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sugarchains · 5 years ago

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Title: 12 Months

Chapters: 1/1

Pairing: Kepcobi

Rating: Explicit!

Notes: HI HELLO My friend made me listen to this podcast and it killed me very slowly and very publicly for weeks. Also when I’m obsessed with a thing, I either cosplay it or write fanfic of it. Have a fanfic. Also I fudged timelines because I love Maxwell and I need her present always.

LMAO BONES IM SO SORRY BECAUSE THIS WAS FOR YOU LIKE 2 YEARS AGO I LOVE YOU!!! forgive me ok

There are numerous ways that he has fucked Daniel Jacobi within the past year. Fucked up, fucked over, mind fucked-he’s been fucking Jacobi since they first met.

Technically.

It starts with what could be called a mind fuck because, let’s be real. Daniel’s not stupid. Impulsive, brash, and every bit as loud as his job requires him to be. But he lets himself be eased into it- blows up an office for an appraising look the first month, demolishes a city block for a wink and a smile month two, murders for a hand cupping the back of his neck and good boy stated fondly into the air around them.

SI-5 training was different than other set ups. They’re not military and they’re not Black Ops technically- nor are they spies. Also technically, they’re all three and it’s better to not ask questions and just do as you’re told. (Rule number 3).

They need to be ready for anything, and that’s the excuse Kepler gives when he calls Jacobi in to spar, just the two of them. He wipes the floor with him, more than once. It’s 4 months since he picked Daniel up at the bar and in this month he lets Warren press him hard, throw him harder into the mats.

The fifth month, Warren fucks him over lets Daniel get shot and it runs like this: He took a risk and it backfired and he didn’t even realize it until almost too late.

The rest of the fifth month is eventful, from an objective perspective.

(“Promise me you won’t fall in love with him.”

“What?"

”Promise me, Daniel. You know how you are.“

"I have no idea what you could be hinting at.”

“Needy, desperate for approval, hanging on his every word like a-”

“OK, ok! …I promise."

"You promise what?”

“Are you really gonna make me say this?”

“I’m going to record you so I can play it back when you make a bad decision later on."

"Fucking….I promise not to fall in love with the Major. Happy?”

“Yeah. I don’t believe you, by the way.”

“That’s fair."

Warren watches this scene play out from afar, watches Alana curl up on a hospital bed next to Daniel (Maxwell and Jacobi, he reminds himself-there’s no reason to get so comfortable when it’s only been five months and even less for Ala-Maxwell. No reason to be so comfortable right now either) from a small screen on a tablet in Cutter’s office. Internally, he’s a combination of swirling emotions, but externally? Perfect mask of the perfect soldier.

"Well! Serious stuff there; wouldn’t you agree, Warren?”

“….Yes sir.”

“Do you have any ideas about ~who~ they could be talking about? Hmm?”

“As far as I know, sir…they don’t work for anyone else."

"And Warren,” Cutter states, taking the momentary pause to use his thumb and forefinger to gently force eye contact between the two of them. “Do you make a habit of falling in love with your employees?”

“…..No sir.”

“Excellent! Keep it that way. I know you can and will do everything in your power to stop something silly from happening."

"Of course, sir."

He doesn’t immediately go and warn/remind them that they are being watched. What he does do is visit Jacobi in the hospital the next day (sans flowers), lets Maxwell guilt-glare him into leaving while Jacobi is still sleeping to go pick up flowers, visits again in the same day so that Maxwell can yell at him-

("We were here a week, Major!"

"There were matters that needed to be attended to."

"More important matters than Jacobi nearly dying?"

"Calm down, Doctor. I never said that.”)

-gives Jacobi the flowers and smiles back when Jacobi beams at him.

He also takes them out to eat when Jacobi’s healed, lets him pick the place, and waits until they’re all eating before he drops the surveillance bomb on them. Can tell from the way Maxwell won’t look at him and the way Jacobi is only looking at him that they know exactly what conversation was heard and how they feel about that he doesn’t know and he may have just found the one thing he can’t read his team on-)

Six months in and the mind fucks turning into something beyond his carefully set up control. They had just completed a beautiful mission that had involved blowing up a building and a high speed chase. He could feel adrenaline still buzzing under his skin, and he can feel Daniel’s eyes on his arms on the wheel, so he presses harder on the gas to hear the breathless laugh from the passenger seat. The ride to the safe house is uneventful otherwise, but inside sees Daniel pushing him against the door and kissing him breathlessly. Warren can tell Daniel didn’t think this through clearly (of course he didn’t)-he clearly thought that it might get him punched in the face, or worse, get him a polite and distant reprimand, but at this point life is good and Warren is tired of denying himself so he. He kisses Daniel back, changes their positions against the door so Daniel is pressed up against it. They kiss until they’re both hard, until both their hands are pulling and pushing at each others’ shirts to get at skin and they’re pulling away to ask “Shower?” and “Please” respectively.

Daniel lets himself be manhandled into a shower where the water runs hot pressure down his side as Warren presses him hard against the wall, tangles a hand in his hair to pull his head to the side, trails a line of biting kisses across his neck while his other hand is jacking them both off frantically.

Warren swears he can hear Cutter’s “~stop something silly from happening~” playing in his head, warring with the way Daniel moans out please and oh fuck each time he twists his hand around just right, but he chooses to ignore it in favor of feeling the way Daniel’s nails drag lines down his back when he comes between them seconds before Warren.

He’s fucked.

The seventh month has Warren teaching Daniel the color system and they spend all the free time they have that month pushing their limits. Warren’s trying to be mindful of the limits but there’s only so much he can take of Daniel looking up at him, eyes wide and blurry with tears of frustration, mouth slick and bruised and begging, telling him please please green the color is green don’t stop again fuck, while he grips bruises into his thigh with one hand and fingers him deep, stretches him wide with the other.

The eighth month reminds him that he’s not a romantic, except that he is. Because in the same month he’s discovering that Daniel likes to be choked when he’s sitting in Warren’s lap, grinding against his cock, he’s also lining up the missions for the upcoming months and taking care to avoid anything at the end of four months out from now.

He purposely doesn’t think about the way Daniel smiles when he chokes him harder for digging his nails into Warren’s back.

The ninth month finds Warren fucking Daniel’s mouth in the office. He didn’t mean to, of course. But it had been weeks since they had last touched, the amount and intensity of the missions beginning to pile up as the trio’s notoriety grew. There were no machines who didn’t love Maxwell and Jacobi’s explosive version of delicate destruction left more than a few people in awe. And the fact that they would only listen and work for Kepler? Icing on the cake.

But of course that doesn’t go unnoticed and of course Cutter calls Kepler and Jacobi into his office one day in early in the month. Jacobi has a terrible poker face when he’s expecting the bluff, but his ability to lie is almost catastrophic when he’s caught off guard. So that’s how he flushes pink when Cutter asks if he knows how to make something obvious, if he knows how to make something so people can see it from afar.

“There’s up and coming companies, Daniel. We don’t want to let them get the idea into their heads that they can compete with Goddard, right?”

“Of course, sir."

"So I need you to make it a statement. Let them know who runs this. Can you do that for me?"

"Absolutely sir."

"Good!” And he’s turning his attention to Kepler now. “What a good boy you’ve got there, Warren. I can see why one might do something silly."

Kepler glances at Jacobi quickly, internally proud of the fact that Daniel didn’t have a reaction to that beyond his eyes widening.

–It’s weeks later when Jacobi gets the bomb right, runs a test run of the bomb at a location that Cutter set up personally for this, a location that Kepler almost didn’t see if Cutter is to be believed.

"He asked for you personally, Warren. Can you believe that? Seems I wasn’t enough company for him. Shame really."

And internally, Kepler is smug as all fuck. Even though that means Jacobi showed his hand, even though that means whatever Cutter guessed about them is now solidified in his mind, it also means-something.

He’s not sure yet.

"I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it, sir,” Kepler says mildly, gaze carefully directed outside the car they’re traveling in.

He’s fine when they pull up to the area where Jacobi has everything set up. He’s fine when Jacobi sets of a series of explosions, all triggering a bigger bomb down the line. He’s fine when Cutter congratulates Jacobi on a job well done, but it cuts out when Cutter plants a quick kiss to the side of Jacobi’s head in continued celebration. Cutter catches his eye and the intent is clear-

You can have your plaything, but whats yours is mine and I get what I want when I want.

It’s a message he hears loud and clear, but it doesn’t mean Kepler won’t still claim what’s his. Which is how he ends up back in his office, one hand bracing himself against the door, while the other hand is cupping the back of Jacobi’s head so it doesn’t hit the door when he fucks his cock into Jacobi’ s mouth.

Jacobi’s hands are behind his back, not tied just behind his back because he’s not allowed to touch right now he just has to take it as Warren fucks his cock deeper into his throat, take it as he presses deep enough to stop him from breathing oncetwice, before he’s pulling his cock out to slide across Daniel’s cheek. The hand against the door balls into a fist when Daniel runs his lips up the side of Warren’s cock, the fist in his hair tightens when he slides his lips over the head, and Daniel moans long and muffled when Warren starts fucking back into his mouth in earnest.

He let’s himself get lost in the motions of fucking into Daniel’s mouth, lets himself get lost in watching the sight of his cock stretching Daniel’s lips before it becomes too much and he’s fucking forward onetwothree times and pulling back just enough that his cock slips out of Daniel’s mouth and he comes across his face. Pulse after pulse of come leaves him and arcs across Daniel’s cheeks and bruised lips, marking him as he pants openly on his knees.

Warren braces himself heavily against the door while he catches his breath, caging Daniel in, walling the world out, and maybe it’s a little symbolic but his thighs are still shaking too much to move and Daniel’s expression is too fucking open, he wouldn’t move even if he could walk. He takes the moment to slide his fingers across Daniel’s cheek, before pushing come covered fingers into Daniel’s mouth. They hold eye contact while he sucks them clean.

They’re fucked.

The next two months are filled with missions, surveillance, and destruction, so much to the point that before Kepler realizes it, he hasn’t touched Jacobi in nearly eight weeks. Ten months, eleven months fly by with minimal contact and even less down time and suddenly it’s been a year since Jacobi has started working for him. So when he gets a mission thrown at him to vet a candidate for Goddard that is due by Tuesday, the 24th, it’s all he can do to not punch his desk in frustration and throw the file back at Rachel.

“Maybe you should take Jacobi with you on this one, Warren.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I just mean I mentioned this mission in passing to him earlier today and he looked ready to blow something up.”

“Ah. Well-”

“It could be because your one year anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?”

“…Anniversary?

“Of him coming to work under you here? Surely you haven’t forgotten. He’s really worked up over it.”

He didn’t forget, (of course he didn’t forget who does she take him for he’s been steady stockpiling fireworks both illegally and legally for the past two weeks) but he doesn’t want to give her the benefit of having something to tell him about his own employees, so he just stares blankly at her until she rolls her eyes in disgust and leaves.

It ends up not being a big deal to accomplish surveillance on the prospect and return his findings before the 24th. He does it without the team, figuring there’s no reason to pull their efforts into this. Instead, he focuses on studiously ignoring the hints about the upcoming anniversary commemoration from Jacobi as he tells him about the “upcoming assignment” they have.

In all honestly, it doesn’t occur to him that Daniel would be hurt by this. They’re special operatives for an agency that has their hands in everything. This isn’t the type of thing that should upset people like them.

Still though, they’re fucked. He’s fucked. So when Daniel eloquently starts complaining about Warren ignoring the date, he realizes that oh.

