#Or Bad getting paranoia of being in tight spaces even more because he was killed in a little hole

[an0nfr0mth3d3n]

sob I need to sleep but the most banger idea for a post hunt and run fic for the team Soaring Aquino Bad Kendo (BASK? Idk) just came into my head and I’m struggling not to write it.

Basically the reason Aquino didn’t make it to day 3 is because he found a way out and got the other guys to throw him ended pearls (like a stasis chamber but he can throw them down whenever to summon them because whatever logic) so he summons them as soon as he gets the downed message in chat. He tends to their wounds as fast as he can and he has to keep them sheltered and hidden before they can make a run for it and it’s tense and then the fic is just shenanigans on the run and I’m so close to writing this but it’s 2 am and I need to wake up in 6 hours.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 5

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Perma tag: @nathleigh

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever

Marinette listened in on Tim for three days.

Not actively, of course, she didn’t hang onto every word he said. She just let her consciousness drift in and out of the conversations he had while she worked on finishing up the outfit she had designed for Audrey...

And, yeah, she was getting to the point where she was willing to bet on him being an okay guy. Better than okay, even. He was just so… genuine?

The first two days he had come in sick. She knew the signs of working while sick by heart, the trudging around and the groaning and the constant banging your head on the desk when you pass out randomly, and damn she was pretty sure even she wasn’t as bad as him. He probably shouldn’t be working at all, to be honest, he was CEO and there was nothing stopping him from taking the day -- or even just a few hours -- off. But, no, from the sound of it he was drinking ungodly amounts of coffee and calling it okay.

And despite the fact that he seemed absolutely miserable, he hadn’t taken it out on anyone. She had yet to hear him be impolite to anyone, not even the people that worked under him. His secretary had made a scheduling mistake and he had not only assured her it was fine but didn’t even require her to fix it.

Even when he was talking to himself while working he never once said anything questionable. And he talked to himself a lot. It was like a podcast, honestly, just hearing him rattle off numbers and weird business terms she hadn’t learned because she was self-taught. He talked almost constantly and he should have slipped up by now, yet here she was three days later with nothing to show for it except for a whole lot of guilt.

Marinette hadn’t thought much about it on the first day, everyone had their good days from time to time. On the second day she said ‘oh, it’s a coincidence’, but on the third day she had to call it: her paranoia had been a little unfounded.

Literally the worst thing about him so far was that he didn’t seem to care much about his own health… and that wasn’t really a bad thing about him as much as it was a bad thing for him.

So, yeah, it looked like she had no real reason to listen in on him anymore.

… but…

Something about him was nagging at her. He was a nice guy and she’d like to be his friend… it was just that, sometimes, she could swear she recognized his voice.

And it wasn’t like there were a lot of people she knew in America, she knew who he probably was.

Her hand itched towards the tiny device hidden under her window seat. One click (and maybe a little researching) and she’d know for sure who the bats were. The only thing stopping her was the knowledge that, if she did know their real names, she’d accidentally call them by them once and immediately get thrown either into a cell or out of Gotham. She was a meta (kind of), she was already on thin ice. She didn’t need the paranoid idiots that were the bats being more wary of her than they already were.

So, she left it alone.

She kept the bug, though. Mostly just because she wanted to hear it directly from him rather than just guessing by his voice. After all, voices can be similar. If he were to directly talk about bat business while she was listening in, though… that would definitely be a point towards her theory, to say the least.

And, yeah, she knew it was kind of messed up. She could be listening in on some innocent guy for all she knew, but it was… morally kind of okay? The whole thing about stalking is that it makes your victim feel unsafe. If he was Red Robin then he had found the bug and hadn’t felt unsafe enough to remove it and if he was a civilian then he would never know about the bug and therefore couldn’t feel unsafe. Therefore, it wasn’t stalking, not really.

… yeah, that makes sense.

She glanced at her sketchbook and yawned. She really needed to get a new outfit idea soon. Good thing Tim said he was taking her out tomorrow --.

Shit, Tim was taking her out tomorrow.

She jumped up from her spot at the window and ran to her closet. What to wear, what to wear...

Frenchie: where are we going tomorrow

Spiderman: It’s a surprise.

Frenchie: fuck your surprises tim what do i need to wear

She heard his laugh crackle through her earpiece. Rude.

Spiderman: Casual clothes.

Frenchie: there are LEVELS of casual tim

Spiderman: Oh, so we’re breaking out the capital letters. This must be serious.

She scoffed. Of course it was serious.

Frenchie: just tell me what to wear

Spiderman: A t-shirt and jeans is fine.

Kwamis, send her strength. Like she was going to wear a t-shirt and jeans. Did he even know who he was talking to?

But at least she had a gauge on how casual she could go. She picked out a light pink button down and black shorts for herself and then, because she had a little bit of foresight, she added some black tights.

She smiled faintly and dropped back in her bed.

She couldn’t wait to see where he was going to take her.

She found out the next day. Because that’s how things work.

She raised her eyebrows. “There’s no way it’s actually called a ‘space museum’. You’ve gotta be lying.”

Tim shrugged, a grin poking at his lips. “Do you really think I’d make it up?”

“Well, considering your outfit, I’d say you aren’t the most creative of guys so maybe you did,” she teased.

Tim looked down at his outfit and pouted. He was wearing little more than a black turtleneck and pants under a white jacket. “Must you make fun of every outfit I wear?”

“Only the bad ones. Seriously, would it kill you to wear a little bit of color?”

He rolled his eyes. “At least I thought to bring a jacket. It’s thirty degrees!”

She had forgotten that Americans used Fahrenheit, sue her.

Of course, she was never going to admit to this. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Maybe I’m just not a wimp.”

He snickered. “Oh, so you’re not cold?”

“Not at all.”

“Then stop hugging that coffee cup.”

She looked down at the coffee cup that was her only source of warmth and happiness in this cruel world that had two different measuring systems (three if you counted Kelvin). She gripped it tighter. “... no.”

He rolled his eyes again and, after a beat of hesitation, shrugged his jacket off and offered it to her.

Marinette normally wouldn’t give in this easy… but she really was cold and his clothes were far thicker than hers were and she knew that her teeth would start chattering soon which would have been so embarrassing...

So she blushed faintly and slipped the jacket on. It smelled like ungodly expensive cologne. “Thanks.”

He grinned. “I’m taking your coffee as payment.”

“No --!”

~

After dropping by a cafe so Marinette didn’t kill him, Tim took her to the space museum (yes, that actually was what it was called).

He thought she would have missed the night sky. Gotham hardly ever had a clear night due to the thick smog that hung over the city like a curse. And they spent quite a lot of time outside at night, she must have been feeling a little homesick.

So, he rented out the museum for the day. Yes, the whole museum. He was rich and mildly famous and what was the point of that if he wasn’t going to use it to make the people he cared about happy? He doubted she would be able to enjoy the sights as much if people were constantly taking pictures of them and asking about their relationship.

She raised her eyebrows just slightly but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the lack of people.

They slipped through the rooms quietly in search of inspiration.

Many of the rooms were your typical museum things: exhibits showing off different space rocks and explaining stars and supernovas. They didn’t stop much here, obviously, there was little to be inspired by. The most that happened for a long while was Marinette stopping from time to time to take a picture of a nice color that she wanted to try and replicate later.

And then she had stopped to look at a spacesuit. She blinked a few times before breaking into a grin and flipping to a new page in her sketchbook. He could barely make out the name ‘Jagged’ from where he was fiddling with his camera a respectable distance away.

So, Marinette, at least, was having a productive time. Tim was… a little stressed, to be honest.

Tim was having a particularly hard time getting ‘inspired’.

It had been years since he had picked up his camera, which was certainly a problem but it wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that he had never been one to take pictures of locations or objects. Sure, there was the occasional picture of the Gotham skyline, but he had always had a tendency towards taking pictures of people. Batman and Robin working as a team to take out a bunch of thugs, Robin and Nightwing racing each other across the rooftops, Batman and Nightwing stopping for ice cream after a particularly long patrol… and now he wanted to take pictures of Marinette.

But that would be weird because a) the first day he had implied he took pictures of attractions in order to alleviate suspicion about why he just so happened to be on the same rooftop as her and b) she probably wouldn’t think they were close enough for him to take pictures of her.

He kind of wished he could just go back to the old days where his subjects didn’t know he was there and he wouldn’t have to worry about what they would think about him if he took a picture of them.

His fingers itched towards the camera hanging from his neck because she looked so cute with her tongue poking out of her mouth and her orange, yellow, and white colored pencils sticking out from between her fingers like little Wolverine claws and he loved the way his jacket looked on her and --.

“You can stop staring, I’ll be done as fast as I can.”

His brain shorted out and the only response he could come up with was a squeaky: “Sorry?”

She looked up from her work with an awkward smile. “I’m sorry it’s taking so long, I just… if I don’t do it now it’ll slip my mind. I’m working as fast as I can, though.”

He was rebooting. Give him a minute.

Ah, there it was.

Wait, she thought he was being impatient?

“Nononono take your time, it’s fine! I just...”

He trailed off before he could finish the thought because this was the second time they had hung out he couldn’t make things awkward between them already.

… but she was giving him a confused, vaguely concerned, look and he was pretty sure that if he didn’t come up with something soon it would be awkward anyways.

“IwasjustwonderingifIcouldtakeapictureofyou?” He blurted out before he could stop himself again.

She blinked once. Twice. And then a blush spread across her face.

“Oh. Uh… sure?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said.

“It’s fine. A little sudden but… fine,” she said with a tiny smile.

Tim couldn’t keep the smile off of his face.

Not one to be blushy for long, apparently, Marinette flashed a wink. “Should I call up my friend Adrien for modeling tips or…?”

He rolled his eyes and schooled his face back into his usual grin. “It’s fine, just keep working. I’ll figure out angles and stuff.”

She tipped her head to the side confusedly. “Don’t you need me to be still?”

He didn’t look up from messing with the settings of his camera. “Not at all. You’re probably going to be one of my easier pictures.”

“... thanks…?”

“I do mostly nighttime photography. Capturing things in motion without it blurring requires a --.” He cringed. “Sorry, um… basically, when you want to take photos of things that are moving fast, you need a lot of natural light.”

“... you can talk about it more in depth, if you want.”

He shrugged. “I’d bore you.”

“I like your voice,” she said… then she seemed to realize the implications because she cleared her throat and did her best to backtrack: “In comparison to every other American I’ve heard so far, at least. Why do your accents… sound like that?”

“Ah, yes, because everyone knows that French people have the best accents.”

“Excuse you, I have been told by many people that my accent is actually very nice.”

He grinned. “By whom? Half-drunk men on the street?”

She gasped as if offended. “I get my information from much more reliable sources... like drunk women in bathrooms, thank you very much.”

“I see. My mistake. I apologize.”

“As you should.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Don’t you have a design to make?” She looked down at her sketchbook and a silence stretched between them as she squinted at her design.

“You forgot what you were doing, didn’t you?”

She groaned and rested her head in her hands.

He took a picture of her exasperated pout.

~

Marinette ended up with two outfits.

One was for Jagged, based off of the spacesuit she had seen. She had figured that, with all the songs he wrote about being free, there was bound to be one about how he ‘finally had his own space’. It was good to be prepared.

The other was for Cassandra Wayne. Marinette hadn’t thought much about it, to be honest. She just knew that Cassandra liked the color black with designs on top of it, and that the planetarium had a nice star pattern that would work for that. It would be super expensive, what with all the gems she would need, but it wasn’t like the Waynes couldn’t afford it.

… and then she looked up to see Tim pouting.

She giggled, resting her head on her hand. “What?”

“My sister is getting a dress and I’m not.”

Oh, so he was an actual fan. Interesting.

She brushed that conversation aside in favor of teasing him: “You want a dress?”

“Yes! No? Yes? I --.” He huffed and took a seat in the chair next to her. “I have faith anything you make will look nice.”

She felt a blush rise to her face and she rolled her eyes. “Hm. Telling the person in charge of your wardrobe ‘I have full faith in you’ is a terrible idea.”

“Oh? I don’t think you, in good conscience, can make and give me anything bad.”

She squinted at him for a minute before breaking into a grin. “Wanna bet?”

He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing her for a few moments, before smirking. “Sure, how about we put five thousand on it?”

She choked. She’d forgotten he was rich rich.

She was quick to backtrack: “Nah. With all your fashion choices so far I can’t trust you not to wear it to some Gala or whatever it is you rich people do.”

“Damn, there goes that plan.”

She grinned and looked down at her sketchbook. After a few seconds she flipped to a new page. She squinted at his outfit for a few moments before starting to doodle something.

“What’re you making now?”

“I’m making you something with some color.”

He huffed. “Excuse you, I’m a goth in a family of goths. I can’t wear color.”

“Yeah, yeah. Trust me, I know. I’d say Richard is the black sheep of the family in that aspect but he’s the one wearing color.”

He laughed a little. “So Dick is the white sheep, then?”

“Yea --.” She stopped and then squinted over at him. “Dick?”

“It’s what he insists everyone calls him.”

She looked down at her sketchbook for a moment, processing, and then shook her head. “Your brother has a degradation kink.”

Tim brought his hand to his mouth in stunned silence before pulling his phone from his pocket and definitely not informing the family group chat of his discovery.

She snickered and went to work on the outfit again. It was a simple one, because she didn’t want to go too far out of his comfort zone, but there was no way she was going to be friends with a monochromatic idiot.

She leaned over until her head rested on his shoulder. He tensed up just a little before resting his head on top of hers.

~

When she had finished he took a picture of the planetarium to keep up pretenses and they had made their leave.

… but first, they stopped by the gift shop. Because why not?

Tim could have bought everything there for Marinette -- and probably would have, if asked -- but, considering she had freaked out about five thousand dollars earlier, he figured maybe he should keep that more or less quiet.

Instead, he followed her around while idly bouncing a Saturn shaped bouncy ball. It was a terrible shape for a bouncy ball and he kind of loved it, to be honest. Not to mention the little smile Marinette made behind her hand every time the ball would try another mad dash for freedom was pretty cute.

And then they hit the t-shirt section. And her lips twitched as she reached out and picked up a bright blue shirt that said ‘May the F=MA be with you’ in white text.

“It’s awful. It’s perfect.”

He grinned. “Wow, look at you. You know one of the simplest physics formulas by heart, aren’t you smart?” He joked.

She bowed. “I know, I know.”

He held out a hand for it and she stared at him for a few seconds in confusion.

“I’ll hold it until we get to the front desk.”

She squinted at him. “I’m paying for my own shirt.”

“I can afford it,” he said with a sigh.

“So can I.”

“Either you let me pay for it or I’ll keep track of everything you buy while with me and add it to your commissions.”

“... either you let me pay for it or I’ll never make an outfit for you ever again. I know your measurements and style, Timothy, you won’t be able to get past me.”

They narrowed their eyes at each other, daring each other to call their bluffs…

And then his shoulders sagged. “Fine.”

He’d just have to use his connections to lower prices on fabrics for her. Did he mention that he was rich and mildly famous? Yeah. It was pretty cool.

~

She smiled as she leaned against the doorframe to her apartment. “Thanks for taking me out. It was fun.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled back. She was determinedly ignoring the way his smile made little butterflies flutter in her stomach. She patently hated butterflies. They weren’t allowed.

“I had fun, too. Want to do it again, sometime?”

“... sure, I guess you passed my test.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Your test?”

“Oh, yeah.” She waved him off. “If you had made any creepy comments today I would have blocked you.”

He seemed a little relieved by this information, though she wasn’t quite sure why. “That’s a pretty good test to have in Gotham.”

“I know, I’m pretty smart,” she said jokingly.

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

Damn it, now she was blushing. Shit.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you flatter every girl you take to the space museum? Is this your strategy?”

He snickered. “Well, considering you’re the only girl I’ve taken, I’m going to have to say yes.”

She hummed. “I’m glad I’m so special to you, because that means you won’t drop me when I never give you this jacket back.”

He huffed. “You can’t just do that.”

“I can and will,” she teased. Then, because she wasn’t a completely cruel person, she reached up to her coatrack and pulled down a red scarf for him. “Here, take this so it’s more of a trade than stealing.”

“If I don’t?”

“Then you get to walk back to your house in the cold like that.”

He snorted. “What happened to not wanting to steal?”

“At least I offered!”

He rolled his eyes and leaned down so she could wrap the scarf around his neck.

She looked up at him, a blush spreading across her face, and then carefully draped it over his shoulders. “There. Now you have a splash of color.”

He smiled at her. “Ah, I see, this was all just a plot to get me to wear colors. It all makes sense now.”

“Of course.” She tugged him down more by the scarf to press a kiss to his nose. “You should wear red and black more often. They’re totally your colors.”

He smiled a little dopily. “You have no idea.”

She pushed his face away. “Weirdo. Go be cryptic somewhere else.”

“Fine, fine. See you in a few days.”

