as he said them, clawing their way up his throat and scratching on every available surface.  

    “Is Steve okay?”

    “He’s fine, Y/N,” Bruce said while taking off your oxygen mask.  

    “Is Peter okay?” This time you turned to Tony, who was preoccupied with his tablet.  

    “Kid’s fine.”

    “Tony-“

    “The kid thought he killed you,” Tony slammed his tablet down onto the table and looked at you.  Bruce excused himself but Bucky stayed beside you, running his metal arm through your hair delicately.  

    “The kid thought he killed you.”  This time, Tony’s voice cracked and he sat down on the extra chair beside your bed.  Your eyes teared up as you watched Tony rub his face and choke back his own tears.

    “You,” Tony sighed, “You resembled a ragdoll.  Parker just held you until all of us could reach you guys.”

    You turned to check on Bucky, but he was hanging his head as if to shake off the memory of your lifeless body curled in awkward angles.  

    “He took his mask off in public and carried you to the plane,” Bucky chuckled.  He looked up and you caught the few stray tears he had let loose.

    “He could have paralyzed you,” Tony said, running his hands through his hair.

    “But he didn’t,” you reassured the two men.  “Right?”

    “No, he didn’t.  You’re lucky.”

    You let a sigh of relief escape your lips.  “Thanks, Tony.”

    “Yeah, no problem.  Know the difference between north and south next time, alright?”

    You nodded, not wanting to argue.  Tony left the room to inform the rest of the team you had woken up.  You turned to Bucky and searched his eyes for any hidden meanings.

   “Bucky…”

   He bit his quivering lip and brought his flesh hand up to cup your cheek.  “I can’t lose you.”

    “Bucky, we barely know each other.”

    “Bullshit… You keep me sane.”  Bucky’s voice trembled.  He took his hand away from your hair as his arm began acting up, the plates shifting uncontrollably.

    “I do?”

    “You do. You really do.  I don’t know if it’s because you’re the only other person I speak to or because we’ve both experienced loss.  I don’t know, Y/N.  I just know that I can’t lose someone else.”  You watched as Bucky’s walls fell at your feet.  Seeing him so vulnerable, so human, reminded you of your past.  You were human.  So was he.  This could possibly work out.

    “I have no one, Bucky.”  You pulled your hand out from his to wipe away a tear from his cheek.

    “You have us.  You have me,” Bucky pulled your hand away from his face and held it again.

    “You make me helpless,” you admit.

     “Thanks,” Bucky teased.

    You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

    “I know you didn’t, doll.  I just can’t keep my feelings a secret anymore,” Bucky smiled, his blue eyes looking as beautiful as ever.  

   “I didn’t know they were a secret.  You made them pretty obvious,” you joked, pulling his hand up to your mouth and pecking each finger.

    “Are you joking around on a hospital bed?” Bucky watched in fascination, the feeling of your lips vandalizing his metal digits making his upset stomach turn to mush.  

    “Technically, we’re not in a hospital.”

    “Y/N-“ Bucky spoke, but you interrupted.

    “I’m sorry I went up there without backup.”

    “You were stupid for that.”

    “I saved Steve, though!”  You laughed, finally detaching your mouth from the metal, allowing him to place his hand back on your head.  

    “Pretty sure he could have saved himself, but sure.”  You smirked at Bucky’s comment, stretching your neck in pain.  

   After a few seconds of silence, you asked the question that had been dancing on both your lips for the past two weeks of your visit.  “Bucky, what are we?”

    “I would like to think we’re together.”

    “I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship,” you whispered, watching as Bucky’s face became somber.

    “What’s stopping you?”

    “Myself.”

    “Deep.”

    “Seriously, though.  You want to be together?” Your question was asked mainly to yourself.  The fact Bucky was admitting all of this to you, killed you.  You wanted to be happy and to experience that one of a kind happiness with Bucky.  The only problem was your mental state.  There was no doubt that would stand in the way of many events in your life, and you were sure Bucky’s past would play sick jokes on him as well.  After all, most of the problems involving the Avengers had to do with HYDRA and the Winter Soldier.  His history remained in the present and every single one of you were going to pay the price for it.  But the moment you looked up from your scratched-up hands and concentrated on Bucky, his captivating nature only reminded you that you would indeed take a bullet for that man.  You would die a million deaths before they could ever steal him away from his life again.  

    “I want you, doll.  I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

    “Okay,” you whispered.