Oh, they’re on the same page about this. Which is.

That’s good.

He forgot how stupidly easy it is to loose himself in Daniel, how quickly he gives into need and want, and he looses time somewhere between Daniel setting the first firework off with a brilliant smile and crowding him against the side of the truck with a hand on his throat and one tight on his hip.

Looking up at Jacobi while he’s riding him feels a little too intimate A Little Too Much like this is a love thing, A Little Too Much like they would already die for each other, so Warren buries his face in Daniel’s neck, works bruises into the skin there while Daniel’s fingers tangle in his hair.

He keeps his hands on Daniel’s hips, holding him steady while he leans back and he listens to the way Daniel’s breathing speeds up, listens to the way Warren falls from his lips- not desperate and needy, but wanting-

It’s on a particularly good stroke where Warren twists his hips when he’s in Daniel and he slips up, a desperate oh fuck Sir, falls from his lips. And.

And he has control over himself, he really does, but something about hearing Daniel say sir in that context has him moving quicker than he thought to pin Daniel underneath him and fuck into him hard. Daniel looks up at him in shock for a moment before melting into the motions, fucking himself back when Warren fucks himself in and he’s truly relieved that Daniel closed his eyes because his face is too open and too expressive to be getting fucked by his boss under some fireworks like it’s this big romantic fucking gesture-

He can feel his orgasm building in the base of his spine, feel the heat settling in the pit of his stomach, and he can tell Daniel is close too-from the nails that are digging into his shoulders, to the way that Daniel’s moans are turning into a louder, steady chant of fuckfuckfuck sir please sir please, to the tightening of his thighs around Warren’s waist.

Warren is close, he’s so close, he feels like he’s fighting it off and loosing as he pulls one hand away from where he is gripping Daniel’s hip tight enough to bruise and moves it to press against Daniel’s throat. His whines choke off almost immediately and Daniel tenses up, eyes rolling back, his mouth, slick and red and bruised, falling open as he tries to gasp for air before Warren’s pulling his hand away, and Daniel comes gasping, stroking himself off to work the come out, grinding back against Warren as he fucks into him twothree more times before coming inside him.

Warren knows they have to clean up and head out, there’s no way they actually get enough downtime to lay back and enjoy the afterglow-they may have certain immunities, but they are in public, they just set off a fuckload of explosives, and there’s only a matter of time before they have to report back. But for right now, he leans over Daniel (while he’s still in him, savoring the low moan he gives) and kisses him slow and deep, and acknowledges that this is absolutely fucked, but they’ll deal with it.

It’s what they do.

#kepcobi #wolf 359 #wolf 359 fanfic #warren kepler #daniel jacobi #LMAOOO REMEMBER LIKE ONE TIME #2 FUCKING YEARS AGO #I SAID I WOULD WRITE FIC #IM SO SORRY BONES #my writing

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gamelpar · 4 years ago

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It’s All About Fakes (100 sentence prompts fanfic)

Because I suck a writing even short stories or drabbles, I write 100 sentences prompts for the Fake AH Crew instead.

Some of them are inspired by moments in Let’s Play videos, headcanons, social media posts, or just comes straight out of the blue.

Feel free to take inspiration from the prompts or use them.

Prompts are written from a non-shippy perspective, but each prompt can be intercepted in whatever way pleases.

Also my first work, so let’s see how this goes.

Hey, why don’t you read it on AO3 instead?https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787825

1. How the Fake AH Crew got this far is a hell of story, and you can bet it’s one damn worth telling. (Fake it Til’ You Make it)

2. Ray was a sniper; he could spot bullshit a mile away, so how come he ended up in the Fake AH Crew? (On the Spot)

3. Sitting by the wheel of the red minivan Geoff sighed for the 67th time that day, still disbelieving the fact that they were not on their way to carry through a well-planned heist but rather enroute to the beach for some “splashing and slacking”, as Jack had called it. (Sunday Driving - To the Beach)

4. “The Vagabond says: it’s all gonna be murder.” (What the Vagabond Says)

5. Whether it was the Golden Boy or Gavin; Mogar or Michael; they wouldn’t leave each other behind. (Bois Forever)

6. Lindsay---being an absolute goddess as always---supports Jack in her telling for Fiona, and Jack couldn’t have been more grateful. (Women’s League)

7. Matt screws something up; Trevor is there to help him fix it; then Gavin and Alfredo is there to screw it up even more. (Nice Job Breaking It)

8. It’s Bake a Cake Day (according to Gavin) and it’s Gents vs. Lads (insisted by Gavin) and it will also be known as the day when Geoff’s kitchen met its undeniable demise (because of Gavin). (Bake a Cake Day)

9. Long story short: Michael breaks into an animal adoption center for a cat because Lindsay, and Gavin and Ray tags along because why the fuck not. (No Animal Came To Any Harm Except For Gavin)

10. A heavily tattooed man walks into a bar; later, a mad man and a lady in a Hawaii-shirt joins him. (It’s Not a Joke but the Punchline is Fluff)

11. Lindsay and Jeremy have dealt with shit going sideways longer than most people so they know how to make the best of it. (Failure is an Old Friend of Mine)

12. “I hereby announce that the official Prank Wars Week is in session!” (Oh No)

13. The Vagabond might be ready to die, but Ryan knows he’s not. (Ready as I’ll Ever Be)

14. The Lads---and Geoff---gets drunk as hell one night and starts a sock company. (Socks, There’s Socks Everywhere)

15. A boring Fake AH Crew means a dangerous Fake AH Crew and the residents of Los Santos better prepare for chaos. (Boredom Can be a Health Hazard)

16. Ryan gets hiccups and Ray thinks it’s funny until he gets hiccups, too, and soon everyone is stuck with hiccups and everyone blames Ray for some reason. (The Hiccup Disease)

17. When dawn arrives the Fake AH Crew will never be the same again. (Dawn After Battle)

18. Shopping weekends was nothing Lindsay used to do regularly, until Ryan one time decided to come along; then it became a thing. (Stuff We Do Together)

19. Even after leaving the crew, Ray would still have a home to return to. (Home is Wherever You Make it Be)

20. “No---we’re not twins, we’re not brothers, we’re not related in any way, so please for god’s sake, stop asking that.” (Stop the Questions Goddamnit)

21. Jeremy tried to apply more pressure to the wound but as the time on the bomb was running out, so did the blood. (A Mistake You Won’t Live to Learn From)

22. Someone knocks---no, pounds on the door to Ryan’s apartment at 3AM in the morning and Ryan’s still not that happy to being woken up in the middle of the night even if it is Meg waiting behind the door. (Late Night Visitor or Expect the Unexpected)

23. “Hey, guys, Fiona here---you’ll never believe this---but I’m stuck in jail and I need one of you to come and bail me out.” (Let’s Bail)

24. Matt is found alone sitting on top of the roof, watching the sunset, but what Geoff finds is someone who needs to talk and so he decides to be that other someone who listens. (Everyone Needs Someone Sometimes)

25. Gavin gets into trouble, which drags Michael and Jeremy into more trouble, and Geoff just wants to have a fucking drink. (Prepare for Trouble)

26. Gavin makes a statement, and Ryan feat. Alfredo makes it a hundred times worse. (Disturbance of Your Own Making)

27. Being welcomed by the sight of a bloodied and battered Gavin through the open door eliminates any tiredness and annoyance Geoff had worked up to having been woken up by a loud pounding on the door at 2AM. (Bloody Brit)

28. That was the way of the Battle Buddies; if one went down, the other had to keep on going, no matter what. (Broken Promise)

29. Nothing lasts forever, and Ray knows that better than anyone. (Never Say Forever)

30. The remaining Gents as well the rest of the Fakes would always be missing a part of themselves from now on. (Parts & Pieces or Next Step is to Move On)

31. The alphabet wasn’t enough to cover every brilliant plan the Fake AH Crew had in store, but they never settled for a single letter anyways. (Seven Ridiculous Plans and One That Actually Made Sense)

32. To the Lads, brighter days ahead is just an illusion they can only dream of in the aftermath of a heist gone wrong which claimed the lives of the Gents. (Miserable Lads)

33. It’s a story from being refused of coffee, to wanting to commit suicide briefly, to Trevor having made room for tea-parties with Jeremy, Gavin and Lindsay in his schedule every now and then. (Shut Up and Have Some Tea)

34. Really, it all started when Ray wouldn’t leave Geoff’s house one night. (A Place for Everyone)

35. Usually things doesn’t escalate this far by playing a simple Xbox-game but having ended up in jail, Michael and Matt doesn’t have much of a say about it and Geoff’s pissed. (Hate the Players)

36. Waking up in a dark room tied to a chair with no slightest idea of what the hell’s going on tends to lead to some anxiety-ridden experiences, especially when it is Gavin who finds himself in that situation. (Blackout)

37. No one wants to be the only sober one left to take care of a drunk crew, but with Ray gone Ryan just has to accept that this is his life now. (Trust or Sober One)

38. To think it all started that day when Jack saved a drunk man from being robbed in a dark alley. (Mind Your Manners)

39. Neither Lindsay or Michael would force Gavin to put on a brave face after a nightmare; everyone had fears and it was okay to be scared sometimes. (Sharing is Caring)

40. Matt’s life was just another pile of broken pieces until he met Jeremy, and suddenly he had some glue to put the pieces back together. (Glue or Glue My Life Back Together)

41. In the temporary apartment Ray was living in at the moment there was a vase by the kitchen window, always holding five red roses. (A Vase Full of Roses)

42. Geoff’s mood could easily be improved a 100 times better with some nice and warm socks. (Can Never Have Enough of Socks)

43. The crew quickly learned that pairing up Ryan and Trevor together would leave a traumatic amount of battered bodies and large pools of blood behind. (Madness In Me)

44. Michael’s life was like a puzzle; bits and pieces all over the place, some fitting, some not, some missing or broken, some didn’t even belong---and Jack standing there in the middle of it all being the only one who seemed to sense some kind of pattern. (Puzzles)

45. The Fake AH Crew weren’t good guys---they never would be---but that didn’t mean they were incapable of doing good, and they were by far the most decent team of criminals that had ever set foot in Los Santos. (Bad Guys Do Good)

46. Tears kept falling, slowly soaking the photo Jack held in her hand of her and the crew---not wanting to forget, yet not wanting to remember. (Remember to Forget)

47. The pink sniper rifle that hung on the wall would always serve as a reminder for the members of the Fake AH Crew that they were not immortal after all. (We Could Be Immortals)

48. Ryan’s an evil mastermind and that frightens Gavin a little, but the Golden Boy reckon it’s time to beat the Vagabond at his own game. (The Reckoning)

49. Kerry Shawcross crosses paths with the infamous Fake AH Crew completely by accident, and all hell breaks loose. (Welcome to Fake Hell)

50. The blood on his hands belonged to someone he knew---someone he cared about---and Ryan had never been more afraid of himself. (There’s Someone There But it’s Not Me)

51. It’s Pride Month and Jeremy really takes it up a notch when coloring his hair this time. (Rainbows)

52. Watching them Lindsay realized that while each of them all had lost so much, they had found even more. (Less is More)

53. Trevor would be better than Geoff ever’d been at scheduling heists and leading the crew, but he still gets to handle all the complaining from the crew so he isn’t as satisfied as he would like to be. (Point of No Return)

54. When the realization strikes him that he’s the only one left remaining, Jeremy falls to his knees in defeat and can’t stop screaming. (What Remains)