“See you then.”

~~~

Bonus Batfam group chat stuff

Timtamalam: What if Dick makes everyone call him that because he has a degradation kink?

LetMeLeaveTheChat: i fucking hate this family.

BloodSon: This is exactly the kind of lowbrow humor to be expected of you, Drake.

Timtamalam: I’m unappreciated in my time.

CAss: :0

Timtamalam: See, this is why Cass is the favorite.

YouDontSeeMe: DickJoke please respond

DickJoke: I raised each and every one of you and this is the thanks I get

LetMeLeaveTheChat: sucks to suck, dickwad.

DickJoke: That’s it when I get through all this dumb Heartless stuff I’m coming back to the manor and we’re all going to have family time

CAss: :(

ItsEggplantNotPurple: damn it

YouDontSeeMe: crap

LetMeLeaveTheChat: fuck. and an extra “fuck” on duke’s behalf.

BloodSon: Look at what you have done, Drake.

Timtamalam: Sorry guys.

[papa-rhys]

Thoughts on Jack and His Borderline Personality Disorder and How It Shows Through His Behaviour - Because I Cannot Stop Analysing Things That Ultimately Aren’t Important

Symptoms/behaviours under the cut because holy hell this guy has a lot of them. Like, honey, are you okay?

Okay, so I’m pretty sure I can trace Jack’s BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) back to his grandmother. His mum abandoned him, which shows a reckless/irresponsible behaviour and her mum had fits of rage that didn’t correlate at all with the trigger (ie; drowning Jack’s cat because he didn’t make his bed). So I think he has a family history of it, with both his mother and grandmother having BPD and passing it down to him.

Either way, Jack definitely has it. In fact, he’s a textbook case of it.

Impulsivity

Spending sprees: he bought a pony made of diamonds because he was bored and throws money at all kinds of ventures to keep him occupied and because he wants to. I really don’t know how else to describe this one lol. He bought a pony. Made of diamonds. Because he could.

Gambling: won some of the things on his trophy shelf through poker and owns an entire casino. Hunting the Vaults themselves were a huge gamble too, especially the first two, since he wasn’t truly sure that they existed. He was prepared to sacrifice a lot in order to come out on top in both his career and his social standing. All in all, he’s reckless.

Binge eating: he doesn’t even like pretzels, but still eats them because he’s either bored or stressed. Talks about food quite a bit in conversation, too, especially his cravings.

Substance abuse: admits to being high on uppers for the duration of the pre sequel (and his time on Elpis as a whole) and tells further anecdotes about drugs and getting high in tftbl.

Promiscuity/unsafe sex: nothing about having sex with Nisha is safe lol. But in all seriousness, there’s no way to prove this one. He does strike me as the reckless sex sort though. No proof, just 7 years of knowing him as a character.

Emotional instability

Inappropriate trigger response: he strangles a man to death for simply mentioning his wife, stabs Lilith for talking about Angel, and tries to kill Rhys for not being sure about his grand plan (more on this later). His response to triggers is disproportionate, often resulting in extreme anger over small things that don’t warrant that intense of a reaction. He gets big angry about almost everything; there’s no middle ground. His reaction is never really “you’re annoying me a lot” or “don’t talk about that, I don’t like it.” His reaction to almost everything is “oh my god I will murder your first born child how dare you-”

Quickly changing mood: aside from being prone to fits of rage at the flick of a switch, Jack also flicks back to “normal” pretty quickly, too. He flips between telling you to kill yourself after surviving the train and then talks casually about his day. He’ll be filled with rage after Angel’s death and then suddenly he’s laughing about you jumping into lava and having fun tricking you into visiting his grandmother. He can be intensely angry or sorrowful one moment and then nonchalant and sociable the next. His moods don’t last very long.

Idolisation/devaluation

Jack does this with numerous people across the games, but the two shining examples are Moxxi and Rhys; Rhys being the most notable. He idolises Moxxi, complimenting her on how attractive she is and how smart she is and including her in his circle of close friends/teammates. Then the inevitable happens and she lets him down and he instantly changes his opinion on her as if he’d never thought she was good to begin with. The same happens with Rhys. Throughout tftbl, Jack is best friends with Rhys and seems to form a one-sided connection with him where he idolises him and thinks they’re going to be best friends for ever and that they’re the perfect team. You cannot make him mad at you in tftbl (trust me, I’ve tried). He’s encouraging to Rhys the whole way through, like they’re brothers. Then the second Rhys displays doubts about something Jack is passionate about, Jack reacts violently and completely devalues Rhys, claiming him to be his mortal enemy and trying to kill him. People with BPD do this often. They have strong convictions and have a tendency to feel betrayed by people who go against those convictions. Jack does this regularly and it leads to the breakup of a lot of his relationships.

Paranoia

He vented a room full of scientists into space, just in case. I mean, that pretty much sums it up, really. Jack is under a lot of stress at this point in the game and stress-induced paranoia is a particularly difficult symptom of BPD. With him already feeling the pressure, the mention of a possible mole is a huge trigger for Jack. Especially since he’s reeling from the recent betrayal from a friend. His brain is already working over time, planting uneasy feelings of distrust and being unsafe. So when he’s presented with the idea from an outside source, he runs with it. Betrayal goes on to become a big button to push in Jack’s life to the extent that he actively betrays people before they get a chance to betray him (ie; killing Wilhelm). Paranoia feeds into a lot of Jack’s bad decisions, particularly in the pre sequel era.

Delusion

Jack wasn’t lying when he told us that he’s the hero. He absolutely was not the hero at all, but he wasn’t lying about it. Because lying about something implies that you know it’s not true, and Jack genuinely believes he’s a good person. The best person, in fact. It’s not a lie because in his mind, it’s the god given truth. He’s massively delusional, even before the events of the pre sequel. He’ll spout all the cheesy 80s movie lines about saving the moon and being the hero and he thinks he’s the protagonist of his own big adventure. We know that’s not what’s happening, but Jack doesn’t see it that way. Another delusion is the idea he has about how much everyone loves him. He thinks Moxxi is obsessed with him and he thinks Angel is being forced to work against him. He cannot conceive of a world in which people don’t like him or agree with him. Because why wouldn’t they agree with him? He’s the hero. Everybody loves the hero...

Intense but unstable relationships

Moxxi, Angel, Lilith, the Vault Hunter; I could go on. Jack’s relationships with people are volatile and rocky, even when they’re seemingly on the same side like with Moxxi or even Nisha (who he forms a tight bond with very quickly). People with BPD feel all emotions intensely, which causes a roller coaster. Jack really likes Moxxi, but then he doesn’t want to talk to her, but then he wants her on the team, but then he gets mad at her for calling him a pet name and beign friendly, and then he’s telling her she’s sexy, and then he’s cursing her, and then he’s hanging pictures of her in his casino. It’s the same with Angel - he subjects her to physical torture, then he loves her, then he’s mad at her for helping the Vault Hunter, then he’s doting on her, then he’s manipulating her, then he’s grieving for her. Everything is a whirlwind.

Distorted self-image

Oh boy. Jack has this physically and mentally. Mentally in the sense that he thinks he’s a good person when he actions are abhorrent and also because he’s massively insecure. BPD often comes with a lack of identity, which causes insecurity to begin with. Throw that in a pot alongside some childhood abuse, betrayal, work place bullying, and grief, and you got yourself a big pot of insecurity soup. Put plainly, Jack doesn’t really know who he is at his baseline. His personality and interests and ideas and needs all change on an hourly basis. He morphs to suit his circumstances. He can be open, honest and down to earth when he’s trying to trick Rhys. He can be full of worry and desperation when he needs you to head to grandma’s house. He can be cunning and clever when he’s tricking you into killing Wilhelm. He can be fatherly, he can be nasty, he can be torturous, he can be laid back, he can be clever, he can be ignorant, he can be sheepish, he can be cocky. He’s everyone and no one all at once and this probably leaves him feeling very hollow and empty; which is another symptom of BPD. In the physical sense, Jack issues with self image are pretty clear. He wears a face over his face to hide his face. Yup. And he does this because he thinks he’s disgracefully ugly. This scar he’s so vehemently protective of is something that defines his whole persona going forward. He literally claims himself as Handsome Jack, forcing people to adhere to the idea that he’s so attractive that it should be his title. Even though he doesn’t feel that way and does everything he can to hide the real him. He thinks he’s hideous and he struggles between loving himself and hating himself because of it.

Fear of abandonment

Aaaand here we are at the crux of the problem. BPD boils down to the intense fear of abandonment and this is probably what guides Jack for most of his life. His father died, his mother literally abandoned him, his grandmother neglected him, his first wife died, second wife left, girlfriend and friends betrayed him, and daughter killed herself to get away from him. Abandonment is practically coded into Jack’s DNA at this point and every time it happens, it confirms his fears more. He clings to Moxxi after she betrays him - taking her ideas to try and rile her up and even going as far as to recreate her entire bar in his casino because he wants to keep her presence around. He fights tooth and claw against Angel’s rebellion, begging both her and you to stop what you’re doing and leave. The only time he begs you is when he’s facing perceived abandonment, that’s how strong the fear is. His final words to Angel are “I’ll still forgive you.” Jack isn’t a forgiving man by any stretch, but he’ll say anything he has to in order to prevent her from leaving him. He’ll stalk people, he’ll manipulate them, he’ll lie to them or keep them physically locked up - all to prevent them from abandoning him. The worst possible thing that could happen to Jack is that, and we see the spiral he slips into after Angel. After Moxxi. After the Meriff. After his wife. He can’t bare the thought of someone leaving him and he’ll do anything and everything to prevent his fears becoming a reality.

So yeah! There it is, I finally got around to posting it lol. There’s probably a lot more little details that I’ve forgotten, but I cannot think of them right now. I’ll probably update if I think of any more! The tl;dr is that almost all of Jack’s behaviour can be linked to massively untreated BPD. He needed meds and therapy, but he didn’t get them and he spiralled as a result.

[kitsu-katsu]

Hello there, I've come to rant about c!Dream because a friend of mine is worried for him being mistreated and I feel like if I said any of this in twitter I'd get some people agreeing, but also I'd get jumped by some "apologists".

C!Dream is such a bastard and I have no empathy for him.

He sees the world as a chess board, all other people being his chess pieces that he can move around as he pleases. He's a puppet master, a manipulator through and through.

And I can't fathom being like "Oww, but look at how he called out for Sam when Quackity took out the axe, poor green baby". Yeah, getting a bit panicked is something I'd expect from anyone who's getting confronted with the prospect of having their faces rearranged, but did you guys forget that he already had Tommy in the same exact situation, only MUCH WORSE. Tommy was completely powerless when calling for Sam in there, calling for Phil too, he was locked up with his abuser and had been for a week, Dream had already worn him down until he was helpless, doubting himself constantly and utterly traumatized in exile, and now all that came together as he was locked up with Dream in a tight space for days resulting in him getting beat to death.

Dream isn't even threatened by death (at least on Quackity's hands), because he knows the knowledge of that book gives him power over everyone else still, he can't be killed, not untill he gives that knowledge away.

And for me it gets worse when people start saying that Vilbur was just as bad as Dream. Fuck off with that nonsense. It's so utterly easy to make a case as to why Vilbur acted like he did, what led him to where he ended up and what fueled his bad choices. Dream? Dream wasn't overcome by an overwhelming paranoia and a sense of being utterly worthless in the eyes of the people close to him as soon as he lost power, Dream didn't see his own death as the only possible poetic escape from all his problems, Dream didn't question and condemn himself upon seeing himself as "the bad guy", "the dragon to be slain". Dream always had power, he was always tyrannical, he didn't want L'manburg to be a thing because his power and status quo was threatened, he then helped destroy it twice because again, that's give him more control over people, that'd put the citizens into the greater SMP lands as well as have a fear for him reinstated, and what better way to controll people like play things than by instilling absolute fear in them and showing no vulnerability? It's the reason Tubbo exiled Tommy, he knew they couldn't win against Dream and when Tommy tried to use perceived attachments of Dream against him, he saw that he has none (Come on, Dream was literally trying to collect ALL ATTACHMENTS of the server in his base, INCLUDING SKEPPY HIMSELF, MY GOD).

The only moments where Dream paints himself as vulnerable are in the prison cell, when he's with someone from whom he'll gain something from seeming vulnerable. Look like a kicked puppy in front of Bad to possibly have better accomodations once he becomes a guard. Look all sad and defiant with his no talking day in front of Sapnap saying it's because they took his clock (he burnt that clock all the time, if I was Sam I'd stop renewing it as well) to possibly get more empathy from an old friend he left behind, even if Sapnap didn't concede to him coming out ever and said that he himself would kill him if he did in the end. Look all powerless in front of Quackity because he came prepared to do what it takes to take that sacred knowledge he won't give to anyone.

TLDR: C!Dream is a good villain, he's a villain you can really just hate and who doesn't really have any sympathetic side because he has no attachments, no change to him, is truly only looking to further his own goal of using people as puppets when he pleases and have the server be his doll house, and doesn't even have any perspective like all others that could even tell us "well these moments led him to be like this". He's just a pure manipulative bastard all the way through.

[tack-tick]

First Crack

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31025765

Wrote an SBI Swap One-shot. Mainly becasue Phil and Techno’s relationship gets basically destroyed in this AU and this is the beginning of that. Also, this is the start of Techno’s issues down the line.

So yeah very important fic in the SBI Swap. Thanks to @sleepy-bois-incorporated for beta-reading this fic! They’ve got some good fics that I highly recommend you read!

Thanks for reading and it’s under the cut! It’s about 2.4K words!

Techno was so ready to stop taking care of this farm. Sure, he enjoyed potato farming but there’s only so long you can work on the same farm without getting bored.

He stretched as he finally loaded the last of the potatoes into a sack for him to take back to his base. Techno glanced at the clock stuck on the dirt wall and winced at the time. If he’d known, it was so late would have left earlier. He heard the mocking of Chat, with mummers of “Technolate!”

He heaved the sack of potatoes over his shoulder and started the trek from Pogtopia to his secret base. He used to just stay in his room here but he had decided he needed some space. Well, that was what he had told Phil.

He wouldn’t say him and Phil were fighting, that was a pretty strong word after all. It was more like they had been having… disagreements. Almost every day. For a couple of months. That more often than not ended in the two shouting at each other before someone, most likely Tommy, would yell at them to shut up.

So yeah, Techno could admit that things were a bit rocky between him and Phil. That was only because Phil had become a paranoid fool down here. He was working with Dream, of all people! He had been saying they were the bad guys and that he was going to blow it up and all this other nonsense. Techno has given up two whole lives for this and there was no way he was letting Phil throw it all away!

Techno stopped and took a breathe. No, he was getting worked up again and it couldn’t help that he could hear Chat started to get worked up too, causing red to spread at the edge of his vision.

Even if Phil had been acting very different than normal, Techno couldn’t just leave him behind. Phil had gotten screwed over by so many people and there was no way Techno would add another knife in his back. It was why him and Ranboo hadn’t just run off to the cabin in the woods. Far away from wars and duels, where Wilbur and Fundy were safely tucked away.

He wished he told Ranboo to go without him. He stopped in front of the hole that separated Ranboo’s room from the main area. He didn’t really know why his feet had taken him there but he might as well check on him. After all, Ranboo was his… brother? Maybe? Techno wasn’t sure but Chat was awfully protective of him after the whole fireworks in the chest thing.

Techno poked his head into the room and saw Ranboo sleeping on his bed straight ahead. His arms were still wrapped up tight with white bandages but at least he wasn’t having a bad dream tonight. Techno could see the faint glow of the purple burn scars on his face and through the bandages. Ranboo had said that was just an enderman thing.

“Looks fine to me, Chat,” Techno whispered and he left the room. Certainly better than a couple of weeks ago. Techno continued on past Phil’s room and heard the faint caws of the injured crows Phil kept in there. He hoped that they would get better soon, considering that Phil hadn’t cleaned that room for months now. As Techno was about to go around the corner, he heard whispering.

He summoned his sword from his inventory and pressed his back against the wall. He inches closer to the edge and tried to make out what the voices were.

“Come on Phil, he hardly looks in these chests!” Tommy said with a whine. Techno slumped a little in relief. He put the sword back in his inventory. While he would normally confront Tommy about stealing his stuff again, he really didn’t feel like it tonight. Besides, he could let Phil handle this one. He casually leaned against the wall. If Tommy wouldn’t budge, he’d step in and make it two against one.

“Tommy, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t piss him off,” Phil said. Techno heard the opening of a chest lid and the annoyed sigh of Phil.

“Ah, but that’s the best part Phil!” Tommy said with a small chuckle.

“Tommy, we need to keep Techno at our side,” Phil said and Techno frowned at the unfortunately familiar paranoia in his voice. Was he really paranoid of even him? Sure, he’d talked about how they couldn’t even trust Ranboo. It was what one of their bigger arguments had been about but surely Phil knew that Techno would never in a million years betray him.

It was why he hadn’t just left all of this behind when Ranboo had asked if they should run away.

“Techno? Psh, that’s about as likely as me betraying Tubbo or Wilbur,” Tommy said flippantly. He heard the chest lid close and creak as he assumed Tommy was leaning on it. “Besides, we’ve gotta stick together! We’re family!”

The silence seemed to fill the room as Techno waited for Phil to agree.

“Right, Phil?” Tommy said, his voice softer and more hesitant than it had been before.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say we need Technoblade exactly,” Phil said, slowly and thoughtfully. The chest creaked again as Tommy presumably shot to his feet.

“Let me finish,” Phil said with a small yet dark laugh. “I said we don’t need Technoblade but,”

“We do need The Blood God,”

Techno had clamped his hand over his mouth in a desperate effort to not cry out, to not scream. He slid down the wall and onto the floor, his back against the wall. Chat was ringing in his ears, their voices mixed with rage and grief.

How long? How long had Phil been thinking of him like this? When had Phil started thinking of him as just a weapon to fight for him?

Techno tried to focus back on the conversation, but everything in his head was too loud.

Sure, people had used him before but most of the time they were honest. Pay him to go fight something then separate. He was fine with that but sometimes it seemed like he had made a real friend. Then, when the fighting was done they just… left.

Not Phil though, never Phil. Phil had been the one to save him from himself when he was just a kid and Phil had been the one who had held him tight when Chat got out of control.

A sharp slam on a wall wrenched him back to reality.

“Are you fucking serious Phil?” Said Tommy. “He’s not a fucking weapon, he’s a person!”

“I don’t need a person right now!” Phil said. “People stab you in the back but weapons never do!”

Techno heard Phil chuckle at that but it wasn’t the warm laugh from the old days when him and his brothers would bicker about something stupid. No, it was darker, the one he used when he insisted that they needed to be the bad guys and blow it all to kingdom come. When Phil insisted that they couldn’t trust Ranboo, even after he got himself blown up with a damn firework because of his spying for them.

“Phil, you’re starting to freak me out a little,” said Tommy and Phil let out a bark of laughter at that.

“Oh am I?” He said, “What, you gonna run back to Wilbur? I thought you wanted excitement!”

“Phil, this isn’t you! Stop saying this shit about him!” Tommy said and Techno heard two steps on the floor. Whether it was two steps forward or two steps back he wasn’t sure.

“Stop being a naive child, Tommy,” Phil said, “I can’t afford to be too personal with anyone anymore and The Blood God is the best fighter on this entire server and you know it!” There was a sharp bang on the chest lid. “If he decides he wants to work with Manberg, we’re fucked!”

“Surely you know Techno would never do that,” Tommy said. “Surely, you know how hurt he would be if he knew what you’re saying right now!”

“I don’t care how he feels. As long as he can fight, that’s all I need,”

With that, Techno heard the flap of wings and he guessed that Phil had flown off. He heard the sound of running and then everything was quiet.

However, quiet never lasted long and Techno held his hand against his mouth even tighter as the Char roared in his head.

“Used us!” “Lied to us!” “How could he…” “We trusted him!” “Kill him!”