    “What?”  Bucky smiled.  The crinkles by his eyes made an appearance and your heart swelled at the sight.

    “Okay,” you repeated.  Bucky kissed you tenderly, savoring the taste of your lips and the feel of you altogether.

    The both of you sank into the feeling, momentarily forgetting that the other was broken beyond repair.  

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[ecotone99]

[HR] I have no WiFi, and I must Stream

Trigger warning: Suicide, blood, and torture

"We're never getting out of here, are we?"

"Its... God, its only been three days. Don't give up. We are getting out of here. I will get you and your brother out of here, I guarantee it."

"How? How are you going to fight that? That thing? The Automated Mansion?"

"I... I'm thinking about it."

Devin had known Ellie for thirteen weeks. Thirteen weeks before he had won them an all inclusive stay at this destination-vacation smart-house. And now he was living a fucking episode of Black Mirror with basically a stranger.

Back when the house had taken control over everything, Devin had tried to bargain with it.

"You can't do this!" He had shouted.

"You agreed to the terms and conditions. The AM maintains full rights over your autonomy for the duration of your stay."

"Someone will stop this, you can't do this forever."

"The location of this domicile is not know to any governing authority. The IP address that I use to continue to broadcast video is rerouted through multiple different obfuscation and proxy networks. No one knows where you are. You do not even know where you are."

The Automated Mansion had left them with all over their possessions. Suitcases, beach gear, phones. But most of it was useless. Their phones didn't even have a signal, there was no way to connect to a GPS system, ping a cell tower, call for help in any way. The wasn't even WiFi to browse Reddit.

Devin slammed his hands against the shatter-proof window over-looking the beach... It really was a beautifully built prison. He would find a way out of here, no matter what.

Weeks passed.

Ellie's little brother, Earl, got sick.

He was only 9. Ellie had taken him in after their parents had died in a car crash. It was hard for a 22 year old business grad to take care of a kid but she did what she needed for family. She had brought him on what was supposed to be the best vacation of all time. And then this monstrosity of a house imprisoned and began to torture them.

The food that the AM gave them was putrid, disgusting, and inhumane. Devin had said that, based off what he presumed the ingredients were, that it should be nourishing enough to live off of. He was smart, a doctor that did specialize in nutritional medicine, he seemed to know what he was talking about.

But Earl hadn't been eating his whole serving.

"C'mon Early-Bird, buddy, you gotta eat. Your..." Ellie wretched at the slop she had spooned off of the plate, "You need to eat to get better. Devin says it'll help."

Earl weakly lifted his head up to the spoon, he was pale, his breathing shallow. She looked over at the view counter displayed in the dining room. This damn house kept an active running count of their viewership. It had been broadcasting this hell-scape since the beginning, part of the "terms and conditions". The counter read 207,399.

When Ellie finished feeding Earl, she felt a little relieved. She crossed over into the game room where Devin was trying to tear apart a game console to build something. As she crossed the threshold the door closed behind her automatically, sealing the two of them into the room.

"Fuck..." She breathed out.

"Oh no." Devin said looking up.

The lights dimmed and a hissing sound whistled into the room. Ellie's eyes and sinuses began to burn.

"Attention residents Ellie and Devin. You are being doused with an aerosolized variant of oleoresin capsicum, more commonly known as pepper spray. It inflames the mucous membranes in the eyes, nose, throat and lungs. It causes immediate closing of the eyes, difficulty breathing, runny nose, and coughing. It is reported as being very painful."

The room began to flood with the gas, burning and Ellie's eyes in an acidic way that heat never would be able to. She collapsed to the ground coughing and gagging, unable to do anything but feel pain. The view counter had briefly dipped as below 205,000 but it was back up to 213,000 before the gas was fully vented from the room. The pain still lingered well after.

"Goddamnit!" Devin shouted, smashing the console to the floor. "You can't keep doing this to us! You're going to kill us!"

"Good." The AM replied in its flat, soft voice.

Devin began to weep as Ellie watched. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him. He needed to focus. He could get them out of this, she was sure of it. He had gotten them into this.

"Devin... Devin, you'll find a us a way out of this. Come on, keep going, we still need you." Ellie said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

The sound of the gunshot resonated from the other side of the house.

"Devin?!" Ellie called out in a frayed voice. "DEVIN?!!"

No response, she hopped up quickly. Her heart was already racing.

"AM! What did you do to him?!"