55. Fiona can never seem to stop messing with Gavin in any way possible. (A Step Too Far)

56. “Yeah, they’re all idiots---but they’re my idiots, so don’t you fucking dare lay your hand on them.” (A Bunch of Savage Animal Idiots)

57. Times have never been darker for the Gents as each of them struggles to cope with the deaths of the Lads in the aftermath of an coordinated attack. (Falling Inside the Black)

58. The day he met the Wildcard, Michael’s whole world finally started to make some sense. (Wild World)

59. Geoff’s constant drinking worried Gavin sometimes. (Drunk Concern)

60. Matt didn’t believe anyone would care enough for him to consider him family, nor did he believe he would end up in becoming a part of one. (Lost and Found)

61. Alfredo always wondered who Trevor really was underneath his iron suit of armor. (Armor)

62. Even when stuck in a seemingly never-ending coma, Geoff was never alone. (Not Alone)

63. Alfredo joins the Fake AH Crew with more blood on his hands than most people---including himself---would’ve expected. (Red Sea)

64. There’s a perfectly valid reason why Lindsay, despite not being his roommate anymore, is the only one who has a key to Ryan’s apartment. (Key to the Door)

65. Four times Jeremy and Trevor talked their way out of jail and one time they didn’t. (Another Approach to the Problem)

66. Lindsay tried, and that’s why she was still alive, even though everyone else that mattered to her weren’t anymore. (The Fake Among the True)

67. Fiona was her own knight in shining armor and no tower could ever hold her captive for long. (Green Knight)

68. There were days when Jeremy saw a way out, yet the light would always fade at the end of the tunnel, leaving him in the dark. (No Way In, No Way Out)

69. The others would never come back, and Gavin, walking in the wake of that horrifying truth, felt like an empty shell with nothing left to give. (Empty)

70. Trevor would give his life for the crew just like Geoff and Lindsay had. (Third Time Counts)

71. One time for when each of the Fake AH Crew members showed strength and one time when they didn’t. (No Shame)

72. Jack and Geoff shared a special responsibility for every member of the crew, and Michael was no exception. (Nightmare Terrors)

73. ‘Who’s the creepiest motherfucker?’ is a question rather avoided and unanswered. (Creep Contest)

74. All Michael felt now was a burning anger that refused to flicker and fade, and thirst for revenge than could never be quenched. (Road Rage)

75. The last time they all saw each other the city was burning, wounds were bleeding---figuratively and literally---and they never expected to see each other again. (One Last Time)

76. Jack liked to be up in the early, quiet mornings while everyone was still asleep, but she was seriously going to tackle Ryan into bed if she found out he was still awake at 5AM again. (Go the Fuck to Sleep)

77. He’d said he was going to visit, but Ray always pushed the promise further to its limits every time. (Liar Liar)

78. Five times a heist went to hell and one time when it actually didn’t. (Heisting Hell)

79. Not every backstory of the Fake AH Crew’s members is full of shattered dreams and points of no return. (Wanted)

80. Gavin missed home sometimes, but the Golden Boy didn’t. (Two Sides of a Coin)

81. Jeremy’s admiration of monster trucks stretches way back to when he was only a child, walking past a toy store. (Monster Car)

82. “You can leave if you want”, Geoff said, “No one’s going to stop you.” (Freedom)

83. The Vagabond was almost always in control after the Fall of the Fakes, mostly because Ryan let him. (Dead by Daylight)

84. Perhaps the next mishap won’t be so embarrassing for Alfredo, but life didn’t seem to like him much at all. (It’s Life, What Can You Do About It)

85. Four times Geoff said no to either Gavin, Ryan or Lindsay bringing an animal home, and one time he actually said yes. (Animal Addition)

86. So the members of the Fake AH Crew decides to steal their boss’ yacht again and Geoff’s as usual late to the party. (Yacht Party)

87. The crew goes to get some tattoos, and Lindsay is very sure of which one she wants to get. (Tattoos)

88. When Jack falls sick and can’t make her awesome lunch for the whole crew, the crew makes one for her instead (and Jack appreciates it even if it’s a little burned). (Faking the Chef)

89. The day Fiona joined the Fake AH Crew is a day Gavin will very well remember. (Bully)

90. The B-Team is usually there to clean up the messes, except for this time. (Don’t Leave Your Messes Here)

91. The whiskey burned his throat when he guzzled it, and Geoff wished that the liquor could burn away the pain and memories the same. (Burning Bridges)

92. The Fake AH Crew may look like they’re having the time of their lives, but the outside is designed to hide the struggles and issues that lingers underneath. (Inside Out)

93. With the Gents missing, the Lads stuck in a burning building, and the B-team cornered in a firefight, things does not look good. (Already Over)

94. The Fake AH Crew never failed to be impressed by Michael’s colorful vocabulary of swear words. (Words of Color)

95. Jeremy tries to cover up some traces of his past life from the rest of the crew; it does not go the way he wants. (Known to the World)

96. The Ring had been like home, but he wasn’t earning any money being beaten up every round in familiar surroundings, so Michael left---and ended up in Los Santos. (Ring of Fire)

97. The different paths that every member of the crew took for themselves led each of them to end up somewhere they never intended to be, but somewhere they were meant to be. (Pathfinders)

98. It was safe to say that every member of the Fake AH Crew had at least one weird obsession; some had way too many, and some obsessions were just what the fuck. (Obsessions)

99. The Fake AH Crew heists in style, or they do not heist at all. (Do it with Style)

100. The Fake AH Crew is made up of a selected (un)worthy and unique individuals---each one with their own story of whens, ifs, whats, whos, and hows. (Now That We’ve Come So Far)

#rtah fanfic #fahc #fanfic #more like weirdopath #my writing

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diminuel · 5 years ago

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15x11 rewatch! Let’s go! It’s again, very long, so read below the cut!

My recap of last week to orient myself: We’ve seen Sam and Dean struggle with issues that they usually don’t have. Garth’s theory is that they are now faced with “normal people problems”, things a writer glosses over when it gets to their heroes because it slows down the story. However, they aren’t only faced with lactose intolerance but also suddenly find that they have trouble with all skills they used while hunting - they can’t open locks (at least not with make shift tools and when they’re stressed), they cannot fight against monsters (that are vastly overpowered while they just have human abilities), etc.

At the end of the episode Garth suggested a magical fix to their issues and we see them decide they would head to Alaska. Meanwhile, Cas is glaringly absent on a not further specified mission to Heaven. (*rolls eyes*)

Now, on twitter I said that if Sam and Dean went to Alaska to find a magic fix it for their issues without talking it through with Cas first they are “embarrassing dumbasses”. Spoiler alert: they are embarrassing dumbasses.

Now we start the reaction. I will bundle this sections since there are two plots that progress 98% independently of each other.

A: Misadventures in Alaska

- I know that Cas is absent, but I wish the Winchesters would have waited long enough to dicuss the issues with Cas. Sam does afterall talk it through with Eileen. And he must have talked to other people about it because he knows that it’s not in the lore and nobody else ever heard of it apart from Garth. But waiting for Cas to discuss with him was too much of a hassle...?

- Dean might not be able to digest cheese now, but he knows how to help himself. Like a normal person. (Well, I’m a normal person too but I just risk it and then suffer the dire consequences.)

- Okay, so they are in Alaska already. Don’t you have to cross through Canada to get to Alaska? If yes, how did they manage to cross the border with all the weapons in their trunk and without valid ID?

- I love Sam’s bewildered reply to when Dean claims that he was playing pool since before Sam was born. “What, between nap time and snack?”

- I was constantly worried that Dean was too cocky about his pool skills considering he had lost some other skills and that he would get into this game without even making sure that he still had the necessary skills for it. However, this episode isn’t the kind of silly overkill like last one was. Pool is a skill Dean and Sam developped over years and years, so of course they should be able to do it. (It’s not the same as lockpicking with a random nail)

- Dean “baiting” the other players wasn’t super elegant for someone who’s hustled pool for years *lol* But it was cute I guess?

- I like that Sam tries to talk to people and make them leave before it’s too late.

- Fortuna’s a dick, not winning any parent of the year awards...

- I like how Dean’s sure enough of himself to know that he’s much more complex than a “sexy but skimmable beach read”

- I think that usually the villains agree to Sam and Dean’s demands far too easily even though they have nothing to bargain with. So I assume Fortuna not agreeing to Sam’s terms falls under Sam and Dean no longer having their god given hero bonuses.

- I really appreciate the explanations we got on how Gods and all the other gods can exist at the same time. Humans/ human needs creating gods has always been my headcanon.

- Fortuna called Sam “little minx” *lol*

- Hero’s luck is a thing independently of Chuck then, but still granted by a divine being. But what makes a hero a hero is not their luck - but their choices and their attitude. Fortuna recognized that in them: bravery, the willingness to risk it all for others.

- I’m not sure yet what “don’t play his game, make him play yours” means. Though it’d be interesting if the same thing that happened to Metatron (who tried to play God) happens to God. God as “one of them”. Give him a soul and the weight of it, so he experiences the story and creation differently. I don’t know. I feel there aren’t enough episodes left for such a “remind God of the beauty and value of his creation” kind of plot.

B: Agent Lizzo

(I think this story line is more interesting than the monster of the week case and should have been given more screentime)

- “CASS”. Sam, that’s not how you spell his name. And why did you write a note instead of texting him? Also, they explained nothing.

- Jack’s “Wanted by the FBI” picture is pretty cute. I wonder who took it.

- I like how Cas now frequently has a very visible reaction to things; he pulls the phone away from his hears, his expression changes, he has to breathe, before he manages to regain his composure. (Like the phone call he had with Dean while they were still seperated)

- Cas is so cute sitting at the desk with his laptop

- Why Jack. Why do you just sit down in the office to eat the heart?

- We usually saw Jack heal instantly; can’t he heal now or doesn’t he bother to heal his wounds?

- How many Grigori hearts did Jack eat...?

- Jack’s “dark” in ways he wasn’t before. The kind of dialogue he has comes across as very Winchester/ Cas like. I’m also trying to figure him out. He looks to the side at one point, before the Grigori takes his sword, which I assume means he saw Cas? His next expression is hard to describe; his nostrils flare, his calm expression drops. Is he shocked (I doubt it), is he angry (why would he?), is he trying to get out of the ropes to help or run? During the time it takes for Cas to defeat the Grigori, his expressions calms again and he lowers his head again. Maybe I’m just reading too much into it. I’m not very good at reading expressions anyway...

- The hug was nice but I really wish Cas and Jack would have actually spoken to each other. :/

TFW back together

- Dean and Sam are given the “little extra” that Dean wanted: Jack and Cas are back.

- I wish Sam had a bit of a more profound reaction. It’s the kind of welcome back reaction that would have been appropriate if Jack had just come back from a trip to the Swiss Alps where he tried to find himself among the cows and mountain spirits. Not when he came back from being killed by God.

- Dean’s reaction on the other hand was more impactful to me. Here we see that there’s tension there, some unspoken things. But still, he touches Jack the way that Bobby used to touch him. It’s a fierce look, but a gentle, parental touch. At the same time, this scene also addressed how much has changed (for the better!) between Dean and Cas. Dean seeks out Cas for conformation. I’m very soft about that exchange. (I think it also again presents Cas and Dean as an unit, especially when it gets to Jack.)

- I do hope Jack and Dean will hug eventually because the scene switch was a bit too fast for me. A bit more talk would have been better, or guiding them over into the next scene a bit gentler... Too many fanfic gaps here, even though the gaps are small!