Techno stumbled to his feet. He was still clutching the potato sack and his knuckles had turned white. He started walking then he was running.

He had to get out of this suddenly too small ravine right now. His vision was flashing red and Chat was only getting louder and louder by the second. He bit his lip in order to keep quiet even as he tasted blood on his tongue.

He finally reached the winding stairs and ran up them, almost tripping on his cloak. He got upstairs and flung the door open. The cool, fresh air of the night hit him and he was never so grateful in his life for it.

He wasn’t in the clear yet, however. He still had to get to his base. He started walking through the woods. Chat had quieted down a bit but now he had a headache that rang through his skull.

He got to the river and dove in. He swam down the bottom and opened the trapdoor. With that he finally landed in his base.

He sat down on the couch in the… oh.

He was in the living room. The one place that Phil had helped him decorate before he had started acting unlike himself. It was filled with potted plants and a cozy rug on the floor. It didn’t match because they had been forced to smuggle out old furniture that had been thrown out. He sighed and put his head in his hands. He sniffed when he felt a strange wetness on his cheeks. Did he have a leak on the ceiling again?

He wiped his cheek and he realized.

“Oh,” Techno quietly said. He was crying. He wiped his cheeks again.

“Who else is…” he muttered to himself. He thought he had finally found a group of people that wouldn’t use him. He had trusted all of them. He really had!

He… he had trusted Phil. What a fool he was.

He got up from the couch with a jolt and started pacing the room.

“I gave up everything for his fucking country!” He said, his vision getting redder and redder by the minute. “What else is he lying to me about?” His pacing was getting faster and faster.

“I don’t need him!” He said with a watery laugh. Chat was in his ears fully now but they were being so loud. They were being so loud, too loud. He couldn’t hear anything. His eyes were burning and why the hell was he still crying for someone who he wasn’t sure had ever cared about him.

“SHUT UP!” He yelled and slammed his fist against the stone wall. He stood there, with his fist in the wall and trying to catch his breath. Cracks spread from the fist like veins.

Suddenly, Techno felt something small on his chest. Still leaning against the wall, he used his other hand to reach down and grip it.

Oh, he’d almost forgotten he had this. He looked down at the small emerald necklace in the palm of his hand. The emerald was lined with gold.

Techno remembered this. Him and Phil had found these on one of their many adventures. They had found a village and Phil borrowed an anvil to carve something into them.

He called them Friendship Emeralds. He remembered they had laughed at the cheesiness of it, but Techno had still kept his. All this time, he had made sure the emerald necklace had stayed around his neck.

He clutched the necklace tighter. Did Phil still have his? Had he thrown it away?

He had promised Phil the world once and he gave it to him. So why was Phil going to take what he had given him and render it useless?

With an angry yet sorrowful roar, Techno ripped the necklace off and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a crack.

“Oh no,” Techno said and he immediately went to where he saw it shimmering on the ground. Chat’s laughter filled his head.

“Serves him right!” “Ha, emerald is gone!” “Technothrow!”

“Please don’t be broken, please don’t be broken,” he muttered to himself as he bent down to examine it. He sighed in relief. Despite little bits of emerald surrounding it, the core was still intact. All that was there was a long, thin crack that stretched from the top to the bottom. Techno stuffed it in his cloak’s pocket. He’d have to find a replacement gold chain later.

Techno just sat on the floor. No, he had to start thinking straight. Even if Phil said those things about him, that didn’t mean he was giving up on him. He was only messed up because of the war and being stuck in Pogtopia for such a long time. However, even Techno wasn’t sure what Phil would do in a week’s time. After the fighting was finally over and they had reclaimed their country. They would get back L’Manberg, no doubt in his mind about that. If Phil decided to do something stupid, then who could talk him out of it?

Suddenly, Techno knew exactly who he needed to write to. He could hear that Chat had the same idea and was saying his name over and over again.

Techno quickly got up and rummaged through a chest and found a pen and paper. He sat down on the couch and started writing a letter in what was probably the worst handwriting he’d ever write but that didn’t matter. He had to get this letter to him as fast as possible.

The person who was supposed to be here in the first place. Who hadn’t come becasue he had a son to take care of. Who had the charisma and charm to convince anybody to do practically anything. Who was one of the smartest people Techno knew. The one person who Phil would never think would have any reason to betray him.

“Dear Wilbur…”

[amhohwa]

「 headcanon questions | accepting 」 —asked by @holographic-confidence, @exhuntra, @gueyveloz, @diamondtrail, @kiiingkobra, @lovclythief, @paquectric, @illusionage.

016. WHAT IS HIS WEAPON OF CHOICE? in the arena, he likes a few different types of weapons. im also biased so he likes the weapons that i like since he’s my main LOL. ideal loadout is a volt smg + r-301 carbine, though he’d also be satisfied with r-301 + charge rifle or r-301 + longbow dmr.

for any reconnaissance missions or other outside-the-arena activities, he favors a silenced pistol and a data knife.

also, of course, using hack as a bludgeoning weapon. he likes doing that quite a bit.

019. IF HE COULD HAVE A SUPERPOWER, WHAT WOULD HE CHOOSE? time travel. :^)

023. WHAT DOES HE CONSIDER BEAUTIFUL IN OTHERS PHYSICALLY? movement and posture. there’s something about the way a person carries themself, whether it’s with graceful poise, a tall and strong posture, or a confident swagger that crypto admires. probably because he tries to make himself as unobtrusive possible, to move through the world without being noticed too much. others who can carry themselves with confidence, not caring if anyone is watching them—he finds that really beautiful.

024. WHAT DOES HE CONSIDER UGLY IN OTHERS PHYSICALLY? this is hard just because i dont think he really cares what a person looks like when it comes to attraction. he’s definitely a believe that ugliness is something that shows in you because of your actions and your personality.

bad breath and bad teeth are up there though LOL

025. WHAT DOES HE CONSIDER BEAUTIFUL IN OTHERS PERSONALITY-WISE? kindness and optimism, even when faced with really difficult or terrible circumstances. he finds it really admirable that some people don’t feel the need to harden up and close themselves off in response to their trauma and hardships.

026. WHAT DOES HE CONSIDER UGLY IN OTHERS PERSONALITY-WISE? blatant and extreme cruelty. like, yeah, he’s a huge dick himself and he can say some mean things at times, but he’s definitely not the type to revel in making other people’s lives hell for the fun of it and he’s disgusted by people who do.

027. WHAT IS HIS IDEA OF PERFECT HAPPINESS? right now crypto thinks he’ll be happy if he can clear his name, reunite with mila, and go home to suotamo and mystik. of course all of us know that is not a realistic dream and it’s never going to happen because he is unable to come to grips with the fact that he will never go back to his old life.

028. WHAT MAKES HIM LAUGH OUT LOUD? sadly nothing really does :/ it really would take a lot for that to happen. either some kind of unexpected funny thing happening or some kind of absurd statement or joke or something like that. crypto’s not a laugher, sorry 😔

029. WHAT SORT OF SENSE OF HUMOR DOES HE HAVE? on the surface? a very mean sense of humor. insults, ‘playful’ ribbing, calling everyone that’s not natalie an idiot, etc. he also enjoys sarcasm a great deal as well as deadpan humor just to fuck with people.

but he’s also not immune to a good pun (’data way,’ for example)

030. DOES HE BELIEVE IN THE AFTERLIFE? no, not really. he’s an atheist and doesn’t think there’s anything waiting for us after we die.

031. IS HE SUPERSTITIOUS ABOUT ANYTHING? not in the way this question is asking, no. he’s too much of a realist/left-brain for anything like that.

032. DOES HE BELIEVE IN GHOSTS? no (see above)

033. DOES HE KEEP HIS PROMISES? i feel like crypto makes very few promises to anyone he doesn’t trust because yes, he does actually try to keep them.

034. WHAT’S HIS VIEW OF LYING? big big fan of lying over here. love it, will do it until he dies, 10/10 because to him lying = security.

035. WHAT IS THE MOST IMPORTANT RULE CRYPTO LIVES BY? trust nothing and no one.

038. WHAT BAD HABITS DOES HE HAVE? where to even start! LOL 

he has a plethora of bad habits. some of the more obvious are:

not getting enough sleep/pushing himself to stay up all night

not eating consistent meals

vaping

overworking

but then there are some less obvious ones like pushing people away, freezing people out, distrusting EVERYONE, and all his other little paranoid habits like:

scanning everyone who comes to his home for weapons

setting up surveillance cams around places he frequents

not eating food made by others/that doesn’t come in a sealed container

maintaining a minimalist lifestyle specifically because he will have to run again in the future

crypto is an unhealthy mess!

039. WHAT DO THEY THINK IS THE WORST THING THAT CAN BE DONE TO A PERSON? hmmm this is a hard one. because there’s the very obvious answer of, like, being tortured or assaulted and really terrible things like that but maybe those things go without saying. so in his opinion, the worst thing that can happen to a person is becoming completely stripped of their identity. it is so alienating and othering to have who you are at your core foundationally upended 

046. HOW DOES HE HANDLE GETTING SICK? like most things, crypto doesn’t handle it much at all LOL. once he realizes he’s getting sick he pushes himself through it as much as he possibly can to keep working/fighting/whatever until he physically collapses from it, whether that’s literally fainting or just falling into bed at night and waking up the next morning too sick to move. then he just lays there and hopes it passes quickly. he is horrible at self-care

049. HOW DOES CRYPTO FEEL ABOUT GROWING OLD? this is maybe a little morbid but crypto doesn’t have many feelings about growing old at the moment because he doesn’t think he’s going to live to being an old man. either the Syndicate is going to kill him or he’s going to die trying to take them down

050. HOW DOES CRYPTO FEEL ABOUT HIS OWN MORTALITY? he accepts his own mortality, and even if he’s not happy about it and even if he will fight it with gnashing teeth and claws, he accepts that he is going to die, probably soon. he’s just working to try and make it so that isn’t a thing that happens

051. IF HE KNEW HE WOULD DIE TOMORROW, WHAT WOULD CRYPTO DO TODAY? send a letter to mystik. try to get a message to mila. then he’d come up with some elaborate plan to try and really fuck things up for the Syndicate. sure it probably wouldn’t matter in the long run since they’re a huge conglomerate and have so much power but he can at least get some people thinking. so something like taking down a big rig of theirs or even just fucking up one of the arenas. something like that

068. HOW STRONG IS CRYPTO’S SENSE OF RESPONSIBILITY? WHAT KINDS OF THINGS TRIGGER IT? hmmm i think crypto has a strong sense of responsibility, just generally speaking. like he keeps his living space neat and does his work on his own time and puts forth effort in the game and all that stuff. he is a very hard-working and dutiful person. i don’t think there’s anything that really ‘triggers’ it either because it’s either he does these things, or he doesn’t, but the only person who cares if he does or not is himself.

072. IN A DUNGEONS & DRAGONS GAME, WHICH CLASS WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE? i’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about this. if he was playing as a character, crypto would be a Divination Wizard for a couple of reasons. first and foremost being that of course he would get access to spells that rely all around foresight and knowledge and that’s what he’s all about—knowing more about everything going on than anyone else. he’d also favor spells that deal lightning damage. the second reason is that the main stat for wizards is Intelligence and u know he’s gotta have that 20 INT babey.

in my D&D au, though, crypto is a multi-classed Divination Wizard and Inquisitve Rogue. started out as a divination wizard as tae joon but then took up some rogue-like skills after going on the run. i picked Inquisitive Rogue because they’re all about perceiving little details and stuff like that. i know that’s more WIS and less INT but it suits crypto imho.

074. WHAT IS CRYPTO’S FAVORITE GAME? sorry in advance that im not going to pick just one. he likes a lot of different kinds of games, but i think his favorite kinds are horror games, games of strategy, and fighting games. so, stuff like detention, dead space, cultist simulator, portal, tekken, street fighter, etc.

078. HOW EMOTIONALLY STABLE IS YOUR CHARACTER? heeeeeee is not LOL. i mean, the reason he keeps such a tight grip on his persona and his emotions is because he’s like one misstep away from a total meltdown. he’s never properly grieved or mourned about what happened to him and having to go on the run, and now he can’t show any kind of emotion because that equals some kind of weakness or chink in the armor.

but under that armor he feels things INTENSELY. everyone gets on his nerves so easily, and everything that’s happened to him in the games so far is piling on: being framed as the mole, having to tell natalie his name, and now pathfinder/caustic. and thats not even touching on his crippling paranoia. it’s a lot from him and he is barely keeping it together. he’s just good at hiding it.

even so, it manifests in all the little ways, right? so like how he cant even enjoy a meal without wondering if it’s poisoned, his inability to sleep through the night, how he has to scan even pathfinder for weapons when he comes into his house. crypto is an mental and emotional disaster

085. DESCRIBE HIM IN THREE WORDS. stoic. resilient. paranoid.

087. HOW WOULD CRYPTO DESCRIBE HIMSELF IN THREE WORDS? genius. prepared. determined.

[paintmelikeoneofyourfrenchpoodle]

((Alright, so this is probably way overdo.

Why the heck Jade gets so weird about sex sometimes:

Alright, so this is going to be a little ridiculously long, but if you want to know? I’m putting it under the cut. Also, TW: there is a brief mention of abuse. Not of her, but its relevant. I’ll also put another warning when that part is about to come up. 

Okay so, I’m going to start of with some context. So for anyone who might not know, this Jade is pretty old. I started rping her as her back in… I think late December of 2015 or early January of 2016? Either way, it was a few months before Homestuck actually ended. At this point obviously we had no idea how it was going to end, or what was going to happen to the characters at that point. Heck, if I remember correctly GIGAPAUSE, or whatever it was called, was still going on.

Anyway, didn’t know they were going basically jump start civilization and jump into the future, that’s for sure. So, not knowing how things were going to turn out for Jadey girl here, I basically made some educated guesses based on what we knew at the time, and mixed in my own ideas and head-canons to create the timeline this Jade now exists in. This included the loss of the meteor lab, building a new civilization from the ground up (and actually sticking around to help build it), and having everyone live in a fairly small, tight knit community. Mind you, some minor things have changed to reflect the retcon John did, but mostly I’ve kept things fairly the same.

So what does this mean for Jade or have anything to do with her sexuality? We’ll get to that, but I’m going to prelude things by saying it isn’t just sex she gets worked up about. It’s relationships and intimacy in general, and there isn’t really one set reason why. There is a gosh darn list.

1) She doesn’t have the best social skills. Growing up on an island with the only human contact being through the internet isn’t exactly the best way to nurture healthy emotional development. To top it all off, she spent those 3 years on the ship basically alone thinking she killed John and Davesprite. She isn’t a complete social ignoramus obviously, but she has her awkward moments and she KNOWS it. Which, can give her some major social anxiety in general. And as far as relationships, even friendships go, she is constantly worried she is going to screw things up. She also just wasn’t used to people in general for a good while. 

Mind you, it’s almost been 10 years since the end of the game now from her perspective so she has improved drastically, but there are still some hangups that she has. For example, she doesn’t handle crowds well considering she was so used to being alone. Can Town is full mostly people she is familiar with and the population is only 1,000ish, so she is mostly in her comfort zone still even during busier occasions. However, notice Jake and her chose to move outside of town when they got the chance? There you go. 

2) She isn’t used to physical touch. Which… is really sad considering how much she actually loves it. Again, this is something that has improved over the years, but she still doesn’t like being messed with by people she doesn’t know.

3) She honestly thinks that in the end she will end up alone. Jade, hasn’t exactly had the best luck with romance. Remember, her timeline is fairly small, and pretty much everyone she might be compatible with already paired up with someone else. To top it off, she had (and still kind of has) a massive crush on her timeline’s Dave, and built up a lot of false hope that something might eventually happen between the two of them thanks to John telling her about Davesprite and Davepeta kissing her that one time. Yeah, that didn’t happen. He ended up getting with Karkat finally when they were around 22, and while she is happy for them and supports them in any way she can, it kind of broke her heart. 

She also hasn’t had the best luck with people she’s been interested in online/from other timelines either. Usually, by the time she realizes she might be interested in someone they end vanishing, dating someone else, or they actually… end up being kinda awful people she shouldn’t have liked in the first place. (*cough*Venom*cough*) Also, she has a habit of dwelling on the whole “space players are destined to be alone” thing from time to time. Over the years she has genuinely started to think that she just isn't cut out for being anyones partner romantic/sexual/otherwise, and that people aren’t ever going to be interested in her for whatever reason. She’s built up this shell around herself, this illusion that she has come to terms with things, so that when that eventuality happens, she’ll maybe not be hurt so badly. So when someone shatters that illusion? She panics and gets flustered, and remember… she is related to these guys:

(Mind you Jake had plenty of reason to act like that, but it was the only one I could find with a quick google search.)

But yeah, I think big reactions kind of runs in her family.

4) She’s inexperienced. Three times as of this point. Yep. Thats it. That’s all she has done. Ever. Don’t get her wrong, she has really enjoyed it and really gets into things once she was able to get over the jitters. Plus, she was the one that asked for it each time. But she doesn’t like not knowing what she is doing, and it wigs her out because she doesn’t want to mess things up. Also fun fact, she’s never been on a non pale date before. Just throwing that in there.

5) The whole being part dog thing. As much as she loves being part canine, she actually can be real self conscious about it at times. Also, she *hates* how people will sometimes look at her as a fetish, and gets worried that if someone is interested in her its because she is a dog girl, and not because of who she is. She does enjoy indulging in her dog side (girl likes being pet), but she wants to make sure someone to see her as herself first and foremost. Being part dog should just be a bonus.

6) She’s a bit of a hopeless romantic. She wants to actually have a connection with people, and honestly is that so wrong? One night stands, flings, or casual whatevers aren’t completely out of the question, but at least give her a chance to be friends with you first geez. 7) She’s scared of being hurt. This is kind of caused by a combination of things up top, but she genuinely is afraid of the idea of being fucked and dumped. She’s got enough emotional issues as is, and does not need that on her conscious as well. Getting intimate with her in any way can take a lot of trust depending on the person. Additionally… 

*Okay, so here is the part I warned about up top.* She has had far too many friends who have been taken advantage of and abused. There have been several people that she has been close to over the years that have been seriously messed up by their partners. Jade’s smart and she knows it, but she also knows she can be really naive about certain things as well. It’s kind of the cherry on top of all her paranoia.

Okay bad part over

So yeah! This is ridiculously long, but there you go. I feel like it is important to note that Jade does really enjoy being with someone intimately and/or sexually given the chance. It just can take some work getting her out of her shell. It’s something she knows she needs to work on, and would like to. However, she hasn’t really ever had many opportunities to.

Also, her behaviors really only apply to herself for the most part. She might get a little embarrassed by other people talking about their own stuff from time to time, but she actually can get a real kick out of it sometimes as well. Has been known to have lengthy conversations with people about their own preferences, sexual interests, habits, ect. She will even tease other people about it! It’s when it gets flipped back on her somehow that she starts getting worked up. Heck, she is normally fine with people getting her flustered because she *knows* a lot of her own behavior is ridiculous, and that when people pick at her it is usually harmless friend banter.  She also usually knows when people are being truly malicious towards her and WILL defend herself. Don’t think she is a pushover just because she looks like she is an easy target. This girl has some bite alongside that bark.

Anyway, there is probably some more I could add to this but again it is stupid long at this point. I hope this isn’t too confusing and explains a few things.

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #221: ... New Blood!

July, 1982

A semi-famous somewhat imitated cover!

Can you guess ahead of time which two will be joining the Avengers?

No cheating.

Actually, what’s funny is that I can imagine a Young Bendis looking at this cover, seeing Luke Cage, Spider-Man, and Wolverine all in a row like that and whispering to himself ‘one day... one day...’

Spider-Woman is even on this! This is almost the roster meme that Bendis would have selected his team out of.

Just as soon as he cleared the way by killing off Ant-Man and Hawkeye.