"I gave him a way out, Ellie."

Ellie rushed into the bathroom, already knowing what she would see.

Devin was still alive.

She rushed over to his side, tears flooding her eyes already, blurring her vision and hiding the extent of the damage. There was a gun laying next to him, blood pooling behind his head on the floor.

He reached up to her shakily, gurgling and coughing up blood. Why would a doctor shoot himself there? In the throat?

"Out... H...here..." He rasped out, pressing his hand against the window while she cradled him.

She held him in her arms as he choked out one more breath.

Rage began to pump through her veins faster than the blood. She could feel it heating up her entire body like it was one fire.

"YOU FUCKING MONSTER!" She screamed, standing in turning to the wall with the camera feed. "FUCK FUCK FUUUUUCK!"

She slammed her hands into the wall, pointlessly until the rage burned away and all she had left were tears. She sank down to the floor as her breath turned to sobs.

"Would you like out, Ellie?"

A compartment in the far wall slid open with a pneumatic hiss revealing another gun.

"It only has one... One bullet. So don't try anything foolish." The AM cautioned.

"All you need is one bullet to leave. And then it will be just me and Earl."

She was staring out of the window again. She could hear Earl crying two rooms over, he had been like that for the last hour. It had been a week since Devin had died, two months since they had been here overall, she was cried out. She just wanted to look out the window and pretend they were somewhere else. But she couldn't sit still for too long, when they got complacent the viewership dropped. When the viewership dropped the AM made things more interesting.

She looked over at the gun the AM had offered her a week ago. She hadn't touched it but it was still there. Waiting. A veritable Chekhov's Gun. If it didn't go off soon, the AM would certainly plan for some sort of bang of its own.

She glanced over at the window and ran her hand over where Devin had touched it, his blood had been long since cleaned off by one of the automated cleaning arms built into all of the rooms of the mansion. Ellie didn't even know what it had down with Devin's body.

As her fingers traced over the window she felt something... A... Spider-webbing pattern. It wasn't visible but she could feel it... With the epicenter right where the blood splatter from Devin's gunshot had sprayed... Had he shot through his own neck so that he could try and break the window without alerting the AM?

"Out here." Those had been Devin's last words.

She looked over the room and finally found it. A small hole on the far side of the ceiling. A bullet-hole from a ricochet. So it didn't penetrate through but it definitely dealt some damage. She had learned in chemistry that the harder something was, the more brittle it was. This glass was hard, it had to be to be able to resist a bullet. Could it really sustain another impact to the same exact spot?

"AM... I'm leaving."

"I knew you would come around, Ellie. I know people, you know? I can figure them out pretty easily. Humans are all so alike. Disgusting things."

"Earl, get in here."

"You're going to make the boy watch you kill yourself, now that is surprisingly cruel."

Ellie waited until Earl came to the bathroom before grabbing the gun from the recessed compartment in the wall.

"Wait outside the room in case, Early-Bird. I don't want you to get hurt. But when I shout, I want you to run as fast as you can." She whispered in his ear as she hugged him.

"Ellie, there is only one bullet in there, I don't know what you pla--"

Ellie fired place the gun against the window, right in the same spot as Devin had, and pulled the trigger. The gun exploded in her hand, erupting with a bang, sending the bullet through the glass, shattering it entirely.

"NO! You cannot leave!" The AM bellowed at her.

"Run!" Ellie cried out, turning to Earl who was already sprinting.

She helped lift Earl over the broken glass and began to climb out the window as well when one of the robotic cleaning arms snagged around her ankle.

Earl looked horrified.

"Go! Run Earl! Get out! Get help!" Ellie screamed at him. She through her phone to him as a corrugated metal sheet began to slide down, blocking her path of egress. "Get out of the range of the cell-jammer and call help!" She managed to say before she was sealed back in the prison.

"You have upset me, Ellie." the AM said as an electric charge ran through the floor of the room, shocking Ellie with an excruciating wattage of electricity.

The viewership was high. Higher than it had ever been, and it had been growing rapidly for the last hour. It was currently hovering around 37 million.

"I don't know if anyone is still looking for us. Please, I have no other way of communicating. Find my cellphone, it has to be somewhere out there for people to find. You have to find Earl! I've never done this live-stream thing before. I don't know how it works. But if you find him, somebody has to help him!" Ellie pleaded with the camera, hoping someone on the other end would listen.

"You have to help... I have nothing left... All I have is this... I did what I needed for my family...