- Sam and Dean acting like Jack ran away from them...? Sam: “You could have called.” Really, Sam...? When Jack says he couldn’t even though he wanted Dean says: “why not?” Why not, Dean? Do you really need to ask? And then Jack addressed nothing of what had happened and just brought up the current reason (staying hidden from god). Dude! You killed their mother, they wanted to trap you, then they wanted to kill you! I mean, come on.

- If Grigori hearts are the beginning, then what is next? Grigori are some of the “failed” creations of God that, according to Cas, should have been wiped out by the Flood. So maybe there are other things that God didn’t like for some reason or another that he wanted to get rid of. Grigori wiped out, Leviathan locked away, Nephilim forbidden... Hm.

- From S11 we know that you can’t kill God. Killing God is not an option... (I also don’t really want it to happen. If the ending is literally creation being wiped out and there is nothing but a black screen at the end then I will have a panic attack.)

New things going forwards:

Dean and Sam are heroes, no matter what Chuck says. Maybe they are no longer the heroes of his story (here I remember Metatron’s words again “you’re not the hero of this story, you are the villain”). But they’re still heroes. Fortuna rewards them for that alone with hero’s luck, which might give them back their bonuses to a certain degree. But the fact is that Sam and Dean are ordinary humans who become heroes because they are compassionate and brave and while they receive no reward for it, no “great recognition of their deeds”, they matter to the humans they saved. They matter in the smaller scheme of things, in the ways that Chuck disregards. Here I’m thinking of what Cas realized when he became human: that there is dignity in what he does, even if there is no divinity in it, even though it’s meaningless and “below him” even by Dean’s standards. But it mattered to Cas. He hurt, but it was meaningful and he wanted to live his life anyway. Chuck doesn’t see that. Chuck doesn’t see the dignity and meaning in the small things of human life. Because they are nuisances to him, they don’t make stories. Just like Sam and Dean doing the laundry all day don’t make stories for him - but they do for Becky.

So I think this episode reaffirmed what early SPN established: it’s the story of humans and how they save people, even if the odds are against them, and that makes them heroes. And not the other way around.

Some general comments: This is totally subjective but I feel there were some extra scenes that could have been cut (some pool hall stuff, the Grigori thing could have been slimmed down a bit) to give more space to things which I found more relevant like Cas/TFW’s reunion with Jack. I know that fanfic will fill the gaps eventually, but I wish we had to do a bit less work, you know? *lol* I mean, how did Cas and Jack’s conversation go, how was the drive back? How long where they in the Bunker by the time Sam and Dean came back from Alaska? What did they talk about? What conversations were exchanged in the scene break between TFW reuniting and them sitting at the map table? So many scenes to fill.

#Supernatural #spoilers #15x11 spoilers

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kaoru-takaida · 5 years ago

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LONG Character Survey: Tius Mason

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Tius Mason

NICKNAME: N/A

AGE: 25

BIRTHDAY: 20th Sun of the First Astral Moon (January 20th)

ETHNIC GROUP: Miqo'te (Seeker of the Sun)

NATIONALITY: Eorzean

LANGUAGE(S): Eorzean

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: ?

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Taken

CLASS: All Rounder

• Specializes in defensive and illusion arts

• Also skilled Paladin, and studying healing arts

HOMETOWN / AREA: NA

CURRENT HOMETOWN/ AREA: Mor Dhona

PROFESSION: Scion

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: White, silver/black

EYES: Blue

NOSE: Sharp

FACE: Pointed

LIPS: Full and plump

COMPLEXION: Natural

BLEMISHES: None

SCARS: Various battle scars and burns

TATTOOS: Regular Miqo markings (blue and bkack)

HEIGHT: 5'9"

WEIGHT: 140 lbs

BUILD: Toned, fit, athletic

FEATURES: Beauty mark left corner of his mouth, and cat feet *new* scar on right cheek,

ALLERGIES: N/A

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Usually tussled and with a stray bit of hair sticking out and fluffed upward in the back or pulled back in a messy ponytail/bun

USUAL FACE LOOK: No makeup, clean, tired at times

USUAL CLOTHING: Usually short to no sleeves, a few necklaces and something "to show off my nice abs and arms. Because they deserve it. ;3"

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR(S): Closed spaces, bugs that crawl, heights, losing loved ones, being weak, captivity

ASPIRATION(S): To support Kaoru and his sister and someday have a family

POSITIVE TRAITS: Energetic, strong willed, straight forward, funny, caring, no nonsense, calculating, stealthy, confident

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Gets jealous easily, blunt, stubborn, acts on emotions, no hesitation to start arguments, cocky at times

ZODIAC: Capricorn

TEMPERAMENT: Hyper comic relief

SOUL TYPE(S): Rogue, Jack of all trades

ANIMALS: White Lion

VICE HABIT(S): Squats, lounging, fishing, sparring

FAITH: The Twelve

GHOSTS?: I guess

AFTERLIFE?: maybe

REINCARNATION?: Probably

ALIENS?: Dude, there are other worlds that we know of. So duh.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: What the what?

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: Um...

SOCIO POLITICAL POSITION: I think you should leave the political questions for Alphinaud...

EDUCATION LEVEL: Basic education, extensive training in illusionary and defensive arts, some training with Arenvald as a Paladin, *new* minimal training in healing arts

FAMILY.

FATHER: Ebinger Mason= adoptive (deceased)

MOTHER: Nanci Heartilind= adoptive (deceased)

SIBLINGS: A'mandi Heartilind (alive)

EXTENDED FAMILY: Scions of the Seventh Dawn

NAME MEANING(S): NA

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: N/A

FAVORITES.

BOOK:

MOVIE PLAY:

5 SONGS:

• "Deeper" by Valerie Broussard, Lindsey Sterling

• "Darkside" by Alan Walker

• "Silver Lining" by Hurts

• "Alligator Sky" Owl City

• "Lights" by BTS

DEITY: Azeyma, Nymeia

HOLIDAY: Little Lady's Day

MONTH: January/ First Astral Moon

SEASON: Spring

PLACE: Costa Del Sol

WEATHER: Bright and sunny, warm with cool breeze, clear

SOUND: Waves crashing in the beach, gentle wind, chocobo carriage

SCENT(S): Spice, ocean smells

TASTE(S): Sea salt ice cream, dango, cafe de Leche

FEEL(S): Cotton, soft leather sofa, warm cuddles, cat paw pads

ANIMAL(S): chocobo

NUMBER: 3

COLORS: Light blue, grey, white, black

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Athletic, fast learner, has many tricks up his sleeve, can detect lies without fail, master of illusionary defense

BAD AT: Controlling his feelings, cleaning, minding his own business

TURN ONS: Smart, can enjoy little things and let loose, laughs at his jokes, nice, compassionate, selfless

TURN OFFS: Selfishness, ignorance, pettiness, laziness

HOBBIES: Training, fishing, exploring, playing

TROPES: Sexy comic relief

AESTHETIC TAGS: Pastel blues with white or black, outdoor fitness, ocean skies

FC INFO.

MAIN FC(S): Nada

ALT FC(S): Nope

OLDER FC(S): Nunka

YOUNGER FC(S): <sigh>

VOICE CLAIM(S): Bryce Papenbrook voices him?

GENDERBENT FC(S): Pffft.

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: IF YOU COULD WRITE YOUR CHARACTER YOUR WAY IN THEIR OWN MOVIE, WHAT WOULD IT BE CALLED, WHAT STYLE WOULD IT BE FILMED IN, AND WHAT WOULD IT BE ABOUT?:

• I guess Tius would fit perfectly in an action comedy. With a but of mystery.

Q2: WHAT WOULD THEIR SOUNDTRACK / SCORE SOUND LIKE?:

• Tius would definitely be into epic trailer music covers.

Q3: WHY DID YOU START WRITING THIS CHARACTER?:

• I wanted to create a character like Chat Noir from Miraculous Ladybug but for my own.

Q4: WHAT FIRST ATTRACTED YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?:

• At first I had planned on making a fanfic featuring him and another person as the main characters, but he eventually was put on the back burner til I needed a romantic interest for Kaoru in the main narrative. He's essentially a catboi who is the culmination of what I find attractive in FFXIV paired with the voice and attitude of Chat Noir from Miraculous Ladybug.

Q5: DESCRIBE THE BIGGEST THING YOU DISLIKE ABOUT YOUR MUSE:

• That I don't really have much of a feel for him 100% yet. He's still in the creation process and has been developing as I go, much like my main Kaoru has.

Q6: WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN COMMON WITH YOUR MUSE?:

• I guess the sarcasm. And the humor. The jokes he uses generally are all my own comedic tastes. So I guess I'm secretly a funny person.

Q7: HOW DOES YOUR MUSE FEEL ABOUT YOU?:

• I think Tius and I would be great friends.

Q8: WHAT CHARACTERS DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE INTERESTING INTERACTIONS WITH?

- Kaoru Takaida: His loving girlfriend

- Hope Gallant: His girlfriend's best friend (@louderthanthedj)

- Alphinaud Leveilleur: Always had a rivalry with for Kaoru's attention which they eventually worked out

- G'raha Tia as The Crystal Exarch: Immediately suspected his feelings for Kaoru and saw past the lies he spun, still a sore topic

- Thancred Waters: Thancred was always a mentor to Tius and teaches him everything he wants to learn

Q9: WHAT GIVES YOU INSPIRATION TO WRITE YOUR MUSE?

• I basically wanted Kaoru to have a romantic interest in her adventures with @louderthanthedj and he became such a great character

Q10: HOW LONG DID THIS TAKE YOU TO COMPLETE?:

A couple of days since I work a crap ton and my internet is poopy.

#tius mason

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gumnut-logic · 6 years ago

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Favourite Character Meme

From @the-lady-razorsharp

Rules: Name your ten favorite characters in any fandom, then tag ten friends to do the same.

Okay...

Jim, John, Jack, John, Michael, John, Tony, and Virgil. Hmm, that’s not ten, but these are the only ones up there on a pretty much equal standing.

Jim Kirk - Star Trek: The Original Series & The Alternate Original Series. This is my original fandom. This is where is all started. The first fandom I encountered way back in 1986 (and yes, I am halfway through my lifespan, told you I never grew up :D ). He was in my first fanfic (which will never see the light of the internet because omigod bad - though you can see my second one - Goodbye, Spock - both of which were physically printed in my local club’s fanzine all those years ago). My history with ST is a little different to some. I entered through the James Blish books as at the time the show was not being shown on TV at all, videos were scarce and expensive and ST was not trendy, not at least until ST:TNG came to play a few years later (well, try four years, it took forever for anything to get onto this side of the planet back then). Fortunately there were books in libraries and I was an avid reader (and as a budding librarian, I had my ways :D ). So due to this, William Shatner wasn’t in the equation when I first met Jim Kirk. In fact, when I first saw ST:TMP I stared at the screen and asked what TJ Hooker was doing in the captain’s chair?!

Jim Kirk is your typical hero. Sacrifices himself to save the day, has great friends who would do the same for him, and a honkin’ great big starship to back him up. What’s not to like? :D

John Crichton - Farscape In the early 2000s before the new Battlestar Galactica changed sci-fi storytelling for good, Farscape was at the forefront. It bent the rules that BG later broke completely and that single astronaut stranded on the other side of galaxy found himself in a world nothing like the safe Star Trek he probably grew up with.