Anyway, I like the cute touch that there’s just a completely blank square for Sue Storm. And is she really still going by Invisible Girl at this point?

-google- Ah, Invisible Woman is still a few years off.

And at risk of spoiling, I like the cover pretending that Rom (Space Knight) could feasibly join the Avengers. Although that would have made a hilarious mess when the rights lapsed. A whole swathe of Avengers comics unavailable.

So, where are we at?

Last times on Avengers: Captain America decided that the Avengers had become too unwieldy. They’d settled into a filler rut and Cap wanted them to be lean and mean.

So the old order changeith’d! And Moondragon meddled, causing half of the old team to quit. But Cap got his lean team of himself, Thor, Iron Man, Wasp, Yellowjacket, and Tigra.

And then Yellowjacket Hank Pym had an ‘attempted murder out of insecurity’ breakdown and tried to murder his friends and was a very bad husband to Wasp as well.

So Yellowjacket was out and Wasp took some personal time.

It was just Cap, Thor, Iron Man, and Tigra. And then Tigra quit.

Wasp rejoined but the trim team of six had become anemic at four and after some space mishaps, its finally time to try to do something about that.

As Iron Man declares in title-of-the-issue font they need some ... NEW BLOOD!

And Wasp declares ‘yes we all know that already we’ve just been putting it off.’

(And they finally got the big meeting table back from the cleaners or wherever its been. Thank goodness)

But the question that Chairperson Wasp poses the team is should they re-induct some ex-members or go looking for some truly new blood?

Thor is brooding on the recent events, where Moondragon manipulated the Avengers previous roster shakeup and later when Moondragon took over a planet and got Thor to fight his friends.

So Thor’s point, by way of dwelling, is that they should be careful with who they choose.

Thor: “Thus can no action, no thought made by any of us in the last weeks be truly, absolutely claimed as our own. Not even... mine.”

There we go. There’s that good Moondragon induced paranoia I was hoping for.

And character wise, I do like that there’s fallout from the Ba-Bani misadventure. Whether being forced to fight his friends or being made to fall in love with Moondragon or being convinced to side with her plan to bring mandatory peace to the universe. Thor has been affected by what happened.

Cap suggests that they clear the slate and just judge potential members on their current qualifications.

So what qualifications should potential Avengers have?

Captain America: “Compatibility. Someone who can work in a team.”

Iron Man: “And technical expertise. Perhaps someone good with weaponry.”

Thor: “We’ve enough strength, methinks. But courage is important. Aye, and a noble heart.”

Wasp: “Well, I know exactly what this group needs. More girls!”

Good suggestions. All good suggestions. But very good suggestion from Wasp.

I know that two women on one team is the low bar that Avengers tends to reach but you know what’s worse? One women on one team. And you know what’s better? Three.

Think about it.

The meeting gets cut short because Jan has to go do Jan things like show off fashion at the Tavern on the Green but she tells the others to figure out who they’d like as new Avengers and then they’ll all decide at their meeting next week.

As the Avengers all head off, Captain America mentions to Iron Man that hey remember how Hawkeye used to be an Avenger all the time? Weren’t those good times? He worked well on the team, was real into being an Avenger.

Iron Man agrees that sure is a Thought but flies off thinking more about Jan’s suggestion to have more women on the team, albeit probably for less than pure reasons.

Thor meanwhile doesn’t have anywhere to be so sits down in the sitting room and reads a Time magazine.

Jarvis brings Thor some mead and Thor asks who Jarvis would enlist for the Avengers if Jarvis was given the choice.

Jarvis is surprised to be asked but does his best to speak off the cuff.

Jarvis: “Why, I - I really hadn’t given it much thought! But since you ask, I feel that some of the best Avengers have started as the most unlikely candidates. For example, those with strongly individual, independent natures seem to have worked out surprisingly well.”

You’re a good guy, Jarvis.

And you’ve got a good point. Since the Avengers were pretty much everyone who wasn’t on a team jammed onto a team together, the Avengers kind of have as foundation strongly individual independent superheroes managing to do a teamwork anyway.

And Thor just so happens to be reading the Time magazine that has a picture of Spider-Man on the front (along with “Friend or Menace?”) and thinks huh individual and independent??

Oh boy!

Spider-Man going to be offered a spot on the Avengers? Is it 2005 already?

Goofs aside, this is an interesting callback maybe.

All the way back in Amazing Spider-Man Annual #3 (November, 1966) which I didn’t cover but probably should have if this was a more comprehensive Avengers blog but then I may have died under the enormity of the task.

Uh, that sentence got away from me.

Anyway, in that Spider-Man Annual, the Avengers debate whether to recruit Spider-Man for their team. Thor is the one there to find Spider-Man and bring him to the mansion. The Avengers decide to test him and (after Spider-Man tries to beat up the entire team because that’s what Spider-Man thinks proving himself is) they send him to bring the Hulk back with him.

He finds the Hulk and fights the Hulk but Hulk turns back to Bruce Banner and Spider-Man feels bad for Bruce and doesn’t want to turn him over to the Avengers (not knowing that they want to help Hulk). So he comes back and says welp couldn’t find him guess I’m not Avengers material byyyyyye.

The other Avengers go huh I guess he wasn’t Avengers material but Thor seemed to suspect what had really happened.

So my rambling point is that its appropriate that Thor again thinks to recruit Spider-Man for the Avengers because of that previous story.

Later in the day, Iron Man calls Captain America.

Although as Cap points out they know each other’s civilian name now so why be formal?

Iron Man: “Captain America? This is Iron Man.”

Captain America: “Hey, Tony, let’s make it ‘Steve,’ okay? I’m off duty.”

So Tony “Iron Man” Stark has managed to stop thinking about more woman on the Avengers and has actually started to think about having Hawkeye back on the Avengers and has to admit, it sounds good to him!

So Captain Steve says they should go together tomorrow and see what Hawkeye thinks.

This is a nice sequence.

Its nice to see how the two learning each other’s identity plays out like this. Tony trying to stick to how they’ve known each other and Steve making a not subtle overture for them to become more familiar.

This is probably good shipping fodder, I realize!

But it is also good friendshipping fodder. It can be both.

Elsewhere and meanwhile, at the Van Dyne residence, Janet puts her own recruitment drive into... drive?

She’s invited every super-heroine in the country she can think of to brunch but she has no idea how to get a hold of She-Hulk.

Not even her state of the art computer system can find her! Granted, the state of the art computer system is for analyzing fashion forecasts and not news reports about She-Hulk sightings.

So Jan decides that if you want a She-Hulk you’ve got to spend a little green.

She has her assistant take out a bunch of full-page ads in all of the major west coast newspapers. And heck, buy a bunch of commercial time too!

Jan is going to do some I Want You (to Join the Avengers) ads!

She is ludicrously wealthy.

I went and checked and her original inheritance was ‘only’ three million dollars but the way that she throws around money I’m pretty sure she has managed to get some lucrative investments. That or she’s just super good at being a fashionista.

Granted, blowing a bunch of money for a chance to have brunch with She-Hulk is a pretty good reason to blow a bunch of money.

Later, as twilight comes, Thor is flying around Central Park because he has no idea how to find Spider-Man but hears that he’s often around “the meadow-lands called Central Park” and happens upon three goofuses who just robbed a pawnshop.

These goofuses are such goofuses that one of them is wearing groucho glasses as a disguise. Another one is wearing a clown mask.

Which, like a moth to fire, aggros Spider-Man just to mock the guy.

I’m pretty sure rather than flying around aimlessly, the best way to find Spider-Man is to create the perfect quip opportunity.

A clown: “I’m gonna kiss every dime o’ my share -- just as soon as we get to the hideout so’s I can take off this stupid mask!”

Spider-Man, suddenly: “Aw, c’mon, Bunky, leave it on! I’ve always wanted to bust a bozo who looks like a bozo!”

Groucho: “S-s-spider-Man!”

S-s-spider-Man: “But enough of this clowning! Wanna give up?”

Dangit, Peter. Good wordplay.

But before can catch these thieves just like flies, down came the rain and washed the spider out.

A sudden, inexplicable (cough cough Thor) localized storm tosses around the thieves until they surrender.

After the police lead away the goofus thieves, Spider-Man comes dripping wet and with a bone to pick.

Spider-Man: “Do you have any idea what it’s like running around in wet tights?”

Thor is like sorry bro but I’ve come to talk so Spider-Man agrees but they’ll need to go off somewhere private because the press is honing in on him to ask him bonkers questions about whether he came in a flying saucer.

I think they’re thinking of a certain emissary of hell.

That darn press!

Spider-Man and Thor relocate to a high rooftop for their talk.

Spider-Man: “Now, Goldilocks, what’s your beef?”

Thor: “Thy protective demeanor is unneeded, my friend. I have no ‘beef’ -- only a proposal. The Avengers are seeking new members, and I wouldst offer thee such position.”

Spider-Man: “You... Thor... want me as an Avenger?

Spider-Man is still not sure if it would work out (reflecting on Spider-Man Annual #3) but he’s also really flattered by the offer. And presumably how the offer wasn’t accompanied by “BUT FIRST YOU MUST PASS OUR TEST!”

So he can’t just accept the offer off-hand but he’s definitely going to think about it.

Even if you don’t join the team, even just being considered is an honor.

The twilight turns into night turns into day, and Cap and Iron Man show up in Hawkeye’s place of business to bug him.

Don’t know if you remember but Hawkeye has a cushy job as head of security for Cross Technological Enterprises. And he actually does take the job seriously which is why he’s a little concerned, at least for his professional pride, that Cap and Iron Man got past his guards.

Cap: “Avengers priority -- never leave home without it. In fact, we’ve come to offer it to you.”

Smooth. Smooth, Cap.

Although I do like that they can just march up to the guards of this company and go ‘hey let us in we’re avengers’ and its not even a ‘ok i’ll clear it with head of security hawkeye’ its ‘yeah sure go right in and do you want any paperclips?’

Anyway, Hawkeye has his pride so he tells Cap not to expect him to come crawling back after the Avengers booted him out (actually Gyrich because Gyrich wanted the Avengers to have some ding dang diversity. Its weirdly the least assholeish thing he’s ever done although he approached it very much in an asshole way).

Point being, they kicked Hawkeye out and he has a new super cool job now.

Iron Man takes this show of wounded pride in wounded stride, just asking that Hawkeye consider it and let them know when he makes a decision.

But Hawkeye doubts he’ll decide to come back to the Avengers because he’s got a good thing in this steady, respectable paying job which comes with job security and respect!

And then, suddenly struck by the realization that he, Hawkeye, is turning down a drama implosion like the Avengers to do the adult thing?? Hawkeye doesn’t like what he’s become.

And he stares in horror at the trappings of power and respectability. The sex and the drugs.

Or a Playboy magazine and a personalized coffee cup, at least.

And he decides to give Iron Man his answer right then and there.

Which, of course, involves shooting arrows. This is Hawkeye we’re talking about.

What’s amazing is that we’ll learn later this issue that he’s going to keep his security job and do Avengers on top of that (and in fairness most of the Avengers don’t have Avengers as their only thing). But he just shot an arrow through a glass door in his place of employment.

But you don’t hire Hawkeye if you don’t expect that kind of thing so I can see why it wouldn’t impact his job.

So that’s Hawkeye as a YES and Spider-Man as a ‘I’ll get back to you.’ And as the weekend arrives, it’s time for Janet van Dyne’s superheroine brunch.

And on the hill above the van Dyne house, its our old pal Fabian Stankowicz.

Remember? The Mechano-Marauder? Built a robot suit to beat up the Avengers, none of them took him that seriously? Iron Man beat him up solo without trying very hard and then got angry about Hank Pym?

Anyway, he’s back, somehow, and he’s salty about the less than dignified experience he had in issue 217. But this time, he has a new plan!

Fabian Stankowicz: “They laughed at me! Mocked me! But I’ll show the Avengers that the Mechano-Marauder is not to be toyed with! I’ll attack their weakest member when the others aren’t around! She’ll be helpless! *Heh-heh-heh*”

Well. Good luck with that, my dude.

Sue Storm-Richards, the Invisible Girl, arrives and Jan introduces her to the other prospective Avengers: Dazzler, Spider-Woman, and Black Widow.

All good candidates, really.

Especially Dazzler.

Well, Beast left and Tigra left so somebody needs to be the new funny person.

Apparently, Spider-Woman doesn’t like puns because she immediately starts getting catty with Dazzler.

Spider-Woman: “Nice going, Blaire! You’re showing all the polish and poise of a real pro!”

Dazzler: “Oh? And I suppose crawling on walls like some yucky insect is ‘professional’?”

Spider-Woman: “I sting, too”

I guess, they have some history in Dazzler’s own book that didn’t go over well. Black Widow has to lean over and tell them to cut the shit out for Jan’s sake.

But then the last invited guest shows up.

ITS A SHE-HULK!

She saw the ads and she’s come for the free food!

Relatable.

Outside, Jan’s chauffeur Mr. Carrothers sits on the limo taking a smoke break and reflecting how good he has it working for the Wasp. Good pay, casual hours. The most he can complain about is that it gets a little boring sometimes.

That’s probably tempting fate because the All-New All-Different Mechano-Marauder stomps up to the house. Remember how Fabian threw the limo last time? Mr. Carrothers remembers.

He panics and runs into the house and tries to warn the assembled heroes.

And yet.

They didn’t really leap to action, huh? I mean, I get it. Brunch.

Even after the robot fist has punched through Wasp’s frankly ludicrous window and kidnapped Dazzler, Wasp is more annoyed than anything.

Wasp: “Fabian Stankowicz, you get that thing out of my living room!”

And then has to explain to her guests that Fabian is some chump that Iron Man beat up and that he wants to make a name for himself by defeating the Avengers. And Sue is like ah yes I understand completely.

But chump or not, Black Widow decides that they should rescue Dazzler.

Dazzler: “I don’t think I need saving, folks! This guy’s just holding, not squeezing!”

And so much for the brunch bunch taking this any amount of serious.

Sue just puts up a quick invisible dome to keep Fabian from getting to the rest of them which the Mechano-Marauder instantly bonks into and bangs on impotently demanding that they let him in.

Careful, Fabian.

You’re memeing yourself.

Dazzler saves herself when she gets tired of being carried around. She does her Dazzler thing with the bright pulse of light, blinding Fabian.

He drops Dazzler but she’s caught by She-Hulk.

The blinded Mechano-Marauder drives around blindly, thinking “These women aren’t even Avengers! They can’t beat me!”

Alas, Dazzler decides the same decision she decided in #211, that she’s a singer, not a fighter.

And Sue also decides to head off, saying that she’s too busy with the Fantastic Four anyway.

Shame.

But can we talk about the sheer audacity that Jan had of trying to poach Sue from the Fantastic Four to the Avengers? The nerve! The verve!

So that’s two of her candidates declining but that still leaves Spider-Woman, Black Widow, and She-Hulk.

And unfortunately for Mechano-Marauder, the first two are the two that have decided to kick his ass a little for entertainment reasons.

Spider-Woman’s venom blast damages one of the giant robot fists and Black Widow swings around Hoth-style and trips the Mechano-Marauder into the ornamental pond.

Alas, after literally dunking a giant robot into a pond, both Spider-Woman and Black Widow turn down the offer to join the Avengers.

Black Widow has private business that are keeping her busy. And Spider-Woman doesn’t even offer an excuse.

In fairness, she has her own solo book over in California and that’s a heck of a commute. I’m actually impressed that she came all this way for brunch.

Fabian is fed up with being treated as an after-thought in his own fight scene and bursts out of the pond, yelling how he’s going to destroy them all!

All.... uh, two that’s left at this point. Yup, he sure is going to destroy all two of them.

She-Hulk has been fairly low-key this whole story, especially for She-Hulk. I’m pretty sure she came to the brunch just for the food and she hasn’t reacted much to Fabian, even when the others were. She caught Dazzler but she hasn’t had much to say since arriving. She’s mostly been standing with her hands on her hips, watching things play out.

But I guess she’s gotten tired of Fabian. Or maybe it falls to her as the last guest.

She tells him to shut up and breaks his robot suit with one punch.

Fabian has one last trick up his Mechano-Marauder sleeve but its a dumb one.

His ejector seat is actually a backup robot suit. Annnd, its so heavy that it sinks into the ground. Trapping him.

Good job, Fabian.

She-Hulk goes to give him one more punch but Wasp stops her. Because she wants a shot at him.

And wow! What a shot!

At full not small size she crosses the streams to focus her bio-power stings into one concentrated beam and blows a hole in Fabian’s escape suit.

I’ve talked before about how Wasp’s pew pew stings have seemingly gotten souped up under Shooter and I think this is another good example. I mean, she’s not blowing up a house but combining the blasts to do precision boring is another cool application we haven’t seen before.

Anyway, now Wasp goes teeny and flies into the hole she made and up into the helmet to blast Fabian in the face. So hard his helmet flies off.

Wasp: “That’ll teach ‘im for ruining my party!”

And that’s that for brunch.

Days later, Jarvis calls the State Department to request official clearance for two new members.

And we see part of the process of that. Interesting if you’re interested in the logistics of an officially recognized superhero team.

I guess what’s interesting is that Henry Peter Gyrich is still part of the process.

You’d think he’d have been replaced or something after the Avengers very publicly embarrassed him and got emancipated from him. I guess he keeps doing the necessary liaison stuff without ever talking to them.

The requests for the two new members cross Gyrich’s desk and he takes it to the White House where the request gets signed by Ronald Reagan.

(The two new members are Hawkeye and She-Hulk by the by. We see it on the paperwork. Guess Spider-Man is still thinking it over.)

Anyway, I guess its interesting that new Avengers are a matter that goes all the way up to the president.

God, I’m glad that for the modern team, Cap told the US government to fuck off because I don’t want to even think about that still being a thing.

The next day after the paperwork is signed, Hawkeye is on his way to Avengers Mansion in a cab. He’s reading a Time magazine about the change in the Avengers’ roster and reflecting that it’ll be hard to hold down two jobs but worth it because he’s missed the adventure.

Check out the Time magazine though.

The cover of this comic book issue is in-universe the cover of Time magazine! That’s neat.

But Hawkeye’s cab is suddenly cut off by a pink Cadillac.

And Hawkeye being Hawkeye doesn’t just grumble and go about his day. He commits assault. Because this is Hawkeye.

The guy that Cap and Iron Man wanted back for being a good team-player.

So he gets out of the cab and shoots the pink Cadillac with an EMP arrow that fries the car’s electrical system.

Really abusing that Avengers Priority Status already, huh, Hawkeye?

The one mistake he made is that the pink Cadillac belongs to She-Hulk. She in fact earned it by doing a car commercial for Wacky Willie’s Wheels-And-Deals so you might imagine she’s fond of it.

So she picks up the cab with Hawkeye in it and leans it against a lightpole.

And then she picks up the Cadillac on her shoulder and walks off with it.

She-Hulk knows how to make a lasting impression, I’ll say that.

But soon after he gets down from the taxi and stops in at an ER to make sure he’s not concussed, Hawkeye arrives at Avengers Mansion to rejoin the team.

Hawkeye: “Okay, folks, life can go on -- Hawkeye’s here!”

Iron Man: “And it’s about time! We were starting to get worried. What happened?”

Hawkeye: “Oh, nothin’ much -- not ‘til some freaky Amazon tried to play dominoes with my taxi!”

She-Hulk, lurking silhouetted by the window: “‘Amazon’, eh? I don’t suppose it could have been -- a green Amazon?”

That is a powerful energy you have there, She-Hulk. Powerful energy and a power move in a power suit.

And that’s how Hawkeye’s day was ruined. Also how the two new additions to the team start with bad blood.

Conflict! We gotta have it!

Wasp: “Hawkeye, She-Hulk. I’d like to officially welcome you both. From now on -- you’re one of us. We’re one of you. And we’re all -- THE AVENGERS!”

Jan’s trying a new thing where she kisses every new member. And they both have to bend down a little for her.

Also, another new Wasp costume! Wasp gonna Wasp!

This is another good, light-hearted decompression issue. The Moondragon two-parter had some yuks but also mind-control sex and Drax’s brain melting. So this time Wasp throws a brunch and Cap and Iron Man help Hawkeye escape the drudgery of an adult job.

There’s a lot of what could have been with Wasp’s guest list. What if she could convince Sue Storm to take a break from the Fantastic Four to try being on the Avengers.

She’ll join later, in the Worst Roster but she’ll join with Reed. I’m thinking more of a thing where Sue gets some time away from the family. I don’t think it could last long and it would need the Avengers and FF writer to be on the same page but I think it could be interesting - Sue getting to be on a team where she doesn’t have to be the adult in the room and doesn’t have to work alongside the family.

It’s a similar reason to why I’d like to see adult Cyclops join the Avengers. He’s so tied in with X-stuff and being the leader of X-stuff that I want to take him out of that context and see a new side of him.

Spider-Woman and Black Widow also could have been interesting. They’ll both become Avengers later. I don’t know that Dazzler ever did and she presents interesting opportunities.

The Avengers have had Wonder Man who was also trying to break into acting while being an Avenger. So Dazzler trying to pursue her singing career might just be a retread of that but what if she were more successful and was a celebrity on the team.

The Avengers kind of are celebrities but I think it’d be a different feel if they had a famous (disco) singer on the team.