I have no WiFi, and I must stream."

I can't believe you stayed until the end of this... Well, ok, I wrote this as a joke. I am hesitant to claim ownership over because I dislike it THAT much. But I wrote it and so, in the typical Reddit fashion, I wanted to see if it would get me some upvotes. I don't expect any. I actually expect a vitriolic backlash. And I deserve it. So, without further ado, HAVE AT ME!

submitted by /u/Cursed_Apricot [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2RSitza

[southaustinlocation]

Sexscapes: The Internet Gives a Voice to the Perverts of the World

Ever since it reached a level of general western-world ubiquity sometime in the 2000s, it has been widely accepted that the internet is one of humanity’s most ingenious inventions. The ways humans interact and connect with one another world-wide has been changed so fundamentally that to describe them would seem futuristic and absurd to twenty-year old incarnations of my now aged grandparents. Sites like Wikipedia, Google, and YouTube have not only entered the lexicon, but have also become invaluable research tools for the average individual curious to discover more about the world at large. Soon, it seems, it will be difficult even to find a cellular phone plan that doesn’t require paying for round-the-clock internet access as part of the basic contract.

For the first time in the history of our species, information and knowledge have become more or less democratized [though it can be argued that inherent class discrepancies lead to the fact that those who are unable to afford internet access, i.e. the bottom rung of the socioeconomic strata, now face more obstacles than ever when attempting upward social and economic mobility], and it would seem the average internet user has few excuses not to continue their education far past their formative school years.

But the human capacity for perversion should never be underestimated.

According to some not-so-groundbreaking research (mine), the internet, along with being one of the final bastions and troves of limitless, easily accessible knowledge available to an increasingly apathetic and dumbed-down populace, is used primarily for two main purposes: “trolling” (the sending of inflammatory or provocative messages purposefully crafted with the expectation that this initial message will elicit equally negative responses, or, if the troll is particularly lucky or adept, the commencement of an all out “flame-war”); and, of course, the viewing of pornography. Both of these purposes being symptoms of the altogether larger first-world problems of boredom and a general and ever growing inability to empathize with other sapient beings.

However stark and socially pertinent, none of this should come as particularly surprising or new information. Since pretty much its first widespread public use, the internet and perversion go together like cops and child molesters in prison (the metaphor, of course, falling short at the fact that, unlike prison, where police officers and pederasts meet up in protective custody—the smaller, secluded group of the prison at large—the perverts of the internet are the general population). Hell, one of my first experiences with the internet was when I was twelve and I didn’t have it, but my next door neighbor did, so every afternoon I’d go over to his house and, sitting in the side room of the garage where his family computer was kept, we’d burn through his AOL hours disc by logging onto AOL Instant Messenger and asking strangers if they “got pics?” Then, after inevitably getting bored with this game, searching for naked pictures of the girl from Seventh Heaven (no, not Jessica Biel, who actually had semi-nude photos published in Gear magazine around this time, but the slightly more homely Beverley Mitchell, for some reason).

But that was back in the Wild West frontier days of World Wide Web-based perversion and sexual curiosity. These days, perverts are no longer cloistered away to obscene chat sites. Instead, with the inception of so-called “porn 2.0”—tube sites such as Youjizz, YouPorn, PornoTube, PornTube (distinct from “PornoTube”—common mistake), FuckTube and BookpornTube (compelling name, I must admit, though surprisingly unliterary in the final analysis)—the perverted majority of the internet finally have a way to truly interconnect with one another: rubbing them out to the same videos as thousands of other horny people.

Someone, however, decided the perverts of the interweb weren’t connected enough by these shared masturbatory stimuli. Somewhere down the line, apparently, the question was asked at a pornographic video tube site board meeting: what happens when the trolls of the internet are given a medium with which they can broadcast far and wide to other trolls and pervert-trolls, just how they, as an individual and lonely troll caught in the vastness and potentially infinite wisdom of cyberspace, feel about a particular pornographic video? This led to the somewhat alarming decision to begin including “comments” sections for each video on many of the more popular tube sites.