John Crichton is a geek, but a geek with spine and a good set of leather pants, long black jacket and a big gun to match. At heart he was a gentle scientist, but he was forced to adapt and kick ass. But through everything something in him stayed true and the world around him which at first found him simply a weak oddity eventually mapped itself to him. His weaknesses became his strengths, his associates of suspect motivations became his loyal friends and together they took on the universe.

And the leather, c’mon...

Jack O’Neill - Stargate SG-1 Oh, poor Jack. Stargate fandom was where I truly waded into fandom. I started really writing here back in 2003 (yes, I’ve been on FF.net that long). I met some fantastic friends through Stargate that had both me and them travelling thousands of miles to meet each other. It was also where I learnt to whump. As I said, poor Jack :D i wrote my first novel length fic in Stargate all 75,000 words of it. Took three months, most written by hand as I couldn’t type fast enough - by the time I finished it, I could touch type.

Jack is the only character I can claim to still be older than me, just (it was a momentous year when I passed Jim Kirk’s age of 34, our characters are forever young, we are not). He is the goofy colonel, typical tough guy with a soft heart, but will of steel who always did what he thought was right, willing to make the necessary sacrifices just like Jim Kirk, and again with the team who would all do the same for him.

John Sheridan - Babylon 5 Okay, I admit it, I was a Scarecrow and Mrs King fan long before Bab 5 was even dreamt up. but the beard in season 4 that did it :D I’ve never written in this fandom, basically because it is pretty much a closed loop story and the actual show did a pretty good job of venturing where fandom would have gone anyway :D

John was another military type with a strong moral backbone (would you believe that I’m not a military type, but all these guys seem to be - what that says about me, I don’t know :D ). Again he is soft around the edges hence the whole Delenn storyline. Maybe for me it is a combination of kickass, doing what is right and squishy insides :D

Michael Knight - Knight Rider I loved Knight Rider as a kid and in 2004 when I discovered the tiny little KR writing fandom online, I instantly fell in love. Real Life at the time was a bit of a challenge and KR was a haven for me. I wrote a lot of KR fanfic and it and the people I met in that fandom still hold a special place in my heart. Michael and Kitt saw me through some tough stuff and I returned the tough onto poor Michael. If I was feeling awful, he got it. I used my writing as a vent zone and managed to create something out of it. This was also the fandom that introduced me to RP. And yes, I RP’d Michael Knight, you can find my long abandoned journal here. I also managed a bunch of other characters including a several hundred year old version of KITT.

I really should say Michael and Kitt, because just like Kirk and Spock, one character isn’t much without the other. A hothead ex-cop who, once again, has a moral core to stand up for the small guy and drives a smart car, literally. The both of them together are quite capable of kicking ass. A not so typical buddy cop show with so many writing possibilities. I built up my writing skills in this fandom and eventually started writing original works (which were all brought to a grinding halt by the event of motherhood in 2008, thus followed the lack of writing for the following 10 years...until a month ago).

John Sheppard - Stargate Atlantis I’m mentioning this John because I fell into SGA quite hard about three years ago, but with the exception of one unfinished attempt at fic (which you can find on FF.net), i haven’t really written anything in this fandom. I like a bit of John and Rodney interaction and because I know SG-1 so well, and John is really just a younger version of Jack in many ways, it was inevitable.

John is military (again ::sigh:: ), but not military. He breaks the mold and tends to be just outside what he should be. Again a softy, not as confident or as steely as Jack O’Neill, but with his own code and strengths.

Tony Stark - Marvel Cinematic Universe Well, in all that writing desert, this is where I have been. There is enough fic in that massive fandom to keep an addict fed for years, literally, I’ve tried it. I have never written any Avengers fic. There is no need to, and really with young children, a job and a small business there really wasn’t time.

Tony Stark is a geek with money. He has troubles, he’s socially messed up in places, but under it all he does his best. He cares, sometimes too much, and is willing to step up to do what is necessary. He is far from perfect and he screws up big time, but he continues to try. There is also a load of angst and whump attached to this poor character, even in canon. (I think the last movie sent me into shock, I really shouldn’t have seen it while recovering from appendicitis, it hurt). And he is not a soldier, he has made that perfectly clear.

Virgil Tracy - Thunderbirds Are Go And here we are today. About a month a go this fandom hit me like freight train and in the process revived my writing skills, created this journal and drew me back into fandom. I still don’t have time to write, but somehow I have.

Out of all the characters above, Virgil is the most different. He has an artistic side which I can understand, being an artist myself (no, I don’t play the piano or any other instrument, unfortunately). He’s a softy, he’s kind, a bit of a dork, he’s calm (much unlike all of the above), he has four brothers he would do anything for, is certainly well built for a cgi character...and he drives a big honkin’ aerotank :D Pairing him up with Scott leads to interesting conversations and the whumpfactor...I’m so sorry, Virgil. But I think at the core of it is the hero again. The Tracy boys go out to save people. There are no guns, no animosity, they are just trying to help because they care. And who couldn’t fall in love with that?

I’m not going to tag anyone, but feel free. it is an interesting way to share info about yourself :D

#fandom #fanfiction #jim kirk #john crichton #jack o'neill #john sheridan #michael knight #john sheppard #tony stark #virgil tracy

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thedarkenedkeeper · 7 years ago

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Glitched: Part 6 - Stitched Together

Author’s Note: Alright, a few things about this before you go head first into it.

Firstly, this is long, and I mean long. It came out as 14 pages long on Word, and I apologize for that! Once again, I underestimated how long the chapter would be!

Secondly, I had originally planned for this part to have two parts to it, but given just how long this came out, I once again had to severe a part into two parts. SO Part 7 will be centered on what happened at the very end of this. After that, Part 8 will DEFINITELY return to the present and involve the events of “Kill Jacksepticeye”.

And thirdly, which is the most important. I know I always leave a reminder stating how the fanfic is angsty horror, but this time I truly need to stress this. WARNING: This chapter is incredibly graphic. There is a lot of blood, some abnormal “body horror”, and detailed descriptions of surgical operations being performed. There’s a horrible sense of dread, intensity, and helplessness throughout the entire duration of the chapter. Sharp surgical instruments are mentioned, and there are scenes of involving horrific hallucinations and psychological horror. So if you are REALLY squeamish or have a hard time reading about surgical procedures, I would strongly advise you to scroll past this. However, if you’re completely fine with what’s been listed, then I hope you enjoy!

Also, fun fact! This entire fanfic series has been my first ever attempt at writing horror, and I’m truly pleased with how it’s been coming out so far, especially what with this chapter. I can’t wait to hear what you all have to say about this :)

Another fun fact! There’s foreshadowing in this chapter….keep that in mind for the chapters to come ;)

And here, listen to this playlist while you're at it

Red…that’s all he saw…

All he could see was a thick hazy layer of crimson…

All he could smell was the nauseating scent of copper…

All he could hear was his heart pounding brutally in his head…

All he could feel were bolts of pain charging throughout his body…

All he could taste was his own blood…

He lay there on the cool flooring, his body shaking violently as he struggled to breathe; raising a trembling lanky hand to his torn throat, making a poor attempt at trying to stop the bleeding. The wound was deep, so much so it had gone through his trachea; blood gushing, spurting, and washing down into his lungs. He was choking, drowning in his own life force, and his vision was blurring; spots of black and red spattering the corners. He could barely hear properly now. All he could hear was his heart beating frantically against his ribcage, feeling like it’d burst forth out of his chest at any moment. Blood was flooding his mouth, gurgling and cascading down the corners of his lips as he tried to call out for help; ribbons of scarlet running out onto the ground, pooling under his head.

He was dying. He may have been feebly making an effort at trying to think clearly at the moment, but he knew his life was slipping away at a fast rate. And if he didn’t get help within the next couple of minutes, he would die here, drowning in a pool of his own blood.

Blinking slowly with his hearing fading in and out, he managed to make out faint voices coming from different directions, echoing in his head, each increasing in loudness and approaching him. He shifted his eyes slightly to just barely see a few figures standing around him, all of which looked very similar to himself; green hair and all, the only differences being the distinct outfits they each donned. He couldn’t make out any of the words they were saying, but judging from the gasps of horror and how they seemed to jump back in alarm, he knew they were all stunned by the sight of him. None of them were moving to help him – not because they didn’t want to but because they didn’t know how. Unexpectedly, the startling bang of someone bursting through a set of doors sounded throughout the room, a snappy German voice accompanying it.

“Alright, vhat is going on? Vhat is all the commotion about? Vhat is - ?! Jesus Christ!”

He didn’t see who had entered the room, let alone who was speaking, but given how the man was speaking, he had a sense the German had just now noticed his horrible condition. Through the red haze, he squinted slightly and struggled to see what looked like a doctor, who was now dropping to his knees and hovering over him.

“Jack? Jack, can you hear me buddy? Vhat happened?!” The doctor asked, panic evident in his voice.

The green-haired man tried to give a reply, but only a torrent of blood spluttered out of his mouth; staining his shirt and spewing out onto his hands. The good doctor’s eyes grew wide as saucers, snapping his fingers impatiently at the other figures standing behind him.

“Someone get zee stretcher NOW!” He snapped, not taking his eyes off of the man bleeding out onto the floor.

Henrik immediately tore off his coat, rolled it up, and forced it to the gaping wound in the paled YouTuber’s neck, adding pressure and trying to temporarily stop the flow of blood. He grabbed the man’s clammy hands and placed them over his coat as he stared at him intently.

“Keep pressure on zee vound, alright?” The German doctor jerked his head, looking over his shoulder. “Damn it! Vhere is the stretcher?!”

Almost as if on cue, the other egos came rushing towards him, wheeling a stretcher up to his side. Without having to give an order, the Irishman was carefully hauled off of the bloodstained ground and placed onto the stretcher before getting rushed through the exact same doors the doctor had entered from. His breathing was getting increasingly more raspy and shallow, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open, watching the blinding lights above him fly by at a blurring speed.

“Stay avake, Jack. Come on, don’t pass out on me, buddy!” He heard the doctor’s voice echo, pleading for him to stay conscious.

Bolting for the E.R., Dr. Schneeplestein and his associates pushed and pulled the stretcher towards a set of doors leading into the good doctor’s operating room; barging through the doors and wheeling Jack over to where the operating table stood waiting for him.

“Alright, buddy, come on. Come on.” Carefully yet urgently, the Irishman was lifted from the stretcher and put onto the table. Right at that moment, the man lurched and harshly coughed up a mouthful of blood; a gross wheezing breath following after it.

He heard the other green-haired men gasp, horrified at seeing him like this. As soon as blood fell from his lips, the doctor frowned and instantly whirled on his heel, raising his arms and motioning for everyone to leave.

“Get out! Everyone out! Everyone out now! Leave me to do my vork! Go!” He shouted, shoving his friends hurriedly towards the exit and out the doors before locking said doors. He could not afford to be bothered, not when he had to deal with his currently dying friend.

“NURSE! Get zee patient ready for surgery! Also, get me my coffee! I cannot vork vithout my caffeine intake!” The German shrieked.

Henrik didn’t waste time bolting for his surgical smock and mask, slipping them on in a hurry. He nearly tripped over his feet in the process at hearing the unpleasantly wet sounds coming from Jack practically drowning in his own bodily fluids. The doctor cursed repeatedly under his breath out of nervousness.

“Don’t vorry, my friend. You’re in good hands.” He said in the most reassuring voice he could muster as he rushed to the YouTuber’s side. He noticed how his supposed “nurse” – someone he claimed helped him numerous times even though they had never once been seen by anyone – hadn’t done as he had instructed, and he grimaced.