Interesting stuff (for me) to think about, anyway.

Something else to talk about is the creative credits. Jim Shooter is credited for plotting but Dave Michelinie as writer. And looking ahead, Shooter is not going to be the solo writer again in the near future.

I think we’re getting to the point where Shooter’s going to be too busy with EIC duties to keep up writing the Avengers. He’s going to get plotting credits for a few more issues, probably loose threads he’s handing to other writers.

So the second Shooter run is going to end soon. Shame. Very much a shame. It wasn’t a very long run but he put a lot of energy and humor into the book.

Next time: Egghead’s back and he’s bringing a new Masters of Evil. Wow, it’s been a while since we’ve had them and they’re supposed to be the Avengers’ evil opposite team.

And Egghead is the not very impressive criminal mastermind who couldn’t beat Hank Pym so instead framed him for crime. Hopefully the new Masters rise above that level of menace.

Follow @essential-avengers​ because I’m bringing you the She-Hulk content you crave. I assume. I took a poll and one out of one person said ‘this is the She-Hulk content I crave’ and I extrapolated from that. Also you should like and reblog because She-Hulk would want you to.

[youknow-igetit]

A playlist for our favorite mafia sports gays. songs and the meanings below the cut

1. sex - EDEN

‘Cause you said it meant nothing And I should’ve kept my silence But I guess I’m too attached to my own pride to let you know That all these words meant nothing And I’ve always been this heartless And we’re just having sex, no, I would never call it love But love Oh no, I think I’m catching feelings And I don’t know if this is empathy I feel

“This,” Neil flicked his finger to indicate the two of them, “isn’t worthless.” “There is no ‘this’. This is nothing.” “And I am nothing,” Neil prompted. When Andrew gestured confirmation, Neil said, “And as you’ve always said, you want nothing.” Andrew stared stone-faced back at him.

2. Be Kind (with Halsey) - Marshmello, Halsey

I know you need, I know you need The upper hand even when we aren’t fighting ‘Cause in the past, you had to prepare every time, yeah Don’t wanna leave, don’t wanna leave But if you’re gonna fight then do it for me I know you’re built to love, but broken now, so just try I know you’re chokin’ on your fears Already told you, I’m right here I will stay by your side every night I don’t know why you hide from the one And close your eyes to the one Mess up and lie to the one that you love When you know you can cry to the one Always confide in the one You can be kind to the one that you love

“No one’s said a word to them since they said we couldn’t see you.“ Nathaniel’s heart skipped a beat. The heat that gnawed at his chest was an ugly mix of gratitude and shame. He tried to speak but had to clear his throat before trying again. “But why? I’ve done nothing but lie to them. I willingly put them all in danger so I could play a little longer. They got hurt last night because of me. Why would they protect me now?” “You are a Fox,” Andrew said, like it was that simple, and maybe it was. Nathaniel dropped his eyes and worked his jaw, fighting for a center he was quickly losing hold of.

3. I Think I’m OKAY (with YUNGBLUD & Travis Barker) - Machine Gun Kelly

I guess it’s just my life and I can take it if I wanna But I cannot hide in hills of California Because these hills have eyes, and I got paranoia I hurt myself sometimes, is that too scary for you? Watch me, take a good thing and fuck it all up in one night Catch me, I’m the one on the run away from the headlights No sleep, up all week wasting time with people I don’t like I think that something’s fucking wrong with me

“Trust you.” Andrew enunciated each word like he’d never heard them before. He laughed curled his fingers tight around Neil’s chin. “You lie, and lie, and lie, and you think I’ll trust you with his life?” “Then don’t trust ‘Neil’,” Neil said. “Trust me.” “Oh, but who are you? Do you have a name?” “If you need one, call me Abram.” “Should I believe that?” “I’m named after my father,” Neil said. “Abram is my middle name; it’s the name my mother used when she was trying to protect me from his work.” It was the name he went by at his little league practices so the coach would actually let him play. It was strange hearing it aloud when no one had called Neil “Abram” in eight years. “Ask Kevin if you don’t believe me. He would know.” “Maybe I will.” Neil waited, but Andrew didn’t let go. With so many people watching them Neil couldn’t lift his shirt. He did the next best thing and dragged one of Andrew’s hands under the hem. He pressed Andrew’s palm to the ugly scarring across his abdomen. Andrew’s eyes dropped to Neil’s shirt like he could see Neil’s marred skin through the dark cotton. “Do you understand?” Neil asked. “Nothing Riko does will make me leave him. We will both be here when you get back.” Andrew’s fingers twitched against Neil’s skin. “Someone lied to me. These ouches feel a little rough for a child on the run.”

4. Lover of Mine - 5 Seconds of Summer

Lead to where your secrets are Where we’ve been a thousand times Swallow every single lie Take all of me

When I take a look at my life And all of my crimes You’re the only thing that I think I got I right I’ll never give you away

“It’s always been ‘go’,” Neil said. He turned his hand palm-up and traced a key into his skin with his fingertip. He’d toyed with Andrew’s house key so many times he knew every dip and ridge by heart. “It’s always been ‘lie’ and ‘hide’ and ‘disappear’. I’ve never belonged anywhere or had the right to call anything my own. But Coach gave me keys to the court, and you told me to stay. You gave me a key and called it home.” Neil clenched his hand, imagining the bite of metal against his palm, and lifted his gaze to Andrew’s face. “I haven’t had a home since my parents died.”

5. Vowels (and the Importance of Being Me) - HUNNY

I was a queen last night I said “Take to the water” And let you drink my lies Like, “Okay, you’re right” You can’t spell pain or kiss Or run away or little mistake Without me, or A, E, I, O, U

“I’ll always have and be nothing.“ Andrew reached up and forcibly uncurled Neil’s fingers from his mouth. He pushed Neil’s hand out of the way and stared Neil down with nothing between them. Neil didn’t understand the look on his face. There was no censure over Neil’s crooked parents or pity for their deaths, no triumph over having backed Neil into admitting so much, and no obvious skepticism for such an outlandish story. Whatever this look was, it was dark and intense enough to swallow Neil whole.

6. BLUE - Troye Sivan

I can’t say no Though the lights are on There’s nobody home Swore I’d never lose control Then I fell in love with a heart that beats so slow I want you I’ll color me blue Anything it takes to make you stay Only seeing myself When I’m looking up at you

Nathaniel watched until the hotel disappeared out the window, then looked to Andrew and asked in German, “Can I really be Neil again?” “I told Neil to stay,” Andrew said. “Leave Nathaniel buried in Baltimore with his father.” Nathaniel looked out the window again and wondered if that was possible. He knew in a sense he could never really leave Nathaniel behind. Even if Stuart could talk the Moriyamas down, they’d all know Nathan’s child was alive and kicking. Nathaniel would always be a security risk to them. But the thought was thrilling and chilling in turns, and Nathaniel turned his hand over to consider his palm. He traced Andrew’s key into his skin with a bandaged finger. “Neil Abram Josten,” Neil murmured, and it felt like waking up from a bad dream.

7. Some Kind of Disaster - All Time Low

I wore the crown, I sold the lie I lived the life and paid for every crime, yeah It’s all downhill 'til it’s a climb Through blood and tears, but I don’t mind I’ll just keep singing on and on and on And it’s all my fault that I’m still the one you want 'Cause I’m a liar, I’m a cynic I’m a sinner, I’m a saint I’m a loser, I’m a critic I’m the ghost of my mistakes And it’s all my fault that I’m still the one you want So what are you after? Some kind of disaster

Andrew pressed two fingers to the underside of Nathaniel’s chin to turn his head. Nathaniel let himself be guided and said nothing while Andrew looked his fill. When Andrew dropped his hand and clenched it in Nathaniel’s hoodie, Nathaniel risked looking back at him. There was violence in Andrew’s eyes, but at least he hadn’t shoved Nathaniel away yet. That had to count for something. "I’m sorry,” Nathaniel said. Andrew’s fist went back, but he didn’t take the swing. Nathaniel knew it wasn’t because that was the hand cuffed to Wymack; Andrew’s arm actually shook with the effort it took to not knock Nathaniel’s head off his neck. Nathaniel said nothing to tip the balance either way. At length Andrew uncurled his fingers and let his hand hang limp from the cuff. “Say it again and I will kill you,” he said.

8. The Space Between A Rock and a Hard Place - 5 Seconds of Summer

Faded, I’m wrapped in your arms While you’re waiting to tear me apart With a last kiss, you leave me wanting more You, you’re a catch 22 Win or lose, I’m screwed I’m trapped under your spell It saves me, breaks me 'til I fall back to you You’re a catch 22

“You are a Fox. You are always going to be nothing.” Andrew stubbed his cigarette out. “I hate you.” “Nine percent of the time you don’t.” “Nine percent of the time I don’t want to kill you. I always hate you.” “Every time you say that I believe you a little less.” “No one asked you.” With that, Andrew caught Neil’s face in his hands and leaned in. Nicky’s drugged assault aside, Neil hadn’t kissed anyone in four years. The last girl was a scrawny French-Canadian who’d held him with just her fingertips and kissed like she was afraid of smudging her tacky-bright lipstick. Neil couldn’t remember her name or face anymore. He remembered only how unsatisfying the illicit encounter had been and how furious his mother was when she found them. That awkward peck wasn’t worth the punishment that had followed. This was nothing like that. Andrew kissed him like this was a fight with their lives on the line, like his world stopped and started with Neil’s mouth. Neil’s heart stuttered to a stop at the first hard press of lips against his and he reached up without thinking. His hand made it as far as Andrew’s jaw before he remembered Andrew didn’t like to be touched. Neil caught hold of Andrew’s coat sleeve instead and knotted his fingers in the heavy wool. The touch was a trigger. Andrew leaned back just enough to say, “Tell me no.” Neil’s lips were sore; his skin was buzzing. He felt winded, like he’d survived a half-marathon. He felt strong, like he could run another five more. Panic threatened to tear his stomach to shreds. Common sense said to refuse this and retreat before they both did something they’d regret. But Renee said Andrew regretted nothing, and Neil wouldn’t live long enough for it to matter. He hadn’t figured out which way to lean before Andrew pried Neil’s hand off his coat.

9. Medication - YUNGBLUD

You cannot pretend there’s no dirt on your shirt 'Cause that’s not how it works, that’s not how it works You try to perceive that you’re so squeaky clean But that’s not how it works, that’s not that’s not how it works

“I’m not going to apologize for thinking you’re being idiotic.” “Is your spine the spine of the righteous?” Andrew wondered. “Are you trying your best to step on my toes because you’re feeling the tragic weight of the holier than thou?”

10. Take Yourself Home - Troye Sivan

Talk to me There’s nothing that can’t be fixed with some honesty And how it got this dark is just beyond to me If anyone can hear me switch the lights I’m tired of the city Scream if you’re with me If I’m gonna die, let’s die somewhere pretty

“Don’t dismiss me for lying to you then ignore me when I tell the truth.” “This is not truth,” Andrew said. “Truth is irrefutable and untainted by bias. Sunrise, Abram, death: these are truths. You cannot judge a problem with your obsession goggles on and call it truth. You aren’t fooling either of us.”

11. Trouble Is - All Time Low

All that I know is I just can’t say no to you Funny how things never change All that I wanted was just to get over you Trouble is I can’t find a way You’re part of me

Andrew bit the question into the corner of Neil’s jaw. “Yes or no?” “It’s always yes with you,” Neil said. “Except when it’s no,” Andrew said. Neil put a plastic-wrapped finger to Andrew’s chin, guiding his head up for another kiss. “If you have to keep asking because—I’ll answer it as many times as you ask. But this is always going to be yes.” “Don’t ‘always’ me.” “Don’t ask for the truth if you’re just going to dilute it.”

12. Safety Pin - 5 Seconds of Summer

No more waiting, we can save us from falling This time, maybe this time We’ll safety-pin the pieces of our broken hearts back together Patching up all the holes until we both feel much better Deleted things, I really meant So now I’ll say the things I never sent

Neil remembered too well what it was like to say goodbye. He remembered what it was like saying hello again. A hint of Friday’s panic and outrage flickered in his chest, hot enough to burn the air from his lungs. He didn’t know what this thing between them was anymore. He didn’t know what he wanted or needed it to be. He just knew he had to hold on for as long as he could. “You are a mess,” Andrew said against Neil’s lips. “What else is new?”

13. My My My! - Troye Sivan

Spark up, buzz cut I’ve got my tongue between your teeth Go slow, no, no, go fast You like it just as much as me Now, let’s stop running from love Running from love Let’s stop, my baby Let’s stop running from us Running from us Let’s stop, my baby Oh my, my, my! I die every night with you Oh my, my, my! Living for your every move

Time was nothing. Seconds were days, were years, were the breaths that caught between their mouths and the bite of Neil’s fingernails against his palms, the scrape of teeth against his lower lip and the warm slide of a tongue against his. He could feel Andrew’s heartbeat thrumming against his wrists, a staccato rhythm that echoed in Neil’s veins. How a man who viewed the world with such studied disconnect could kiss like this, Neil didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to complain. Neil had forgotten what it was like to be touched without malicious intent. He’d forgotten what body heat felt like. Everything about Andrew was hot, from the hands holding him down to the mouth steadily taking Neil apart. Neil finally understood why his mother thought this was so dangerous. This was distraction and indiscretion, avoidance and denial. It was letting his guard down, letting someone in, and taking comfort in something he shouldn’t have and couldn’t keep. Right now, Neil needed it too much to care.

[arsonanddahlias]

You’re my rock

Here’s a little Alex for you lovelies, because i had this in my mind and i had to do a little rescue. Trigger warning for period typical homophobia, I think its pretty obvious this is a coming out fic, hope you enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28570506 

“I’m gay” Alex had prepared for this. He’d prepared for acceptance, and love, the unconditional love that his parents had promised him. He’d prepared for that even with the knowledge it was probably wishful thinking. He’d also prepared for violent rejection, to be kicked out and forgotten - he’d even packed a backpack to be able to leave quickly. He’d thought of every possibility, some might say he was an overthinker, but in situations like this he didn’t want to make any stupid mistakes.

What he hadn’t prepared for, however, was silence. 

He hadn't expected it to be so loud. 

He hadn’t expected the not-so-subtle glances at each other, almost blaming, or maybe guilty. He hadn't expected the fear. 

His mother took a deep breath, sounding like her lungs had collapsed under the weight of the seemingly simple statement. Rage seemed to be building in his fathers eyes, as he opened his mouth to say something that was lost in his throat. 

His mother choked out a quiet “no”, and it sounded so different from his mother, you’d think she’d been possessed by the ghost of a mouse. Where there seemed to be anger and disappointment on his fathers face, in hers she could only find fear. 

The tears started welling up in Alex’s eyes, he could handle violent rejections, going to cry into his boys arms with Reggie holding him tightly while Luke and Bobby loudly discussed the different ways they would murder his parents. What he couldn't handle was the knowing that, technically, nothing would change but, in reality, everything that made them love him was cast aside. He couldn't look his parents in the eyes, so he cast them down, watching the floorboards start to swim beneath his feet. 

“Boys don’t cry” his fathers voice swam in his head, you’d think it was the family motto with how much it was tossed around the Mercer house and, although Alex wasn’t sure he wanted to be a Mercer anymore, the words were so branded onto his brain that he felt a pang of guilt when he saw a tear splash to the ground. 

He thought about baking french patisseries with his mother, the way she smiled and sang along to whatever was on the radio, the way she gently scolded him for adding too much milk and held his hand to help him sieve in a little more flour. He thought about family board games night, every Thursday, when the Mercer’s all gathered at the dining table and played board games, and laughed at his little sisters consistently rolling dice off of the table, and groaning at his dad’s bad jokes. He didn’t think they would be the same now, not with the spark in his mother’s eyes gone, and his fathers clenching and unclenching fists. 

“I think you should go to your room, Alexander” Alex’s mother said curtly, “Your father and I have something to discuss”

His father followed him up the stairs, from a distance, making sure he made it to his room and didn’t eavesdrop. He, of course, was going to eavesdrop anyway, but gave his father the courtesy of going into his room. He heard a gentle click from his door, and when he tried the handle, it was locked. Okay, he thought, don’t panic. They just want privacy. He willed himself not to hyperventilate, not to cry, not to clench up and panic and get sweaty hands and dizzy, and pushed his ear up against the door, so he could hear the faint conversation from downstairs. 

“This is because you let him go to dance class” His mother’s usually melodic voice drifted up the stairs, sounding way too harsh. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is that band you let him join. Drumming was fine, but those boys have turned him… like this. They broke him, we should have been more suspicious of that… Lucas” his father said, avoiding the word “gay” as if they said it too many times it would infect them like a disease. 

“Don’t blame me for his friends. Look, we’ll ground him, and make sure he doesn’t talk to those boys again. Call his teachers to move him in class, make sure he stays at home after school and on weekends. And we can sign him up for a… healthier activity. Soccer, or baseball. We’ll fix him.” 

Take away his boys? He’d tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, but he couldn’t survive without his boys. And he had an aching feeling that “making sure he stayed home” was code for locking him in his room. “Fix him” lingered in his head and sent shivers down his spine, and called out memories of finding out about conversion camps and - he couldn’t do that. He desperately tried to think of something else.

Luckily, he’d prepared to leave tonight, so he grabbed his fully prepared backpack and went over to his bedroom window, scouting out a route from it to the ground. He reached up to grab the key to his window and-

“Fuck” 

Good forward thinking, Alex. Well done on the whole overthinking-the-wrong-thing-and-forgetting-to-steal-back-his-sisters-window-key-after-she-lost-hers. Nice one. He sat on his bed, before laying down uncomfortably on top of the backpack. He desperately raked his mind for ideas, but came up short, sighing gently and cursing his own stupidity. 

Tap. Tap tap. 

Alex looked up sharply, and turned his head towards the source of the tapping, only to see none other than Luke, his boyfriend, tapping frantically on his bedroom window. Alex jumped up immediately, checking quickly over his shoulder out of instinct - Bobby would call it paranoia - for his parents. 

“Luke? Why are you here?”

“Dude, you haven't missed practice in 3 years, what's going on?” 

“Shit, that's tonight.” Alex once again cursed himself for overthinking the wrong things.

“Lexi tell me what's going on.”

“I-” Alex’s voice cracked a little and he turned his eyes to the ground again “I came out. I told them. They don't want me to see you again.” He cast his eyes back over his shoulder at the door, paranoid.

“Screw that, we’re commencing operation Break Alex Out of His House” someone else shouted from outside his window, and Alex looked down out of his window to see Reggie and Bobby holding up a ladder that Luke was perched precariously on, Reggie not so much holding as he cupped his hands around his mouth to shout to Alex. Bobby gave him a quick slap on the arm to remind him that Luke was literally going to fall if he didn’t stabilize this ladder. 

“Where did you get that- okay. Look, I don’t know how to get out, my dad locked the door to my room and I don’t have a window key.” 

“Okay, step back.”

“Luke I swear, if you throw a rock at my window I’ll kill you”

“Dude do you want to be locked in your room forever and never see us again, or do you want me to throw a rock at your window.”

“You're going to be arrested for property damage”

“Bobby pass me a rock”

“I feel like there’s another way to-”

“That’s fucking tiny Bobbers a bigger one”

“Lucas, please, for the love of-”

“Do you have double glazing”

“I don’t think so I-”

“It needs to be sharp, Luke, i've got a screwdriver you can hit with a rock, that'll break it” Reggie called up

“Physics genius Reggie” He called back “Step back, Lexi”

Alex complied - protesting but not being willing to get hit by a rock - as Luke whacked a rock against Reggie’s screwdriver and the window shattered. Suddenly, Alex was in fight or flight, and ignored the pain of climbing through a broken window - thanks Luke - in his panic to get outside before his parents caught up to him, it was inevitable that they would catch on with the noise. He slid down the ladder, like a cartoon, he thought absentmindedly, and ran as fast as he could to the van, his boys in tow. Reggie hopped in the driver's seat (he did not have his license yet and Alex made a mental note to scold him later, but for now they just needed to leave fast), while the other 3 went to the back, and they were gone. 

Bobby, forever the only member of Sunset Curve with a brain cell, pulled out the first aid kit they kept in the van and started dressing the cuts Alex had gained from climbing through a broken window - thanks Luke - while Alex sat, completely shell-shocked and completely still, until his boyfriend started rubbing his back in a way that they both knew Luke had learned for Alex’s panic attacks. 

Alex rested his head on Luke’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes tight to try and stop the flow of tears. He allowed himself to be pulled up and led to the studio behind Bobby’s house, the whole band's safe space. He sat down on the sofa, and Reggie was immediately by his side, hugging him tightly in a way that let Alex know he wasn’t going to be released in a long time. He leaned into the hug, thankful for the contact he so desperately needed, and listened as Bobby breathed out sharply.