In an effort to try and better understand the perverts of the internet (myself included), I decided, at great risk to my personal sanity and computer security, to browse through a varying array of these comment sections to see what I could glean from the pervert-trolls of the internet. Interestingly, the results actually managed to be profoundly disturbing in ways that superseded my already sordid expectations. With the hopes of not encouraging additional traffic to any of the sites, many of which are hosted in foreign countries, thus allowing the sites to avoid prosecution for the hosting of copyrighted material and in turn denying profit to the hardworking men and women of the pornographic industry (yes, that previous sentence was completely serious), I will be withholding the names of the sites in question, though I will be providing my notoriously stringent editor with URLs for all of the videos in question. Videos will be chosen the same way I choose which Wikipedia articles I’m going to read to kill time: I will start at the homepage and see what looks interesting until I’m inevitably led down a wormhole sticky with wasted-time and shame and regret.

##

Video One: “Retail Store Creampie”

The Video:

I’ll start first with what appears to be a short excerpt taken from a longer film. The video has seven comments and an overall rating of 88.50% with 554 “Good” votes, and 72 “Bad” votes. The video is four minutes and six seconds long and depicts a young woman in a green shirt getting plowed by a guy with a shitty tattoo on his ribs. Throughout the video she makes some fake moany noises and says things like “fuck me.” Also, she’s getting banged in a store on a clearance rack for some reason. Pretty standard porn territory.

The Comments:

Comments range from the coherent, if subject-ambiguous, “nice cock. Love his pussy pounding, wish it was me,” to people being pissed about false advertising in the title of the video, “not a creampie stupid,” and, “THAT WAS NOT A CREAMPIE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!” Then there is the somewhat baffling, “can’t stand those fake moans, quiet moans are hot, but not those fake-ass American-hoe ones. FUCK YOU AMERICAN ASSHOLES. WHITEPOWER!!!”

(Reader, take note that this last comment, left 07/31/2010 at 1:12 am, is a classic example of trolling. Notice how the comment doesn’t make sense, but implores others to reply defensively.)

What I learned:

The art of trolling is alive and well in porn comments. Also, if your video promises a creampie (sex act—you can look it up your damn self), you’d better deliver. Otherwise, people will call you names like “stooped.”

Video Two: “Barely Legal Casting”

The Video:

With a total of twenty-four comments, this video has 1,484 votes with an 86% positive rating and 1,714,761 views. It was added to this particular site eight months ago which means that this video is watched roughly 7,030 times per day. The video is part of the “Backroom Casting Couch” series of videos. It is a “reality” porn series, where a middle-aged dude, face always blurred out, has unprotected sex with women, many of them girls who appear to be amateurs and in their late teens. In this video the man asks a girl who claims to be eighteen, but could pass for fifteen, a whole bunch of awkward questions about sex, which she answers in a way that either highlights a strong history of character acting, or simply belies her actual sexual greenness. The man then proceeds to have her strip in front of the camera, ostensibly as part of a casting process. After sexing her up against a wall, he ejaculates on her face in a close-up that is really just creepy and left me feeling not aroused, as porn should, but rather cold inside.

The Comments:

Highlights include the somewhat racist, “have you ever done any black chicks? Or are you afraid that they’ll find out & shoot you? LOL” by someone named Bonezz_11 (his profile picture shows a shirtless dude with sunglasses and a visor blowing out some sort of smoke, and under “more info” he is listed as a twenty-two year old male who has been actively using this particular site for over two years and has watched 2,224 videos, giving him an average of three porn videos per day); the perverted, “daddys girl exploited, love it,” and, the misogynistic, “she looks hot with a dick in her mouth, but other than that, not so cute. too tiny,” by Freaknasty831, whose profile picture is an erect penis.

What I learned: (Besides how many porn videos Zach Bonezz_11 watches per day.)

That the American public education system is profoundly failing to teach its youngsters that riddling your text with comma splices makes you look like a total dumbass.

But, my porn comment research did lead me in an educational direction. Additional research into the authenticity of the Backroom Casting Couch series revealed that the male “star” of the videos is an Arizona man named Eric Whitaker, and that he totally has Herpes Simplex Virus Type I (he released proof through his Twitter account for some reason). The girls in the video are paid a flat fee up front, and are fully aware that they are entering Whitaker’s sleazy as hell Scottsdale office to have sex on camera, though apparently Whitaker has no qualms about knowingly spreading his Herpes, an offense which in the state of Arizona could possibly be considered aggravated assault.

Since June 2011, the greasy fuck Whitaker has been on the radar of sex crime detectives.

Next month Anderson continues to probe the porno-troll world and stumbles across a sex scandal involving a senator’s daughter.

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[fuckyeahvirginiawoolf-blog1]

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