“Zhat stupid fucking bitch, never doing vhat is said. Goddamn it!” He groaned with irritation before giving Jack a reassuring smile. “I, Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein, vill fix you right up. Von’t zhat be nice, Jack? It be quick fix, I assure you. Zee doctor doesn’t lie.” He exclaimed before adjusting his mask over his nose and mouth, sliding on his glasses, and snapping on a pair of vinyl gloves.

Jack opened his reddened mouth in an attempt to speak, but the doctor pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head.

“Oh no, no, don’t speak. Can’t afford to vaste any energy.” Schneeplestein stated, moving the green-haired man’s hands away from the lab coat that was pressed against his throat.

Cautiously, the doctor pulled the coat away to inspect the deep pulsating gash, globules of blood continuing to flow out. The German cursed, his hand shaking momentarily at seeing just how fatal the wound was. If it had been just a cut – nothing too deep – this would’ve been an easy fix. He could’ve had him stitched up within a matter of minutes. But this…this was serious…this was incredibly lethal. Jack didn’t just have major arteries severed; his windpipe had been slit open as well, only allowing a majority of his blood to escape through it.

The doctor swallowed the lump in his throat, letting out a breathy sigh. The man had had his rare cases of dealing with emergencies here and there, nothing extreme. But this…this was like nothing he had ever dealt with. He had never dealt with something as serious as this, let alone anything involving his friend – the one he and all of the other egos relied on. Jack had been the one to create each and every one of them, he gave them life. They all resided in a void invisible to the naked eye, the only individual able to access it being Jack. The egos remained happy living in their own individual fantasies, and Jack was the one who controlled this world they resided in. None of them had the power to control this world or Jack’s own body, only the Irishman could do that. However, with his subconscious here in the void, bleeding out fatally, Schneeplestein knew how incredibly horrific this was. It was crucial that his subconscious stay alive, stay in sync and attached to his body, because if not…if his subconscious died along with his physical body…

The German’s heart stuttered at the thought, his blood running cold. He needed to act fast, even if he wasn’t fully prepared. He needed to stitch him back up and relink him back to his body. He needed to take drastic measures NOW.

Pushing the coat back down over the cut and placing Jack’s hands over it once more, he instructed, “Do not let go of zhis, do you understand? Keep pressure on zee vound at all costs.”

Not being able to give an answer, the Irishman simply kept his dead-white hands over the coat just as he had been told. Instantly, Henrik whipped out a pair of scissors and cut open the man’s shirt, tearing it open before rushing around aimlessly; hooking him up to his monitors so he could keep a close eye on his vitals. Almost immediately, there was something noticeably wrong. For some reason, there was nothing – no breathing rate, no heart rate, no blood pressure, nothing. The doctor frowned with puzzlement. That was odd, maybe he hadn’t hooked him up correctly? Perhaps the machines weren’t working properly? Schneeple faced Jack, immediately checking to see if each of the pads were in the correct position. With his back turned, the doctor didn’t notice how all of the screens momentarily glitched out, all now reading the YouTuber’s vitals. At hearing the sound of the systems working, the doctor whirled around to get a good look, and instantly he took note of everything wrong with the green-haired man. He noticed how his heart rate was irregular, one minute spiking incredibly high and the next steadying down. His blood pressure was off the charts and his breathing was becoming worse as each second flew by.

“Fucking Christ, Jack, vhat did you do to yourself?” The German questioned, eyes shifting from the monitors back to his patient, who was growing worse in condition at an alarming rate.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could’ve sworn he noticed a petite smirk tugging at the Irishman’s crimson-stained lips, almost like he was amused for some unknown reason. Just as quick as that smirk had appeared, it disappeared as the man lurched again; turning his head to the side as another mouthful of blood projected out, splattering to the floor beneath. Analyzing the situation and taking note of just how horrible Jack’s breathing was, the doctor knew exactly what had to be done. He was going to have to perform both a tube thoracostomy and a tracheostomy. However, he had never once gone through with either procedure on a patient. He knew how both worked and what was involved, but he had never actually done either, which instantly overwhelmed him with anxiety. If he didn’t do either one of the operations correctly, one slip up would immediately kill Jack. But if he didn’t try, Jack would end up dying anyway.

There’s no time for this! The doctor scolded himself. You need to operate NOW or he is going to die! You cannot let him die!

Not having any time to fully run through his plan, Henrik realized he was going to have to take immediate action without first preparing the primary steps of the operation. He had learned in “Doctor College” that when it came to emergencies like this, he always had to remember ABC: Airway, Breathing, and Circulation. But given the current situation and of just how gruesome of a condition Jack was in, that order would have to change. Jack could barely breathe, what with his windpipe cut and having his lungs flooding with blood. The doctor had to first get him to breathe before he could even remotely think about fixing the wound. However, given how much little time he had on his hands, Henrik had absolutely no time to take out a marker and indicate where the incision would be made. If he did that, it’d only slice off a valuable chunk of time he’d need to save Jack. He would have to eyeball it.

The good doctor turned to a nearby stainless steel table and grabbed for a syringe, immediately filling it with anesthetic. He kept eyeing the green-haired man lying on his operating table as he did this, constantly estimating just how much time he had left. Once the syringe was full, he set the vial of anesthetic down, and with one hand holding the syringe, he used his free hand to move Jack’s left arm out of the way, exposing his bare side to him. Dr. Schneeplestein stared at the skin, eyeballing where he’d inject the needle before proceeding with the operation. After a brief moment of figuring out the exact spot, he pressed the needle into the Irishman’s side, right between where his ribs were. He felt the man tense up a bit under him, a soft whimper slipping past the Irishman’s bloody lips. Schneeple took a quick glance at him.

“Trust me, my friend, zhis is for your own good.” He pulled the syringe away, throwing it over onto the steel table before reaching for a scalpel. “Now I von’t lie – zhis vill probably hurt.”

Adjusting the overhead light and zeroing in on where he had injected the anesthetic, Henrik carefully pressed the blade of the scalpel into his flesh, making an incision in the direction of one of Jack’s ribs. Unfortunately for the YouTuber, the anesthetic hadn’t fully kicked in yet, and immediately, his entire body went rigid at the sudden pain; a choked gasp erupting from his slashed throat. With his free hand, the doctor tried to steady him; resting his hand over his chest.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I know, bear vith me here, please.” He said sincerely, his eyes never leaving the incision he was making.

Deeming the cut large enough, Henrik set the scalpel aside, reached for one of his Kelly clamps, and taking a worrisome glance at his patient, used the clamp to bluntly dissect a tract into the tissue; slowly pulling open the two flabs of muscle. Almost instantly, Jack’s breathing hitched and became far more uneven than it had been before. He was already in so much pain, but now with a new opening in his body, he really was starting to feel faint, and Schneeple could sense it. He patted his chest gently.

“You’re doing fine, Jack. Relax, it’ll be alright, I promise you zhis.” He cooed before inserting a gloved finger into the opening, making sure the tract ended at the upper border of Jack’s rib. He scoffed. “Vhen have I ever lied to you?”

The Irishman bit down on his lip at feeling this, his head throbbing as his vision began to swim. The pain was beginning to take a hold of him. Recognizing the signs and knowing he had to continue forward, the doctor extracted his finger and hurried to fill up a syringe with more anesthetic. Once full, he launched the vial of anesthetic away and over his shoulder, not at all caring where it went or if it damaged anything. He was far more concerned for Jack at the moment. He proceeded to insert it into the exposed muscles, knowing fully well that if he didn’t supply his patient with more anesthetic, he would lose him to the agony he was currently enduring. Once again carelessly chucking the syringe away, the doctor used a larger clamp to pry open the muscle, enlarging the dissected tract through all layers of the chest wall. At that moment, a considerable amount of blood spewed and gushed out onto the table; some absorbing into Jack’s jeans and managing to flow out over the side of the table, streaming down to the tiled flooring.

“Shit, shit, shit!” The doctor panicked momentarily, fumbling with a set of forceps as he tried to stop the unforeseen bleeding. The last thing he needed was for his patient to lose even more of his life force. As quickly as he could, he expertly closed off the severed vessels before continuing on with the operation.

“Nurse! Hook up zee drainage system, STAT!”

Schneeple inserted his finger again, probing Jack’s insides for lung tissue and possible adhesions. Audible wet and squishy sounds grew more in volume as the doctor continued to feel around the Irishman’s muscles and veins; little blood leaking out onto his gloved hand. He frowned, getting frustrated in not immediately finding any.

“Come on, come on! Vhere are you? Zhere’s no time for zhis!” Finally, he felt something and pulled out his finger, now dripping with gore.

Realizing how his “nurse” hadn’t set up the system he required, with not a moment to lose, the doctor searched the room for the drainage machine he’d need to use, noticing immediately how he had misplaced it.

“Fuck!” He shifted around awkwardly, not knowing whether to stabilize the incision first or take a risk and tear up the room for the damned machine he needed to SAVE JACK’S ASS!

Growling in frustration, Henrik bolted, running around the operating room, shoving things out of the way and trying to recall where he had left that blasted machine.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Zee one day somezhing incredibly urgent like zhis happens, and zee one zhing I need in order to do zhis is missing! Muzherfucka!” The foul-mouthed surgeon yelled, lashing out and swiping a whole month’s worth of important paperwork and instruments off of a nearby table.

Through his outburst, he made out the sound of constant bubbling and gurgling, followed by a harsh disgusting breath. He whipped his head up and directed his attention over to where his patient was lying in a pool of his own blood, immediately spotting the smile on the green-haired man’s face. Even though he was practically drowning, it almost seemed like the man was making an effort to laugh. The doctor grimaced, both put off and not understanding how the man could be finding any of this funny.

“Oh vell, good to see someone is enjoying himself, even zhough zhat someone is currently in the process of DYING!” He snapped, scrambling around for the equipment he needed. “Vhat is so funny? Is it the lightheadedness? I zhink you’ve lost too much blood zhere, Jack. But don’t vorry about zhat, ve’ll deal vith zhat in a moment. Very easy fix, I assure you.” He stated, even though deep down, he admittedly had his doubts.

Coincidentally, under the table he stood by was the machine he required and instantly, he didn’t hesitate. He hauled the machine off the ground and dashed back over to his bleeding patient. After fumbling with the equipment, he grabbed the tubing and returned his attention to the gaping hole in Jack’s side. Using the clamp to widen the opening a bit further, the doctor carefully began to feed the thoracic catheter through the hole, gently pushing it through the Irishman’s muscles and into his chest cavity; a gross nauseating squish emitting from it. Some blood gushed out of the hole, oozing out onto Dr. Schneeplestein’s gloved hands, but he didn’t care. As soon as he knew the tube had managed to slip all the way inside, he flipped on the switch for the machine, instantly watching the tube flood with crimson warm blood; rushing out of Jack’s lung and into the jug down at Henrik’s feet.

“Ha ha! Vunderbar!” The doctor let out an abrupt nervous laugh at this, not believing how his plan had worked…that was until he noticed how Jack was breathing both shallowly and rapidly.

The doctor’s brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t get a chance to get anything out. With no warning, the lights flickered for a fleeting moment, followed shortly by a sharp ringing erupting in his ears. Henrik yelped at the sudden pain, hands flying up to his ears to block out the noise. His eyes went from Jack to wildly searching around the room, wondering where the ringing was coming from. The lights flickered once more, except this time they blacked out. Everything powered down – the monitors, the drainage system, everything. Now was the time to panic.