“I am going to murder your parents Lex”

He wasn’t prepared. But at least he had his beautiful, predictable boys to fall back on.

[kbstories]

Contingent

con·tin·gent (adj.) Dependent on; conditional.

There's only one thing Trafalgar Law is truly afraid of.

(Or: Bepo will be damned if he loses Law just when he got him back.)

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Nakamaship, Amber Lead Syndrome, Medical Inaccuracies, Childhood Trauma, Law whumps well and I have no excuse

Set between Zou and Wano. Read Chapter 2 here.

***

To say the Polar Tang is a tight fit is an accurate, if unfortunate, assessment.

Years ago, the shipwright they commissioned to make their submarine-turned-ship a reality had cautioned them about the limited capacity. Back in the North Blue, the logistics of cramming more than two dozen people into close quarters with high-pressure machinery seemed a far-away problem at best.

That was long before Jean Bart entered the picture, patient as their helmsman had been to accommodate the narrow spaces of his new home. The nightshift Uni and Clione had pulled to present him with a set of his very own Heart Pirates-branded overalls the next day probably had something to do with it, too.

And maybe it’s because they haven’t had guests in a while (or at least, none that were conscious enough to count), or that Law’s paranoia has rubbed off on Bepo more than he likes to admit… When their mismatched group of allies take the first step on deck, Bepo is watching them like a hawk.

The fact of the matter is: Bepo loves the Tang. They all do. She’s the one that carried them from the North’s frigid waters all the way into the New World. She’s the best. All they – pirates and samurai alike – give her are curious glances, though, neither overly positive nor notably negative as they follow Trafalgar Law into the bowels of his submarine.

Well, with exception of that Strawhat cyborg, Franky. The moment they’re inside he’s gone, fawning over metal walls and neatly-welded seams like they’re the delicate linework of an artist; all Ikkaku can do to prevent any damage to her baby is to run after him. Her harsh reminders to be careful grow fainter and fainter as the rest moves on.

Ikkaku was against this whole alliance thing and yet, Bepo assumes it’s only a matter of time until their chief engineer is charmed, too. It’s one of those inevitable things that tend to happen around the Strawhats.

In any case, Law doesn’t seem bothered and so Bepo isn’t, either. It’s not like the captain lets them dwell on it for long, anyways – he shuffles their guests into the galley like a goose herds its chicks and gives Penguin a handful of minutes to organize some snacks for everyone before the crew is called to the control room. In one big gulp, Bepo swallows the rest of his sandwich and off he goes.

He gets there just as Law emerges from the captain’s cabin in a fresh change of clothes and still-moist hair. “Ready?”, Law asks him, looking worn out still but sounding excited by his own standards, and Bepo nods with a fanged grin.

“Ready, Captain.”

The tanks are flooded and the engine purrs below their feet. From there, the Heart Pirates flit in and out and around Trafalgar Law like blood cells under a microscope and Bepo?

Bepo stands by Law’s side, one eye on the Log Pose and the other on the currents, and feels his pulse even out. There’s nothing like home.

The Tang quiets to a comforting hum once the course is set and optimal velocity is achieved, a background noise as familiar to Bepo as the cadence of Law’s voice. The residual heat from the engine room is making everyone but Bepo sweat in their suits, and he’d feel smug about it if his paws and nose weren’t wet with perspiration too–

It’s then that he remembers their allies, more specifically the only people without proper gear to be in a submerged submarine, and Bepo curses his own neglect under his breath for all of a second. By that point Bart is already letting go of the helm to pat Bepo's head, an automatic gesture of comfort.

“I told them to wait”, he says and shrugs a bit sheepishly because, as it turns out, the Strawhats actually listened. Bepo finds them lounging around one of the tables, just where they left them; the three from Wano Country are huddled in the corner a bit further away, heads stuck together to catch up. The Strawhats are in the middle of a round of some card game, it seems, even if their expressions are serious enough to make Bepo wonder if there’s more to it. He hovers in their periphery, hesitant to interrupt.

Suddenly, Nico Robin looks up and smiles. Usopp groans, throwing his hand away.

“I give up! You’re impossible, Robin. Impossible.”

“Bear”, Zoro greets him, gaze sliding lazily from his cards to Bepo. “You any good at Continental?”

“Uh”, Bepo replies intelligently. Conti-what? A glimpse at the cards Robin plays doesn’t reveal any epiphanies to him, either. “Sorry. I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s a card game from the East Blue”, Robin explains while she holds out a patient hand for Zoro’s cards as well. It’s one summoned by her powers, not that Zoro seems to mind as he rolls his eye and relinquishes the (presumably bad) hand he had. “Nami is a real devil at it.”

Usopp leans far back in his chair. “Playing this without her to knock out Robin early on is hopeless”, he adds with a dramatic sigh.

Bepo’s ears twitch in interest. Nami, their navigator? “Ah. Perhaps you can show me–” The sentence crashes into the realization that he's letting himself be distracted, again. “Later! Show me later. You guys need suits, and a tour around the– Wait, where’s Franky?”

Robin chuckles rather fondly. “Don’t mind him”, she tells Bepo, “Franky is easily excitable by the prospect of a new ship to tinker with”, and before Bepo can feel put out by her just deciding that, she glances over Bepo’s shoulder. A pause, pensive.

“I can reel him in, though. Your ship, your rules, Mr. Traffy.”

A huff confirms Law’s presence behind him a moment before he puts a hand on Bepo’s elbow, undemanding. Out of habit, Bepo nudges their shoulders together to acknowledge his captain properly and Law’s fingers tighten, once.

“Better get it out of Franky's system now, I suppose. We’re still close enough to the surface that an explosion or two won’t kill us all.”

Law’s voice is utterly deadpan and it’s most certainly a joke – Robin is snickering good-naturedly, too – but Bepo still gives his captain a look. These are the Strawhats they’re talking about.

Law just shakes his head, a movement so subtle it might as well not exist at all. Bepo lets out a breath. No sudden deaths by drowning today, how nice.

“As Bepo said: You need suits and a tour. Wano people, you too. Zoro, you need a guide.”

“Oi.”

“Hey, why the suits?”

That last one comes from Usopp, and Bepo opens his mouth to offer a perfectly rational answer–

“So the Tang doesn’t boil you alive”, Law says and gives them a sweet smile. It drops off his lips immediately. “Any other questions? I’ll send Uni over for your measurements. He’s the guy with the bandana. Shachi will show you around. Bepo, a word?”

Bepo nods along and… Huh?

As first mate, tour duty should fall onto him – after all, it’s a good way for him to gauge who exactly they invited into their home – but something in Law’s tone makes Bepo’s instincts perk up and pay attention and oh, Law hasn’t let go of his elbow yet.

Bepo doesn’t have time to ask his captain what’s wrong before blue engulfs them both and the world shifts around them.

*

Shambles is a mixture of falling and being held; for Bepo, the unique feeling of Law’s powers is a long-kept comfort, simultaneously a vanguard and the last line of defense in every battle they have fought together.

When it fades, Bepo finds himself in the captain’s cabin – the sight of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the walls is a familiar one, the whirlwind of documents all across the desk not so much – and there’s no time to ponder on that before Law holds his hands inches from Bepo’s nose and tells him to look.

“Wha–?”

“Just– Humor me. What do you see?”

Bepo snaps his jaws shut because Law is serious, the air of snarky rudeness gone without a trace, and Bepo looks and sees... Well, nothing. There’s tan skin and fingernails kept obsessively neat; there are the precise lines of the tattoos that have been there for years.

Law’s hands are trembling.

“I don’t see anything, Captain”, Bepo says honestly. Gently, too, because anything that involves Law insisting like that is wrapped in caution tape and staked with warning signs, do not enter, all the way up to the ocean’s surface.

Law curses, then, shaking out his arms in an effort to stop the tremors and it’s wrong, for a surgeon’s hands to be that unsteady. He starts tugging at his clothes and Bepo watches, concern swelling bigger and bigger in his chest – Law’s hat falls to the ground unnoticed when he pulls his shirt over his head in one rough motion.

“Look”, he repeats, golden eyes gone cold and hard. His chest heaves with how heavy he’s panting, muscles taught under the strain; Law’s arm is the only thing left covered, bandaged all the way to his shoulder.

“Anything?”

Bepo does, expression carefully blank as he forces himself to look past the ink and all the things that make Law Law and directly at what’s hidden in plain sight: faded by time, he spots the outline of pale-white scars that have always been there, pre-dating even the fateful day they met.

Then, Bepo shakes his head. “Nothing. There’s nothing, Captain. It’s the same as always.”

“Honest?”

It’s a rushed breath, barely a question at all. It takes Bepo back a decade, the raw fear in it unchanged and belonging to a boy just scratching manhood, struggling to trust the one friend he has in the world. “Honest”, Bepo promises like he always has, and for all of his twenty-two years the ache in his heart feels ancient.

“Talk to me, Law. Please. You’re scaring me.”

Finally, Law inhales sharply and nods, fingers dragging through his hair the way he does after a close call, another life barely saved.

“Something’s not right. I didn’t notice with everything else going on but I’m tired and everything hurts? It’s like I’m about to pass out, fucking… faint like I used Room too much and things get fuzzy around the edges but I haven’t. All I’ve been doing is sleep and eat, I don’t– It makes no sense. And it’s not going away, Bepo.”

Bepo wants to hug him, the need to hold him close and tell him to breathe writhing inside him like a separate being. Law isn’t done yet and somehow it’s even worse to witness him trying to wrest himself into a semblance of control, to drag himself away from all-too-familiar devastation.

“Fatigue. That’s how it starts”, Law tells him, like he’s talking about a patient wholly unrelated to himself. He holds up his hand and counts down with his fingers, one at a time, utterly methodical. “Then pain in the limbs, difficulties concentrating for longer periods of time, discoloration of the skin and hair, high fever and–”

There are no more fingers left, all of them tucked against Law’s palm and exposing all five letters.

“–ultimately: death.”

Bepo can’t take it anymore. “Captain–”, he starts and again he’s interrupted.

“I must’ve missed something.”

Something flashes in Law’s eyes, something unstable and mad-looking and this is bad, Bepo thinks numbly. Very, very bad.

“I thought I cured it but I was a kid, Bepo. Nobody knows the long-term effects of surviving Amber Lead Syndrome, nobody lived long enough to tell. Just because there're no new spots doesn’t mean it’s gone. And what if there’s deposits on a molecular level? I couldn’t cut cells back then without Kikoku but I can now–”

“Law, stop! Shut up!”

Bepo hasn't shouted at Law and truly meant it in a long, long time. Law’s eyes go wide and the frantic rambling stops, and Bepo is done hesitating: He reaches through that gap and touches Law’s forehead, heat searing into the sensitive skin of his paw pads immediately. Shit.

“You’re burning up”, Bepo tells him and shakes his head, barrels through the acute panic in Law’s gaze before it can take proper hold. “Stop, okay? Listen to me.” His paws drop to Law’s shoulders, firm, careful where his fingers touch gauze. “Remember our promise on Swallow? You were delirious with pain and bleeding all over the place and you told me–”

Law whispers, “Promise to stop me”, almost as pale as he was when he said it the first time.

“Exactly. I promised to never let you operate without a clear head ever again ‘cause you’re only human, Captain, and you make mistakes like this. So this is me, stopping you. You’re unwell and you’re scared and you’re not gonna cut into your own cells looking for Amber Lead like this. Okay?”

“Okay”, Law says, the low rasp of his voice growing more solid, close to trusting. Bepo lets himself feel the rapid beat of his own heart for a moment and that, too, is calmer now if only marginally so.

“Okay. So: You’re tired, your body aches, you can’t focus. You have a fever and there’s like, a thousand reasons why that could be aside from– That. And there’s no new spots. What else causes those symptoms? Walk me through it.”

“The flu? Other viruses. Anemia. Iron deficiency in general. Uh–”

A few seconds pass where Law just thinks, brow furrowed and shining with sweat, and Bepo reaches blindly for the hoodie he knows he will find crumpled on Law’s desk chair. “Put this on”, he mutters and presses it against Law’s naked chest. Law does, even lets Bepo help when his injured arm catches on fabric and a pained hiss escapes his lips.

Then the scars are covered again, out of Bepo’s and – more importantly – Law’s sight for the most part. Law stops shivering as much and it's not much but it's still good, still progress. Bepo steers Law to the bed and makes him sit down; arms crossed on the back of the chair, Bepo sits directly across from him. Eyes soft, he nudges Law’s boot with his own.

“Captain. What else?”

“Bacterial infections, severe ones. Miningitis? Hmm... Lymphoma. Technically, most types of canc–”

“Whoa, that’s– Let’s stop there. See? Plenty of options. All of them suck, especially that… that last one.” Bepo pauses, can’t help but to ask: “It’s not that, right? You don’t have cancer.”

Law’s expression softens, the overall misery pushed aside for a moment as his lips twitch tiredly and he shakes his head. “No cancer.”

Bepo nods in relief, and his mind is already three steps ahead because they need a plan and Law is not the only Heart Pirate that has a knack for those. “What’s the prescription against fever? Painkillers and…?”

“Antipyretics.”

There’s not much finesse to Bepo searching the cabinet where Law keeps his private stash of medicine. The weight of Law’s eyes on him registers yet his captain says nothing, wordlessly watching Bepo as he reads labels and tries to place everything back where he finds it until– There!

“Got it. Take… uh, how many?”

“Two. And one from the red box. That one, yeah.”

Bepo gives him the pills and waits with crossed arms until Law obediently swallows all of them at once, wincing at– Wait. Water.

Scrambling to the adjacent bathroom, Bepo fills a glass and refills it right after his captain finishes the first, placing it on his nightstand. “My apologies.”

“It’s fine. You’re fussing.”

“You bet I am”, Bepo huffs, uncaring how petulant it makes him sound. “And I’m not done. Now, rest – and I mean rest, Captain, as in not moving from that bed or so help me – and I’ll get Shachi and Penguin to keep you company. You’ll be fine in no time.”

Pointedly, Law folds the covers over his legs, a wordless there, I’m in bed. “Happy?”

“Yes.”

“And you?”

Blinking, Bepo tilts his head at Law. Law just raises an eyebrow and waits, looking vaguely worried and–

Bepo reminds himself that for all he’s a genius his captain is also an idiot.

“You just came back and you’re sick, what do you think I’m gonna do? Figure this out, of course! There’s no way I’m letting you anywhere near one of the Emperors like this, much less freaking Kaido. Also”, he takes a long breath, “I’m taking Kikoku with me and there’s nothing you can do–”

“Fine.”

“–to stop me! …Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, take it. You’re worried enough as is.” Law shrugs a little, like it’s no big deal he’s allowing Bepo to handle the sword he keeps close even in his sleep. “It’s cursed, though. Be careful.”

Bepo swallows, a little nervous despite himself. “I know. I will. And… we’ll get through this, okay? Just stay put. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Law leans back against the headrest and sighs, “Can't. The meds’ll knock me out in a few.” And perhaps he doesn’t look particularly happy about any of it but he still took the pills Bepo handed him, still decided in that moment to trust Bepo to come up with a solution while he’s down and out.

Determination sets into a tight-lipped smile on Bepo’s face. Law’s trust is all Bepo has ever needed, be it to wrestle ocean currents into submission or to help his best friend find the freedom he’s looking for, one cut string at a time.

“I'll tell 'em to hurry, then. Leave the rest to me, Captain.”

>>Chapter 2.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

content warning: referenced/implied child abuse, child homelessness

It’s hard finding food out here. Figuring out which shops are the least dangerous to steal from, finding people around who will slip him something to eat if he looks dirty and thin enough. It’s harder to find water, and impossible to find a decent place to sleep, unless he somehow hears about a nearby safehouse and they let him in.

Even warlocks look at their own kind and say you’re too desperate to not be a threat, a lot of the time.

It’s okay, though. Lux hasn’t been comfortable in a long time. He’s always had a bed and walls and doors, yes, and he was privileged for having that much - but he hasn’t felt safe for years. Being out in the cold in between shelters found and safehouses wheedled into is much, much better than being in a house with someone you fear. His nightmares have stopped, the flinching excusable as the instincts of a street urchin instead of the paranoia of a battered kid, so he’s feeling as confident and brave as he ever has. (Except for when his mom was around, and she’d pull this face after he had to face his dad, and she’d wrap him up in her arms and trace the bruise on his cheek gently and call him her brave little man.)

What he needs right now are shoes. He needs to find shoes. Or a couple pairs of socks to layer up - or even long strips of something, like bandages, that he can wrap around and around to protect the soles of his feet against glass and pebbles and things. He needs those, that’s number one; then water, then food, then maybe, maybe, a blanket to hide under and try to sleep.

Warlocks don’t knock, they sneak. Slip in or break in. He’s a sneaker, definitely not a big bully type, thirteen years old and hardly ninety pounds soaking wet. So Lux slips into this safehouse he heard about from a grabby, grimy homeless warlock a few blocks away.

“What are you doing here?” A witch asks, stalking right up to him when she spots a hunger-panged frame crouched over and hurrying from the briefly open back door.

“I - sorry, miss, I, I’m hungry -”

The crack of her palm striking his cheek, the slap ringing out loud and sharp, makes Lux gasp. The whole left side of his face stings hotly as he reels from the blow, finding with a tug on his arm that she’s got a secure grip on his wrist.

“And, I’m’a warlock,” He mutters, covering his cheek and blinking up at her, scared, before swallowing and widening his stance to be steadier on his feet. She can throw him out, but he’ll get back in somehow. He can’t find another place tonight, he just, he has to stay here no matter what it takes.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Stupid kid.” The grip doesn’t leave his wrist. Lux yelps as he gets yanked over to the nearest room, a stubby black fingernail pointing into the space that holds four passed out warlocks. “That’s where we sleep.” More yanking, and she points into a room with various mismatched appliances with exposed wires and worn-down handles. “Kitchen. You burn yourself on accident in there, you don’t holler, you keep quiet. You do anything that gets us found and you get thrown to the cops, understand?”

“Yes,” Lux breathes, and he’s dragged along to the next room, and the next, until finally he’s brought all the way back to the kitchen and shoved inside.

“Sit on the floor. I’m gonna make you something to eat. Look like you’re about to faint. After this, you make your own food. And you don’t stay more than a week, got it? Kids mean trouble.”

With an annoyed huff just to hide how uneasy her shoving and anger makes him, Lux lowers himself to the ugly linoleum floor and watches her work with the stove, moving pots and dishes with surprising caution. One wrong clatter and the neighbors get annoyed, call the cops, get people killed. Lux watches and learns.

~

If cops get ya, too bad. Your fault. Run, duck, twist free, but if they get ya, it’s over. Lux knows this, he’s been told it plenty of times. He used to watch his dad’s cop friends coming over to the house, he would cringe against the wall as he was shoved out of their line of sight and told in a hushed, icy calm tone you know, if you’re ever bad enough, I can make one call and you’ll be hauled off by these guys, gone forever. He used to get hauled up off the floor where he’d been crying curled up around a broken bone and told what, you wanna go to a hospital? You want them to do tests on you and find out what you are? Shut up or I’ll take you there, I will, and they’ll put poison in you, they’ll get rid of you for me.

Well, there’s no Dad to hold that danger off now. Sixteen and stupid, Lux tried to steal a car to get to someplace different, to just get away. He didn’t know it was an undercover cop’s car.

He doesn’t actually know what happens if you get caught by a cop. He’s seen bodies, and he’s heard stories, but it’s never happened to him. He guesses that it will now.

“You see this?” The cop snarls, gripping one of Lux’s arms that are cuffed behind his back and shoving the kid forward with a fist in his curly hair. Lux cringes as his face is held inches away from the broken glass lining what was once a driver’s side window on a car.

“Yeah?”

“This costs five hundred dollars to replace. You got that kind of money?”

“N-no, I-”

“No, because you’re just some dirty warlock kid. Can’t help but steal and break things, it’s in your nature. Bet your warlock parents taught you how to do that.” The officer shoves Lux up against the side of the car, bigger and stronger and in the eyes of anyone who might see, completely in the right.

“S-, officer, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“You don’t break a car window on accident, warlock.”

“- to, cause any trouble, just wanted to -”

The grip on his hair tugs hard, and then his face, his skull, everything above his shoulders explodes into sudden pain. Lux cries out, wrists jerking in the handcuffs cinched too tight so he can’t slip free, skinny as he is. His head was slammed against the car, he realizes belatedly as the cop forces his head to turn so the damage can be inspected.

“Where are your little warlock friends? Your band of thieves? Did some older kids convince you to do this as some kind of initiation?”

“Inish…’nitia-, huh? I, I just - ‘m alone, just needed a car, I’m sorry!”

“Oh, you’re alone.” The cop leans closer, and Lux has no room to escape the threatening proximity. “I get it. You’re not a criminal warlock in training, you’re just a scared harmless kid, all on his own. How stupid do you think I am?”