With no lights or equipment, there was no possible way for the doctor to continue working on Jack. He couldn’t see a single thing in the room; it was pitch-black. All he could hear was the constant ear-piercing ringing, as well as Jack’s wet gurgling breaths and his own breathing, which was beginning to increase now.

“Oh come ON! Zhis can’t be happening! Zhere’s no time for zhis bullshit!” The doctor exclaimed with anger, not daring to move from where he was since he couldn’t see anything around him.

Through the ringing that was driving him crazy, very faintly he managed to make out a giggle. An eerie childish giggle that made the hairs on the back of the doctor’s neck stand up on end.

“Hello? Who’s zhere?” He called out into the darkness. “Zhis is no time for joke! I svear to God, if you’re responsible for all of zhis, I vill kill you!”

Another giggle sounded, coming from right beside the German; becoming distorted and scratchy this time. He jumped with alarm, shoving his hands in the direction of where the giggle came from, but didn’t come into contact with anything. His heart was thudding against his ribcage madly, fear seeping into his veins. He literally did not have any time for this. If the power didn’t come on soon, it would be too late. Suddenly, the lights and monitors returned to life, and he found himself standing over the operating table, looking down on his patient. However, something was very wrong.

The patient he was staring down at wasn’t Jack anymore – it was himself. There he lay with his wrists and ankles bound to the table; restrained from any movement. He was unconscious and his mask, glasses, and cap had been removed. The doctor stood there in both alarm and confusion, not understanding what was happening. What was going on? Why was he staring down at a copy of himself? Hadn’t he been operating on Jack a moment ago?

Henrik went to move, only to realize he couldn’t; his hands didn’t react to the order. Watching with wide eyes, he felt himself reach for an orbitoclast – an ice pick-like instrument used for lobotomies – resting on the table beside him. He grabbed it along with the small hammer settled beside it, moving himself into position; hovering right over the head of his duplicate. Instantly, the doctor’s heart rate spiked. He could hear his blood rushing through his ears loudly as he helplessly raised the pick over the duplicate’s right eye, aiming it right for the corner of his eye socket.

At that precise moment, to his surprise, the doctor watched the eyes of his copy shift under his eyelids before fluttering open, directly looking up at him with confusion first, before having the compromising, vulnerable situation he was currently in dawn over him. The poor man started writhing on the table, violently tugging and pulling at his restraints, trying desperately to break free and get away from the man who was about to lobotomize him. His eyes even began to water from fear of what was going to be done to him, shaking his head repeatedly, and pleading out for release. Henrik was horrified at the sight. His nerves were rattling from shock, a tremor of true full-blown disturbance burrowing its way through his body. He couldn’t do this – whether it was actually happening or not, he could NOT DO THIS!

Struggling to restrain himself and gain control over his own body, Dr. Schneeplestein desperately tried to pull himself away from the table. Feeling like a puppet having his strings tugged at, the doctor watched as he took a moment to grab the man by the hair and violently bash the back of his head into the table, momentarily putting a stop the copy’s struggles. Henrik then bore witness to complete and utter horror as he suddenly brought the hammer down, impaling the orbitoclast through the corner of his copy’s eye. Blood spurted out and into his face, causing him to flinch and gasp in alarm; a hair-raising scream getting ripped from the duplicate of himself. He watched as a line of crimson weaved out of the wound as he hammered away at the pick, feeling, seeing, and hearing it sink further into his copy’s skull; a loud crack erupting very suddenly. Henrik’s breaths were coming out laboured and rather shaken now, heart pounding harshly as he felt bile rise in his throat. He felt like he was going to be sick.

And very suddenly, with a blink of his eyes, he found himself hovering over a bleeding-out Jack; the duplicate of himself nowhere in sight, nor were the lobotomy tools he’d just used. Panting wildly, the doctor’s eyes flew across the entire operating room; trying to decipher if this was real time and that none of what he just seen and endured had actually happened. The German took a moment to take in deep breaths, having been scarred by what he had just gone through. What the hell had that been about? What had caused that? Why had he suddenly blacked out and had some sort of vision of him giving a copy of himself a lobotomy – all while operating on Jack, no less?

He couldn’t come up with a reason as to why any of that had happened, let alone why it had felt so incredibly vivid, like it had in fact actually happened. He didn’t have time to dwell too much on the thought either, given how he instantly noticed how his patient was breathing shallowly.

Henrik watched the Irishman intently, dismay gleaming in his eyes and fear panging in his chest. “Jack? Jack, buddy? Are you…Are you still vith me?” He lightly tapped him with a bloodied hand. “Jack?” He scoffed, a light chuckle coming from him, although it was very obviously laced with concern. “C-Come on, zhis is no time to be joking around vith me. I’m trying to save your life, you know!”

There was no response. He scanned his body, taking notice of how he was shaking all over, he was sweating profusely, and how his lips and fingertips had quickly become blue – when had that happened?! For a brief moment, Henrik’s brows furrowed in confusion, not yet entirely piecing everything together. And what was that irritating beeping sound? Where the hell was that coming from? It was agitating him greatly.

“For fuck’s sake, vhat is zhat blasted noise?! I can’t vork vith such racket!” He turned to see what was causing the sound and in seconds flat, the poor doctor felt his stomach drop.

Oh no…..No, no, no, no, NO!

The heart monitor – it was going off like mad! Jack’s heart rate was skyrocketing, racing wildly, struggling to keep pumping blood throughout his body. Dr. Schneeplestein immediately whirled around to face his patient, FINALLY concluding what was so horrible about was happening. Too much blood was getting into his lungs – He couldn’t breathe! He was going into hypovolemic shock! The green-haired man’s eyes were shifting back and forth weakly, his eyelids fluttering for a moment before slipping shut; falling unconscious from both the pain he was in and the blood loss.

The doctor’s eyes shot open in horror, shaking his head rapidly. “No…No, no, no, NO! Zhis cannot be! Zhis isn’t happening! I can fix zhis! I can fix zhis!” He repeated to himself aloud, trying to return some hope to himself.

In a hurry, he crudely stitched up the gaping hole in the man’s side; securely keeping the blood-filled tube in place and pricking his finger more than once while doing so. As soon as he did this, he didn’t at all hesitate to fall into phase two. The Irishman needed air, and with his trachea cut, there was no way for him to breathe properly. Hastily the doctor moved his scrunched up, now completely blood-soaked coat away from Jack’s throat and threw it clear across the room. Luckily, much of the bleeding had stopped, but there was still some coming; leaking out and oozing through Henrik’s vinyl-covered fingers. He felt for the man’s pulse, both feeling and seeing it throbbing at a rapid pace.

“Shite!” The surgeon cursed, a crimson-covered hand reaching for his scalpel once more. He let out a shaky breath as he went to make an incision into the YouTuber’s neck, a little below where the wound was. His hands were trembling now, dread and a terrible nauseating wave of despair settling into his gut. He shook his head, trying to stay focused. “Alright…Alright, Schneeple, come on. You can do zhis, huh? Zhis isn’t a problem; you can fix zhis easy.” He kept attempting to convince himself as he reached for a clamp and stretched open the muscles of his patient’s throat; exposing his trachea to him.

Almost immediately, at seeing this and the amount of blood pouring out, Schneeplestein gagged and instantly flung backward, bringing a glove-clad hand to his mouth and nearly stumbling over the wires and cables of his equipment in the process.

“Vhat ze fuck?!” The doctor screamed abruptly, his breathing coming out laboured and rather shaken. He stared in horror at the body on the operating table, not caring or seeming to notice how he now had blood smeared over his mask. What he saw was not normal – nothing he’d learned in “Doctor College”, that’s for certain. No, nothing about what he’d seen was of human biology.

When he went to open up Jack’s throat, blood wasn’t the only thing to leak out – some sort of black slime-like substance gushed out along with it. And that wasn’t all. Weaving out all along the man’s trachea were what looked like veins, but they weren’t red or blue; they were a festering green, spots of black plaguing the entire windpipe. The entire thing looked severely infected, the muscle around it only looking just as bad; lines of black branching out and pulsating with darkness. He could’ve sworn he had seen something slither underneath the muscle as well. It was almost like there was something living beneath the skin and inside the veins, like a parasite was involved. But what kind of parasite could do this to a human being?

Feeling his heart thump with trepidation and beads of perspiration coming to his forehead, Henrik barely collected himself and approached the table, eyeing the abnormality of Jack’s throat before taking nervous glances back at the heart monitor. Realizing his time was dissipating expeditiously, the doctor couldn’t let this disturbing discovery get in the way of the task at hand. He only had so much time, and if he didn’t do something now, he’d probably lose another patient on this operating table.

His heart jumped at that thought. He had lost many patients before, and every time it had left a brand new scar in his chest; forever fueling him with guilt. But if Jack – his best friend – were to suddenly become no different than any of those other patients he had failed to revive…If he weren’t able to save the man who was responsible for himself and the other egos…

He felt his heart give another painful pang as tears threatened to come to his eyes. He shut his eyes for a quick moment, shaking his head.

“No…No! Stop it! Get your head in zee game! You can save him. You VILL save him!” A clenched fist came down onto the nearby table fiercely, a loud abrupt bang coming from the impact. It was very evident at this point that the doctor was becoming increasingly more frustrated.

Noticing how Jack’s chest was barely even moving anymore, Schneeple immediately set back to work. With bloodied hands, he rustled around for his haemostatic forceps; finding them blindly. Adjusting the overhead light so he could get a better view, ever so carefully he tried to close off any vessels; attempting to keep the blood flow to an all-time low. He then proceeded to place his set of tracheal dilators through the opening, expanding it by turning the screw; widening the incision further. As soon as the contraption pulled open the space, Henrik noticed his vision throb and start to swim for a moment; the light above him flickering unsteadily once again. He blinked, shaking his head and struggling to stay focused.

What’s going on? Why are you having such trouble concentrating? He questioned himself, transfixed on the pulsing blackened veins coiled around Jack’s trachea. Come on, focus. Focus, damn it!

But that was easier said than done. His head felt heavy all of a sudden, the edges of his vision going black. He blinked slowly, everything blurring for a quick moment before a wave of glitches abruptly scattered over Jack’s neck right before the doctor’s own eyes. The light flickered spastically as Henrik’s heart pounded in his ears, watching something pulse throughout the green-haired man’s throat. He found himself fascinated and reaching a gloved finger into the black and green trachea, the open wound squelching and sucking his finger in. His eyes widened, gleaming with disgust and horror as he slowly pulled his finger and thumb back, extracting a long thick string of blackened organic matter; some veins still linked to it and getting stretched out the more the string was pulled. Bile rose in his throat, a wave of nausea hitting him dead on. His fist-sized organ of innocence gave a painful jolt within his chest at the sight. This was beyond disturbing for him; this was beyond what he could handle. His vision glitched out again when he went to blink, the darkened string that he had pulled from the man’s throat completely gone.

Dr. Schneeplestein stumbled backward, reaching a hand back to steady himself on a nearby table only for that table to wheel away and cause him to collapse to the ground. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the body on his operating table, noticing a stream of black oozing out from the cut in Jack’s throat and running down his arm, which was outstretched and hanging limply over the edge of the table. The poor surgeon couldn’t even begin to understand what the hell was going on. He felt like he was living in a horror movie, scared beyond comprehension. This was too much; he was going to go insane! He shut his eyes for a brief moment, trying desperately to calm his heart and steady his breathing, but to no avail. For Christ’s sake, his hands were trembling! He couldn’t work like this; it would only lead into disaster!

The German doctor reached up for the ledge of a stable table, pulling himself up onto his wobbly weak-kneed legs. Stumbling forward, he dashed for a nearby counter and grabbed for his mug of stale coffee, which surely must’ve been lukewarm at this point. He then flew open every cupboard door, tossing anything and everything out until he finally found what he needed: a bottle of diethyl ether. Letting out a shaky on-the-verge-of-having-a-mental-breakdown breath of air, Schneeple hurried to unscrew the cap, throw it off to the side somewhere, yank his mask off, and take several big gulps of the fluid; not at all giving a damn how he was resorting to intoxicating himself in hopes to calm himself down enough. Pulling himself back from the bottle, the man poured a vast amount of the drug into his coffee; filling the mug to the brim before setting the bottle aside and taking a gulp of his drink. Staggering back over to the operating table and nearly slipping in the puddles of blood surrounding it, the doctor slammed down his mug of drugged coffee onto the nearby steel table; beginning to feel the effects of the drug kicking in.

“Alright…Okay…Pull yourself togezher, man!” The unsteady, increasingly disoriented surgeon shouted at himself, making a poor attempt to stand up straight. He lazily readjusted his mask on his face and looked back at his patient, using a bloodied hand to pat his shoulder gently. “Don’t vorry, buddy. Everyzhing is okay, everyzhing is alright. Death is overrated – who needs zhat?” He squinted slightly, his vision blurring for a brief moment. “Are you in pain, buddy? Can you feel anyzhing?” He was evidently intoxicated at this point, proven by how he barely recalled how Jack was currently unconscious. He leaned forward, moving a hand to get a better look at the inside of his throat. “Easy fix….Easy fix….” He muttered to himself over and over.

While being cautious to keep anymore blood from escaping, the good doctor leaned over to grasp a tracheal tube, which would allow Jack to breathe when inserted. Carefully, he wedged the tube through the opening of his trachea; granting the YouTuber a temporary airway until his neck could be fixed thoroughly. Much blood was covering Henrik’s hands now; lines of still warm wet crimson running down his arms. Some had managed to also spurt out on his chest during the procedure, but he hadn’t taken any notice in it; all of his attention had been transfixed on fixing Jack. Once the tube had been successfully inserted, he leaned back and let out a sigh of relief, running the back of his gore-drenched hand across his exposed forehead, leaving a long thick smear of blood and matter on his pale skin. His eyes went from the tube to the wide-open gash in the Irishman’s throat. Only one thing left to fix. He could do this, he could do this, he could –

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep…..

Dr. Schneeplestein immediately jerked his head in the direction of the heart monitor, alarmed and horrified to see that the line had suddenly dropped flat. There was no pulse and the man wasn’t breathing anymore! His stomach dropping at the sound, the doctor didn’t even stop to think first; he dropped his tools and raced for the defibrillator, just barely tripping over any cables. In seconds flat he was at the Irishman’s side, immediately setting up the defibrillator and putting gel onto the paddles. Cranking up the machine and charging the paddles, Schneeple quickly moved his mask and grabbed for his mug of ether-laced coffee; downing another two gulps of the liquid. Wasting no time, he picked up the paddles, rubbed them together fiercely before pressing down hard onto Jack’s chest; a violent electrical shock getting sent through his body. He listened for any sigh of a pulse, but there was none. He pulled back and recharged the paddles, rubbed them together once more, and tried again; another jolt of electricity striking the YouTuber’s heart. Still nothing.

“Come on, damn it! You vill not die on me, do you hear me?! Not today!” The unhinged surgeon burst out of fear. He recharged the paddles, rubbed them again, and sent another shock into the man. “Stay vith me, buddy, come on! I vill not let you die! You cannot die on me!” He waited a moment before giving him another violent shock. “If you go down, ve all go down vith you! Damn it, Jack! Come on! Vake up!” Another shock.

Repeatedly the doctor tried desperately to restart his friend’s heart, refusing to let him go that easily. And he wasn’t lying – if Jack’s subconscious died here and now, then Schneeple and the other egos were at a high risk of dying along with him. He needed to live in order for them to continue living, there was no other way! As the good German doctor continued with his poor efforts, he didn’t take notice of how the YouTuber’s fingertips were twitching slightly, almost in a spastic manner every few seconds. He also didn’t notice how the lower half of the man glitched out intensely for a slight second, like something was trying to remain stable…

Tears were coming to the doctor’s eyes with each attempt, and he was trying so hard at holding them back, knowing this was no time for crying. He was truly beginning to lose hope at a fast rate, an overwhelming sense of despair suffocating him and clouding his already intoxicated mind. Any and all confidence he had had at the start was completely one hundred percent gone – totally nonexistent. He was failing as a doctor, failing to save his friend Jack – the man responsible for him and the other egos. He could not live whatever would remain of his life with Jack’s blood on his hands – both literally and figuratively speaking. He would truly die on the inside, and it would only prove how much of a failure and a humiliation he was as a doctor to both his wife and kids, who had already left him a month ago. The poor man was already broken; he couldn’t afford to lose the one person who still viewed him with respect.

“Jack, please.” He pleaded through tear-blurred eyes. “I need you, buddy.” He blinked, a few tears running down his cheeks. “Ve all need you!”

Finally, with one more jolt of electricity through to the Irishman’s heart, there was a pulse; the line on the monitor spiking slightly. Jack’s chest slowly but surely began to rise and fall steadily, air getting to him through the tube Schneeplestein had surgically implanted into him. His heart beat was very low and just barely there, but it would give the doctor enough time. Flinging the defibrillator paddles away and taking another long gulp of his ether coffee, Henrik dove for the man’s throat, FINALLY setting to work on closing off his major arteries.

“Yes! Come on, buddy, don’t fail me just yet! Zhere’s still hope! All of zhis vill be over soon, I svear on my name!” He exclaimed, sealing the YouTuber’s arteries shut and closing his trachea. “You’re not dead yet, zhere’s still plenty of time to fix!”

He had gone and set up an IV for the Irishman, inserting the needle into his arm and getting new blood into his body before proceeding to suture up the slit in his neck. It was right at that moment when he felt his heart jolt harshly in his chest, followed by something warm and wet running from his nose. Getting a whiff of copper, he dragged his mask downward and ran the back of his sleeve along his nose, watching as a smear of red showed up. Before he even had time to question the bizarre occurrence, the doctor’s heart gave another pang of pain, and his vision started to swim once more, much worse than earlier. The lights were starting to flicker again, an icy cold gust of air now circulating the room and causing the poor surgeon to shudder violently. Faintly, voices echoed throughout the back of his mind, all distorted yet overlapping each other. He had a difficult time deciphering what they were whispering to him, but he managed to make out a few words.

“K-Kill….”

“H-He’s d-dead alre-eady…”

“Gr-rant…”

“Can’t sa-a-ave him…”

“YoU iDioT!”

“M-Me…”

“D-Dead…"

“G-Give…l-li-ife…”

“Access…”

“LeT ME iN!”

“D-Dead in-inside…”

“FiNIsH IT!”

The doctor was feeling nauseated, his head spinning and like the world was tilting on its side. His breaths were increasing in speed, as was his heartbeat. His vision was fading in and out as he desperately tried to focus on fixing his patient. The instruments upon his steel table began to rattle with no explainable reason as to why, and a few of the lights were bursting; sparks flying through the air with each explosion. He could make out the heart monitor going off like mad, before slowing down considerably, daring to fall flat again. Henrik panted and growled, shutting his eyes and shaking his head.

“No….No! I’ve had enough!” He grabbed his mug of coffee and downed the rest before bolting up and throwing it across the room into the main doors out of a sudden burst of rage. “Fuck it! Zhis is it! I’m ending zhis NOW!”

Though the words getting hissed into his ear were taunting him repeatedly and everything occurring around him was driving him into madness, the doctor didn’t let any of it stop him this time. Not even when he looked to Jack’s open neck to see black sludge leak out. Grabbing his needle and thread and readjusting the head light for the last time, Dr. Schneeplestein pricked the man’s shredded flesh; hooking the needle through the layer of muscle and pulling at it from the other side. In and out the needle went, getting repeatedly stabbed into the sickeningly pale blood-smeared skin; crudely stitching the gaping wound shut. Blood stained the doctor’s fingers and he pricked himself more than once, but he remained focused, even though his vision was seriously beginning to fade out. With each stitch, there was a violent glitch from the patient’s lower half; his fingers twitching and curling inward. And with the doctor’s attention on Jack, he didn’t notice let alone hear the heart monitor glitch out behind him; lines of static weaving out across the screen.

“Come on….Come on…Zhere ve go.”

With the wound now finished, he took a step back, chucking the gore-soaked needle off onto the table; letting out a shaky, tired breath of exhaustion. He stood there and kept his eyes fixed on Jack, hoping like hell he’d give a response, or better – wake up.

Unexplainably, everything came to a halt. The lights all shut off only then to return back on. His equipment and instruments were no longer shaking. His vision adjusted back to normal and the voices he had been hearing faded almost immediately. Henrik slowly approached the table, tearing his surgical mask away from his face as he stared down at his friend, waiting impatiently for a sign.

“Jack?…Jack, buddy?…Can you hear me?”

No response. He gently shook his shoulder.

“Jack?”

Unknowingly to the doctor, from behind him, the heart monitor suddenly glitched out violently, only then to reveal the heart rate going at a normal, steady pace. With a start, Jack’s eyes flew open and he lurched forward, gasping for air. Blink and anyone would miss it, but for a fleeting second, the eyes of the Irishman flashed a sickening neon green. And unfortunately, the doctor had in fact blinked.

“Jack! Oh zhank Christ, you’re alive!” Henrik shouted with relief, putting a hand over his own chest to steady his poor heart.

The green-haired man on the bloodied table blinked, turning his head slightly to notice the doctor before turning his attention downward; taking in the sight of his condition. The hose securely stitched into the side of his ribs, the blood all over his pants and the table, the feeling of the breathing tube in his neck…

Slowly, the YouTuber shrugged his shoulders, leaned back on his arms, and carefully sat up, Schneeple assisting him.

“Careful, you’re still in very bad shape.” The doctor cautioned. “Don’t vant any of your stitches coming undone.”

Sitting hunched over on the crimson-drenched table now, the Irishman gently moved his neck from side to side, testing out his limits of movement; feeling a painful stinging stretch in his neck muscles at moving too much. Letting out a raspy sigh, the man slowly lifted his hands, sticky with his own blood. He looked down at them, rotating his wrists and getting a good look at both the front and back of them. He clenched his fingers, almost seeming like he was testing them out…

Almost like he was adjusting to his body for the very first time…

Henrik reached for his blood-spattered glasses and pulled them off, letting out a shaky breath as he set them off to the side. He kept his eyes on Jack, scanning his body for any signs of something wrong.

“Do you feel alright? Pain is to be expected and is completely normal, and you cannot leave until full recovery.” He advised.

He didn’t receive a response; Jack was still looking over his hands and then down at his bare, crimson-speckled chest. He seemed to be taking in everything, at least that’s what Schneeple thought. Given everything that had happened, he’d understand why his friend was acting so strange.

“So…how do you feel?”

The Irishman flexed his fingers once more, gently rolling his shoulders back as he did so. A deep rumbly groan came from his throat, almost sounding like he was pleased. After a long pause, a small smirk tugged at the corner of the man’s lips as he shifted his eyes to the doctor who had stitched him together – who had resurrected him.

The doctor who had granted him access.

“Like I could take on the world.”

Part 5 - Say Goodbye

Part 7 - Patience

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