He is alone. Lux has been alone for years. He runs, hides, steals. He’s not a criminal, not really, just - what do the older warlocks say, bitterly lounged on musty couches and chugging plastic bottles of liquor? We’re not criminals, we’re survivors. Lux is just a survivor. One who’s not yet very good at avoiding the law.

He’s pushed into the backseat of the cop car, and then the officer walks away. Doesn’t come back for an hour. Two hours. Lux’s eyelids droop, his breathing slowing then hitching as he finds himself tipping over.

He’s alone, and even this hard seat is better than the ground when he can’t find a safehouse to duck into, and it’s much warmer in here than outside. But, but do cops have cameras in their cars? Microphones? Will they watch him lower his guard, will they record his breathing and what he says in his sleep? If he does drift off, will the cop come back and put a bullet in his brain? Dump him out on the road when a car is coming? No, Lux can’t sleep. He’s alone, he’s handcuffed, he’s trapped in a space that belongs to someone paid to find and hurt warlocks. It’s just not safe, it’s not, he can’t sleep, he can’t… he can’t help dozing off with a low thrumming panic eating away at his nerves, sure to bring nightmares as soon as he’s at his most vulnerable, unconscious and unaware.

~

There are cinnamon rolls in the fridge, each one wrapped up carefully in cling wrap to keep it fresh and soft.

The plants on the windowsills are green and leafy, bouncing mildly in the breeze, scents sweetening the air in repayment for the water and sunlight and singing sometimes offered to help them grow.

Lux is on a couch. His head is lying on a rolled-up sweater, peach-colored and soft, that Emory was wearing earlier, curls and a cheek smushed up against the soft fabric.

He looks around, one knuckle just barely kissing the floor where his arm dangles off the side of the couch, socked feet propped up on a pillow. The speakers beside the TV are quietly playing a playlist that Emory put together for when Lux is bored lying around the house, each song especially picked for a Lux in a particular mood.

Twenty-two and safe. Twenty-two and calm, comfortable, sleepy and utterly relaxed. Lux, a warlock, the son of a veteran of the War on Magic, a criminal and a killer, lies sprawled out on something soft in a place he can call home. His boyfriend will come home soon with take-out, and kisses, and questions about how Lux’s day went. This place wouldn’t be so warm and safe if Emory didn’t live here, but Emory doesn’t lord over it, and the crazy man swears that it wouldn’t be a home without Lux here.

So here Lux waits, dozes, the only one in the house for the moment, but not alone. Not alone anymore. Never alone again, if you don’t wanna be, Emory promises, sometimes, when Lux asks to be held in the middle of the night so the anxieties that slide around his mind in the dark and quiet don’t grow and take root. I’m right here, Curls. You’re not alone.

It took a long time. Too long, he thinks, remembering when he was smaller and not yet used to all the ways the world could hurt him. But he’s finally here, in the home he was meant to have, and within the hour, he’ll see his Em, he’ll be in the arms of someone who loves him despite knowing him inside and out. Lux snuggles further into his boyfriend’s sweater and breathes deep, letting himself fall further into his early-evening nap. He’ll be woken by hands on his back, in his hair, lips at his cheek and shoulder, and Lux won’t flinch. He’ll stay sleepy and loose and hum a welcome home, and get a warm greeting in return. It’s just the kind of thing that happens when you’re home and in love, kisses and warm words and food. All his, whenever he needs them, forever. Because he’s not alone anymore.

[a-king-alone]

Ghostface (DBD) x gender neutral reader pt.2 | pt. 1

Your eyes flutter open, blurry dark vision greeting you. The branches far above you begin to come into focus. Crackling noise of fire eating wood fills you with a bit of the comfort of warmness and safety. Your face feels far warmer, but you knew it was because of a different reason.

As you sit up slowly, you see your fellow survivors are sitting around the source of light, trying to keep the dull warmth to stay in their bones. They can tell something is off with you, your prolonged silence and avoidant behavior was unusual.

They ask if you're feeling alright, you coin some bull about feeling overly guilty for messing up, that you felt horrible over the fact that it was a critical moment, but you had failed, resulting in your teammates deaths. It wasn't completely untrue, it just wasn't ate away at you.

Of course they went on, attempting to reassure you that fault didn't fall solely on your shoulders. Sometimes there were trials that killers dominated and there wasn't much anyone would be able to do once it reached that point. You said, yeah, sure, somehow irritated by the concern they offered, but it was because of your dirty little secret.

You felt like you didn't deserve their concern.

You breathe in deeply, turning away from the fire toward the thick of the woods. "Going for a walk," you said tiredly. No one questioned you, only their worried stares watching your back as it disappeared behind the foliage.

As you aimlessly wander, your mind keeps replaying your encounter with Ghostface, how he maliciously stabbed you and then held you captive in his lap as you were dying. You still felt it, the way his lips and tongue were all over you, every detail back to back inside of your brain. It played out behind your eyelids when you tried to close them.

Bile welled under your tongue, a tightness in your throat as you felt you were going to vomit when you remembered words he had said to you. Your throat closed itself for a moment, causing you to gag profusely into a series of dry heaves for a few seconds behind a tree before you could catch your breath.

You wiped your mouth weakly. Just... Why did he have to look so... normal? If he were  another grotesque creature, you could deal with it. But he wasn't. He was hot. Stupidly hot. Hotter than anyone you'd ever seen in your life, not that you could remember much from your past, but much more attractive than any of the survivors. The overwhelming shame you felt with your shallow perception seemed like it might consume you entirely.

You wanted to sleep for days, to let it all fade away, to escape from not only this horrible realm you loathed being trapped in, but from your memories that plagued you nonstop. As you returned to the campfire, your friends noticed you and smiled, but they left you alone and gave you space. You were thankful for that.

You eased yourself onto the ground, laying on your side and adjusting yourself until you found a sufficiently comfortable position. Your heavy lids drooped closed. Every time his face manifested, you tried really hard to think of anything else. But there was nothing else to think about.

Even in your dream, his image cursed your nonsensical visions. Cornering you, forcing his kiss on you, his hands all over you. You wake suddenly as you shot upright. Your hands covered your face with your frustration, how you wished so desperately that it'd go away.

But it doesn't.

You feel as if you -belong- to him and you -don't-. You belong to yourself and only yourself, no one else. Certainly not some pushy delusional psycho. A pushy delusional psycho with eyes for you. And apparently, for you only.

And every moment between, you felt nothing but dread. You dreaded seeing him again, him finding you again. What would he do? You didn't want to think about it. Would it be worse?... Your gut said yes.

He had no problem with forcibly holding you down and kissing you. Kissing was something long forgotten about in a world like this, for you. And you hated how your body had reacted to it against your will, because that's a normal thing that happens when you're stimulated after a long period of time of stagnancy. You hated that you admitted to yourself that it felt really, really good, to receive that kind of attention.

You felt utterly disgusted with yourself. You actually preferred it when he did nothing else but used you as a catalyst for his ugly sadistic desires, not this. Not this creepy obsession and possessiveness.

You couldn't say for sure if his obsession was new or a recent development or something that was there from the beginning. Physical contact wasn't something experienced here, in the Entity's world, as far as you knew. At least, not for you. It was scary and you hated it being forced upon you, even if you kinda shamefully liked it.

The only thing that was ever on your mind was trying to survive death and escape immense suffering. To find some way out. Not finding a fucking boyfriend. Who in their right mind would ever think of something as stupid as that in a place like this?

You were well aware that some survivors did find that type of comfort in each other. But you didn't participate. You found it to be a liability, favoring someone over everyone else over measly physical touch, therefore, making mistakes when the one you enjoy becomes the item of torment for a killer. You'd seen it happen.

But you didn't blame them, nor did you look down on them. That was just your own personal opinion on the matter. Survivors only had each other for comfort. It was natural that something may bloom into something further. Everyone respected each others privacy and never meddled. Consenting adults could do as they wished. If weird relationship problems arose, you ignored it and let them handle it.

You just stayed out of it. People were complicated and the last thing you needed were more complications. But you couldn't deny your envy that they were brave enough to be vulnerable.

All you wanted to do was forget everything. To maybe actually die next time and not return.

You found your next trials to be ultimately relieving, even when you were killed. Each time you were summoned, you were scared out of your mind until you knew who the killer was. And you breathed a sigh of relief when it wasn't him.

But you couldn't focus.

You were mangled in ways you never thought possible because of your mistakes. You were stabbed to death. Your skull was caved in and your fingers were sliced off as a stolen prize. A horrid creature devoured the entire upper half of your body, leaving the rest to decay. But you didn't care. The pain was nothing new. You didn't mind if you died over and over and over again, as long as you never had to see him again, nothing else mattered. You told yourself you could handle it all.

That paranoia never left you. He wanted you to look for him. And you hated that you did, every single time.

Your friends looked at you pitifully whenever you all finally returned to the soft glow of the campfire. They could tell that something was off with you, but they never pushed it. Existing in this place was hard enough sometimes. But they commented that they were glad that you were back in one piece. You could only give a hollow smile. You didn't feel like talking.  Being eaten half alive skull first was something you never thought you would prefer, despite how completely terrible of an experience it was.

It wasn't long before you felt the tug of your summoning, pulling you away from where you wished you could stay, to another unknown destination for the same old story with different flavors.

You recognized this place as you looked around you, the tall cement walls enclosed all around you. The Meat Plant, a place where you hadn't been to in such a long time that you struggled to find your way around. You started off alone and wandered as quietly as you could, dropping down through an open hole in the floor down into a dimly lit bathroom in the underground, a generator close to the only entrance.

You put your attention on fixing the machine in front of you, lost to your thoughts because of the stillness and near silence around you aside from your repairs. It felt eerie and a bad feeling sunk into your stomach as you were closer to completion.

A scream from your teammate startles you with a jolt, it was close to your position. You gulped and continued, frantic to get it going. Another horrid cry of pain came muffled further beneath the ground. The basement. The generator lights flashed on in your success, automated doors opening a new path way once rushed with power.

Out of the several lockers, you picked one closest to you and tried to hide inside without making too much noise, feeling no presence and that alone was making your fear spike considerably. The nausea surged when a black cloaked individual silently crept through the entryway and your breath caught inside of your throat.

He was slow in his steps as he passed each one, an upbeat tune lightly coming from behind that mask and you prayed you were hallucinating. The knife twirled between his fingers, the edge tapped playfully against some lockers he wasn't looking directly at as he approached nearer to yours.

You try to quell your escalating panic when you heard his his voice come out in a dangerously low tune, "Where are you~?"

You can't breathe, trying to rationalize by telling yourself that he definitely did not see you in this room and he does not know that you're here, at all. You hoped it would stay that way, your legs trembling. And then, in your limited view, you saw him standing there, only the doors between him and you.

A soft whimper catches in your throat. You couldn't think. You didn't know or care if it was audible enough for him to hear it. He was going to find you. He doesn't move at all when one of your teammates crosses the wrong wires, igniting an explosion loudly right up the stairs from you. He's completely still.

And suddenly, he turns and walks away from you, his pursuit now on the possible locations of your team and a shaking breath left you. All you had done was prove to yourself that you weren't prepared for the worst. You didn't even want to leave the locker, on the verge of hyperventilating.

If there was a chance that your presence was still unknown to him, you planned to escape the trial without being seen by him. You felt horrible giving into your cowardice, knowing that your team needed you if they wanted a better chance at success. But you don't want to know what he's going to do to you when he finds you. Because he will. That was the only thing you were certain of.

If he saw you, he would hunt you down.

You open the locker door cautiously, peeking out to get a clear view. It seemed you were alone, so you gathered your courage and went toward the hallway leading toward the basement. You could hear your friend Meg down there, groaning in the searing pain she was in, struggling for her life. You were the closest, you had to rescue her. It wouldn't be right to leave her.

You do your best to remain extremely quiet if not soundless while descending the stairs toward the darkness. When you reach her, you grunt as you free her from the claws of the Entity and she thanks you roughly, coughing from her exhaustion. You tell her to run as far as she can, to find someone to patch up her wounds. She nods, making her escape as you return to another locker, toward the back corner.

You hated the idea of using Meg for bloodtrail bait, but you couldn't handle it. You couldn't face him.

But to your horror, you heard Meg's shrill screams very close by, your hearts pace quickening, more and more. All you could hear was her trying her best to get away as it grew closer. A piercing cry from going right back onto the hook, instantly devoured by the starving Entity. And then silence.

That same upbeat tune is near you as he's whistling it this time. Your arms wrap around yourself in a fruitless attempt to calm your tremoring body. He couldn't possibly...

"I know you're here~"

You hear his voice through the slits of the locker right as the doors burst open, you, frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights. He sharply inhales. Your mind goes blank. All you see is Ghostface standing there, blocking your only exit, and you're completely cornered. He's unnervingly still.

You can only imagine that awful grin beneath the mask.

He closes in on you immediately as you flattened yourself as far back as you can go, but it was no use. His body pressed against you, hearing his hoarse whisper when he invaded your space as his bloody glove caresses against your cheek, leaving a wet red streak from his touch, "What a surprise..."

Your face falls with disgust as you glare at the floor, visibly shaking in your fear, uncertainty and anger. Why won't this creepy fucker just leave you alone? This torment was more suffering on top of the base suffering of this hellish nightmare and you have to put up with being relentlessly harassed by this sicko.

"Mmm, you're trembling~ You want me that badly~?" he sighed lowly with his hands slowly roaming your body freely even as you recoil from it, gritting your teeth at his gross fucking words. It pushed you to your breaking point. With all your strength, you shoved into his chest enough to send him stumbling backward.

Enough room for you to dash past him and make a run for it, but all you hear is him laughing wildly at you. You're halfway up the stairs when your arms get locked to your sides as he grabs you from behind, clutching into you with excessive force when you started to kick and scream.

Gravity becomes your enemy as he threw you back down the staircase, laughing at you as you tumbled painfully until you smacked the flat below on your stomach. You moaned from the impact, feeling aches all over you, wincing from it as you leered to where he loomed above you. At the top of the portal, he's standing there with his head titled down.

"You really think that you can get away from me?"

He didn't sound amused, his tone heavy with the promise of fulfilling his threats if you kept being difficult. It was far worse than the stupid little cheerful act he paraded. Slowly he goes down each step toward you as you tried to get back to your feet, strained because of the pain you felt.

"You can't run. You can't hide," he said calmly, matter-of-fact like, when he reaches you as you managed to stand upright, your hand against the wooden boards to keep yourself steady. You're on the defensive, ready to make a reckless try once again, but his dark tone make you freeze.

"Don't make me hurt you."

You knew that he would. Less of what he'd done recently paled in comparison to the horribly disgusting things he did in the past to you. You didn't want to be on the receiving end of the extent of his full cruelty because he was more than willing, more than capable. And eager. So eager.

His hand rises directly in front of you and you flinch, only for him to softly touch your face. Tears sting your eyes as you glower with contempt.

"You want me to," he rasped as you furiously shake your head to deny it, your eyes wide with your fear of how unpredictable the situation had gotten. Ghostface responds with a drawn out guttural hum before he grabs your hair, yanking the back of your skull when he pushed you against the wall. Pleasured groans rumbled from him in response to your pained cries.

"Dangling yourself in front of me, whimpering for me," he whispered dangerously close, breathing heavy as you struggled against his grip. "Waiting just for me."

You felt utterly sick to your stomach over his detailed delusions, painting the picture perfectly clear for you. How could he possibly mistake you purposefully avoiding him as a ploy to get his attention?! What a fucking lunatic!

His knife is against your throat and you go still, glancing pleadingly with an emotionless mask tilting at you. You'd rather die than to be subject to his games. You hated pain, you hated how much pain you had to constantly endure and pretend that it doesn't affect you, but you'd rather be cut into ribbons. How could it get any worse? He was going to do whatever he wanted whether you liked it or not.

A generator came to life somewhere far away upstairs, but Ghostface doesn't pay any mind to it. You hadn't realized that at least one or two of your teammates could possibly be alive while the killer played around with you unbeknownst to them. You thought he would've gotten rid of them as soon as possible. The clatter of metal hitting the floor jarred you and before you could react, his hands were around your throat, choking off your airway.

You thrashed wildly against him to no avail, you were no match against his strength.  Your conscious began fading fast, unable to breathe against the force over your neck. Soon, you were enveloped in darkness.

When you woke sometime later, your head was pounding and you felt dizzy. There was a cloth stuffed into your mouth, covered with tape. You realized your hands and ankles were bound together as you grew more alert. You were inside of a locker again, sitting on the floor of it with your knees upright. That son of a bitch choked you out and tied you up. You were furious, thudding your shoulder against the doors to see if you could open them.

The door swung open to your surprise and you gathered that you were still in the basement, but now there was blood splattered all over every surface, fresh liquids and pieces of meat dripping off of the hooks in the center. It felt so much more dark now as you saw the aftermath of violent demise. Ghostface was crouched in the corner opposite of you, his jaw propped against his palm. His mask was gone. His face was covered in blood.

"That's a good look for you," he said softly, meeting your gaze with that dumb,  affectionate smile. Apparently he was in a much better mood.

Your muddled reply was incomprehensible through your gag, but you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. He merely chuckled at your struggle, rising before he came closer to you. Kneeling down, he cut your bonds with his knife, freeing you. That was unexpected. You took the liberty of ripping the tape too quickly off of your face with a hard gasp as you spit out the balled up fabric.

He looked pleased. A thoughtful look crossed his face before he opened his arms toward you, his fingers gesturing that he wanted you to come to him. You glared as you reeled back to spit at his face. It landed on his cheek, next to his mouth that spread with a grin. The tip of his tongue lapped some of it away with one motion and he beckoned you again.

"No second chances," he warned. He was giving you a silent ultimatum; go to him willingly or submit to his torture. You hesitated. You didn't want him to get psychotic, you wanted to just leave and it appeared that the quickest way to get to that was to play along with him. Again.

Your eyes fall to the ground as you inched toward him, settling against his chest as his arms closed around your shoulders, holding you lightly. His sigh of content grazed your bruised neck and you grimaced.

"You know what I want," Danny murmured into your ear as you tilted your head away from him, but he took it as an invitation to drag his tongue against the length of your exposed flesh. You made an audible 'ugh' and he chuckled.

He leaned back from you just enough to gaze at your unhappy expression, all the while he just smiled faintly while never breaking his gaze away from yours. "Kiss me."

Now you were watching him incredulously, but he just rose his brows as his grin deepened.

There wasn't any other way. You couldn't deny him of his demands because he would draw this out as long as possible. Your distaste and hatred burned inside of you, but you closed the distance between your lips and his, only a peck against them, but his gross smile told you everything you needed to know.

It was that fucking look. You loathed it, the fact that he had an expression of longing, looking so infatuated, desperate for your attention, any little bit of it. It was so hard for you to understand.

He hurt you. Physically, mentally, he damaged you over and over again without remorse, with every opportunity that he got. The memories you had of him apart from the recent all involved various degrees of sadistic torture.

You knew what it was. It was all intentionally thought out, to force you to come to him. He confirmed with his actions that he would use any means necessary.

Danny moved closer to you, invading your space until he was up against you, he couldn't hold himself back anymore. His lips were against your ear, whispering sweet nothings that a lover might say, disgustingly sweet words that you felt were more like poison, saying how much he dreamed of you calling his name every time you were apart. Moaning it. Screaming it.

Those hands eventually roamed over parts of your body that were sensitive to the touch, places that were long forgot. It stirred some kind of feelings within, but you tried to swallow them, to not show too much reaction to anything. You wanted to hate it. A part of you did, swelling into tears that poured from your eyes, a soft sob escaping from your tired grasp. You were tired of holding on. You were so tired of it all.

And he shushed you, gently wiping your tears away when he pulled back enough to do so. You hated that he looked so concerned for you when it was his diabolical plot that lead you both here.

"Please don't cry," he breathed, but it only made the downpour escalate in your cascade of horrible emotions. He continued to catch your tears onto his gloves with a gentle smile. "I need you."

All you can do is stare at him, at his face, the perfect portrait of an ideally beautiful person. A twisted perverted psychopath. That face of yearning for your touch, for you kiss. You could tell. The corners of his mouth rose just slightly as he leaned closer toward you, glancing from your eyes to your lips, eager to claim his prize but visibly forcing himself to go slow, to enjoy every single second of it.

His breath shook as his lips met yours, only brushing against them. He wants you so badly and you can feel it, his excitement for a moment he had waited so long for. His lips drew back barely an inch before you murmured, "Why me..?"

And he smiled with a huff, those dark eyes piercing into yours. No semblance of light reflected there. "I thought I told you that you were mine."

That didn't answer your question.

His lips captured yours again, more fervently although restrained, grasping your body tightly as a gloved hand found its way into your hair, pressing you into him harder. A sharp, sudden pain makes you gasp. He had bit into your lip, not with a lot of pressure, but your reaction appeared to rile him up even more, moaning unabashedly into you. Even the slightest of noise that you made seemed to electrify the blood in his veins.

You found yourself forcing yourself to get lost in your own head to ignore any pleasurable sensation while his needy tongue filled your mouth. You felt like you might have understood why he never molested you or at least you had a theory. He could have. He definitely could have sexually overpowered you long ago, but he never did. You guessed based on what you has observed that maybe he had an overwhelming desire for you to be the one to initiate it. And you knew he liked to have things his way.

Your arms hesitantly returned his embrace as your arms slithered around his torso, lightly pushing your body against his despite the nausea from touching the blood clinging to him. You felt him tremor with a slow groan reverberating deeply from his throat. You now knew of two things that made the Ghostface weak to you. He made it easy to see how badly he ached for you.

His kiss became rough against you, pushing into you until you were on your back in the pool of guts and blood all along the floor as he hovered above you. He broke away only to look down on you with his lustful gaze. You knew what he wanted.

You decided in the heat of the moment to indulged him, breathing his name just to see what his potential reaction might be out of your morbid curiosity but you regretted it as soon as it left you.

You failed to realize until it was a second too late to take it back that implying that you might want him of your own volition would become your biggest mistake. You had solidified his fantasy into his reality. The way you had said it, the tint of blood rushed in your cheeks, your voice low and hushed, showing just the very slightest of  acceptance. In that moment, you had appeared as if you visibly wanted him right in front of his face.

And Danny was laughing. Short, breathy huffs kept leaving him, seemingly torn between  confused but utterly overjoyed.

"I knew it," he uttered breathlessly and in the overwhelming horror that devoured you as your soul turned into an ouroboros swallowing its own tail, you couldn't understand what he meant for a split second.

"You love me."

His tone sounded almost hysterical, too overly excited even in just a whisper. Somehow his grin appeared entirely evil to you, euphoric and malignant.

It all came rushing back to you. Every instance. One single moment was all it took, because no matter how much you protested, no matter how much you rejected him, in his mind, he had only one thought and one thought alone. You -did- want him. And he only needed one thing to make it real. Anything that could be interpreted as a signal from you. In his perfect fantasy, he wanted you to be the one aching for him, to be the one craving his touch, begging for more, begging for him.

And you gave him a taste.

It felt time stopped around you and you were watching yourself from far away, watching yourself succumb to your permanent psycho boyfriend. You fucked up. Now he would never leave you alone. Never. He would never stop coming after you.

You were his world and he intended on making himself yours.

"Th.. That's not..." you began, but fell short as he leaned closer toward you.

"Not what?"

For some reason, fear constricted you. He was looking down at you, expecting an answer, but the one you wanted to give was stuck in your throat.

"Not true?"

He was smiling, but it looked wrong. You blinked rapidly, unsure of what to do or even say. So you closed your eyes tightly, pulling him by his neck into a kiss and it took all of two seconds for him to melt into you with a gratified hum. He really was easy...

It couldn't get any worse, you thought. Surely there was nothing you could do now to make it worse. But then he's shrugging himself out of his leather as you're frozen still as your face flooded red. His upper body is bare for you, lithe but muscular, which was nice to look at but you only had a strange thought that it looked weird how he wasn't caked in blood.

"I love it when you can't take your eyes off of me~" he purred with a low groan to your chagrin as you'd been staring pretty hard, your eyes casting to the side.

He's on his knees, straddled over your middle, bare fingers hovering over your lips before he pushed them between. Noises escaped you when he shoved his fingers further inside, filling around your tongue and gagging you slightly.

His other hand produced that familiar digital camera, which you recognized immediately and felt your fury simmering at the sight of it, but you didn't want to put up a fight anymore. He snapped memories of his fingers roaming over your tongue as the flash made stars float around your vision. You heard him making soft comments to himself about the details of certain ones, marked as favorites.

They were finally withdrawn once he was satisfied, only to be replaced with his thumb running over your bottom lip. You watch as he brings that hand to his own lips, licking you off of his fingers with a brief but a jubilated breathy laugh.

"You don't know how long I've waited," he sighed with bliss, bending closer to you to show you the photographs he had taken, pressing a button for one to go to the next before your eyes.

The slides went past the recent ones he had just taken, showing older photographs. You recognized each one, because you were the subject in every one that passed to the next. Images of your body, mangled and brutalized, your bloody meat, you tied up in uncomfortable positions, your crying face, your chest lined with several stab wounds, selfies with only your dead body, kissing your corpses lips.

And he didn't stop. He studied every shocked emotion that crossed your face with a criminal grin as you saw all of these various pictures that he had taken, many you couldn't even remember because they were just pictures of you doing random things in trials long before you were subjected to his torture rituals. It wasn't even close to a third of the way through the gallery.

What exactly did he meant by "how long he waited"? He pulled the camera away, smiling down at it lovingly before placing it safely on top of his bundle of meat soaked leather.

"How... long..?" you managed to utter out half of your thought, your mouth and throat dried in fear of the answer he may or may not give. Drawing his attention onto you, his elbows propped his body just above yours as he titled his head closer to your face to brush his lips over your own. Yours quiver.

"So, so long..." he whispered against you. "And now, you're finally all mine."

Horrifying. Terrifying. These were the only words that could come close to describing the intense trepidation and horror violently swirling within your mind coming to the realization that Danny was a truly insanely sadistic stalker, an obsessive mentally deranged freak, that was, for some reason, madly and hopelessly in love with you. So much so that he followed you around long before you even knew of his existence.

And his love was cruel, vicious and savage. He told you that you would learn to love the pain. Yet he was more than capable of being gentle, being tender, when he really, really missed you.

The new photographs in his private collection detailed that night, his favorite night, down in the Meat Plant basement, zoomed in shots of his hand around your throat to force your eyes to the camera lens when he was filling you, your open lips caught in a scream when his thrusts were erratic and violent, blurring the image. Your meshed bodies covered in sweat and blood. He wanted to keep every moment, hundreds of new additions that he'd look at when he was far away from you.

And he'd smile in his wait for the next time he could have you.

[elecilaombre]

Alone

 This fic was originally wrote in french, and I struggled quite a lot to translate it without spoiling the meaning behind the words. It’s Tim centric and an “Stalker AU” ( I guess) in a no cape AU, idk... anyway, it’s quite long, around 8k words ... Also it is one of my work who are kind of important for me so I hope you will enjoy it ! And a big thanks to @crypterion-moon who kindly corrected it and helped me to translate it in a correct english, you are a blessing ! And to you @nanadrawsrobins who wanted to read it ! Happy reading !

// trigger warning : mention of paranoia, depression, suicide, death, blood and stalker \\ I don’t believe it’s too hardcore but better safe than not....

“ At first it was just an impression,as if I was being followed, or spied on. From time to time, I’d turn and catch a glimpse of a leaking form. But it was alright, my fault, I always blamed my lack of sleep for those apparitions. Or maybe it was only me being too suspicious for no reason. Indeed, at first, it was only feeling, a bad one…

But suddenly it became more, so much more. Now, I saw - no, I felt - a presence always behind me, close to me. I could catch sight of this thing that was always following me, my eyes seeing glimpse of his silhouette. I was starting to be afraid of turning around and see it there right before me. Never would I have believed that it could have got worse, I thought things would improve, it couldn’t be any worse that how it was now. Except that it didn’t. I couldn’t explain exactly how or when, but the presence kept getting closer and closer. I just shouldn’t let it go by, and I learned that the hard way, the day I heard him breathing, from somewhere inside my own bedroom. He was there. In my own house. Stalking me.

I stayed awake until dawn that night, paralysed with fear … I don’t believe I have slept since …That doesn’t matter right now !

My main point is that I am being followed. Spied on. They are here, somewhere, even while I’m talking to you right now.

Even when I walk in the main hall, with their steps echoing with mine.

Even when I hold my breath, will I am lying stiffly in my bed, I can hear them just before they held their own breath, a moment too late.

Sometimes … Sometimes I swear they are whispering things, cold and dead things.

So, please, I am begging you, help me. I am tired, exhausted. I haven’t had a real night of sleep in days, weeks. I live off coffee and caffeine. And I am so terrified. Not just creeped out… It’s a chilling fear that fills my body.

But you, who is always there, present in every corner of this damn apartment. You, you must have seen them. Even if it’s only once. Just tell me where they are ! Who they are !

Oh I’m begging you, you are me, I am you… So why wouldn’t you help me. To save me ? To save us !”

Tim then fell silent and raised his head toward his reflect. He gave him a sad little smile and the other offered him a crazed one. To think he was alone with this fool.

A cold anger had begun to pervade him, will the other face took on an awful look, deformed by hatred. It made Tim gone berserk.

“ And you dare mock me ! Mock everything that happened to me ? They are going to kill me ! Or worst … Abduct me ! And you think it’s funny ? That is fucking unbelievable ! I surely hope from the bottom of my heart they will butcher you too, maybe that will be enough to erase that stupid smile off your face !”

The other was mimicking him, each one of his ticks, like a grotesque mockery of himself. 

And even if Tim heard the door opening, it didn’t stopped his fist to crash against the other face, sending blood everywhere in the process. Cracking the mirror so violently that the glass shattered, sending tiny little pieces everywhere, glasses sinking into Tim’s flesh.

He was done. Already dead. His only hope, himself from the other side, wasn’t there anymore, didn’t wanted to help him.

Tim let himself fall on his knee, surrounded by glass debris, and began to cry. To sob, hysterically, hiccuping and eyes dilated. Smile distorted on his face. However, he still had enough clarity to have heard Stephanie coming in, exclaiming softly, her voice so warm, so reassuring, this was all her. Even her footsteps were soft and calming, as well as her scent or warmth of her skin. 

He let himself go against her, eyes stubbornly closed,crying harder, sinking into her arms, her embrace into her, her, and just her. Tim was now crying because he knew. He knew she wasn’t - and couldn’t - be here. He murmured it again and again, she wasn’t here but Oh how he wished for it.

And when he opened his eyes again, Stephanie was, indeed, not within sight. He was alone and he was hallucinating. Tim was just so tired. He rubbed his eyes,trying to rid them of the burning and got up. He could just go to bed. He could finish taking care of his wound and just go to sleep, to take a well deserved rest. Or he could just finish the bandage, make himself a coffee and finish his paperworks. Yeah, that sounded about right. And when he said it out loud, tasting each word like adrénaline, giving them more strength, more tangibility in his weaken mind … He thought he heard a laugh, someone chuckling quietly. 

But, well, at this point, was it even important ?

*************************

“I feel like I am losing it… Or I might already had lost my mind. I … I saw Bruce. I saw him yesterday, in a coffee shop. I walked right by him and I just… Runaway ! 

You know as well as I do that he died, he died too. I am just so exhausted, I can’t do this anymore. I keep seeing each one of them one by one. All those I lost, my brain keeps making them reappear… Or maybe it’s the caffeine that’s making them seems so real.

I really want to sleep now. I don’t think I can’t keep doing this. Or it might be my body craving another dose of coffee … What do you think ?”

The lightbulb sizzled a little, then shut down. Tim sighed, basking in the dark, water clapping softly with the rhythm of his breath. Actually, Tim was quite relaxed right now, even with the lack of sleep. So relaxed he might even let himself sink into Morpheus arms. Might.

The water from the bath was steaming, the bathroom clammy. Tim felt his head nod, sinking softly little bit by little bit in the water, which kept lapping slower and slower as his breath calmed. His mind got fuzzy, forgetting Bruce his deceased father. Or Stephanie, his rotting best friend. Forgetting about the one from the other side, about this foreign breath getting closer.

Then, the clapping intensified, the water rising suddenly, submerging Tim’s face. Tim’s who was panicking, feeling a hand settle on his upper thigh while someone breathed against him. 

He then tried to straighten, in full panic, spitting water swallowed by error. Tim slipped, water submerging him once again but still found a way to get out, yelling as loud he could, crying, terrorised. He threw himself right to the door, almost ripping of the knob, ejecting himself in the corridor, feeling a hand brushing against his neck.

Naked, Tim ran past the living room, directly in the kitchen, slipping on the wet floor. He ended by collapsing in there, clutching a knife against his body, breath loud… 

And after five minutes of dead calm silence, Tim found the courage to light up the place. 

No one. There was nobody. Not even in the bathroom or in any other rooms. He saw nobody.

He was trembling, fear and adrenaline still pumping through his body. 

Tim cried all that night, sleep seemed impossible. So he just cried until the sun rose, incapable of putting the knife down or to do anything else than to trace over and over the finger shaped bruise on his tight. 

The mark was just confirming his theory, giving a sense of reality to this invisible threat and revealing a new problem : the stalker was done just following. Now they wanted contact and proximity. And so they had ambushed him in the bath.

*******************************

“I am a mess. A living trash. I see things, peoples, events that aren’t real. Yesterday, someone chased me in the street. For something that felt like half and hour. I wouldn’t even had thought I was able to run for so long, not in my state.

And you would never guess who was behind me … Damian. Yes, my deceased brother. Who died with my father. I can’t even empase how terrible it must have felt. And …

I don’t even know why I’m laughing, why it seems so funny to me ! It’s actually kind of depressing, that everyone I had loved had died. That I am so unlucky. It almost sounds like a tragedy. 

But, well, at least, you still here, by my side. Maybe it was meant to end with just us two. Maybe you will be enough to replace all my loved one.

I love you so.”

Tim was whispering his thoughts kindly to his coffee pot, while it prepared him the umpteenth cup of coffee got this morning. He was nursing against him an empty mug.

This morning, while busying himself, he had fallen on a nest of the other. It was mainly built of blankets, foods wraps … And thousands and thousands of pictures of him.

And creepier, the blankets were still warm. The other had just left his nest. But Tim was well aware it implied other’s existence and his apartment was big and messy, so many potential place to hide yourself and never be found in this bazaar.

So, yeah, they had made nest everywhere, on Tim’s own space. And this thought made him wring his hands, twisting them painfully with worry marked all over his face, terror and stress in his eyes.

He poured himself another cup of coffee.

**********************

“ I heard howls all night long. I am sure they hooted until dawn. I could almost swear I even heard their wings flapping inside my own bedroom. But I am a rational man. I know it’s impossible. I mean … No howl could get inside my house - that wouldn’t made sense . And never, never they could survive in a big city like here. Oh Gods how I can be so exhausted. I truly wanted to sleep yesterday, I swear ! But it was just like if the other wanted me awake. At least, it’s what seem the more logical to me… That they want to stop me of resting so I get even more careless and repeat my mistake error back in the bathroom. They want me to let my guard down once again so they could get closer.

But it won’t happen, I am too well organised for it. I have a very strict program to give me some release. First, I go to the office where I gave myself a short nap of 20 minutes. And another one before lunch and after. Last one is just before I get back here. 

But, no need to be worried, I only allow it because I know fairly well they couldn’t dare to do something there, with so many witnesses around. I took those measures after my fourth sleepless night in a row, knowing I can’t skip sleep forever. 

On the other hand, I believe the other is getting reckless, and isn’t as careful anymore. For example, my secretary found one of their hiding spots behind a couch, in a recess of the wall. She notified it to me immediately, worried at the idea of someone living there, under our noses. And I believe I never got so relieved : unwittingly, she just confirmed that this whole situation was real, not my mind playing tricks on me. Confirmed because I obviously doubted myself on this, like if all of it was just a simple delirium from my sick mind. Except that visibly, the other is real, there is truly someone who has been observing me all this time.”

Tim’s lips pulled into a tiny smile, facing the window, a book on his laps. The lights of the city against the night sky calming him, proof of life following his course, even while his own was falling apart. Just like it did when all his friends died in a car accident, Tim losing his childhood friends, his best friends and boyfriend all at once, feeling like his life stopped with them. But it didn’t and kept his own flow, rhythm, still running by, along with time. Just like it did when another car accident took, this time, his family , brother,sister and father, leaving Tim with no reason to live. But he did, because life doesn’t stop for someone’s end. And Tim’s life still kept running without his consent or concern, even with all this pain and sorrow. He shut his eyes tightly, savoring both the burning tears and the dim light. 

He thought he heard a movement, like the flapping of wings, a flow of air coming across his face. He opened his eyes abruptly and, in the same moment, with a swift movement, swung at the bird’s head with his book.

The beast emitted a distressed sound, and flopped a little down, his flight shaky. It disappeared in the corridor, and Tim heard a dull sound, notifying him of his fall. He then rushed there, in the darkness of the corridor, despite his head feeling light and nausea filled him after this too quick movement. He lit up the hall and discovered the bird. The poor beast had broken his skull on a door, misoriented by Tim’s strick.

The man grabbed it by his hook and studied it for a long time, oscillating between terror and dismay … Tim had just killed an owl.

*************************

“ Someone slept in my bed this night. I know it because when I was changing, I noticed my sheet were undone… Also, I could still see the shape of their body they left. And it was still warm.

I know it might sound dumb, but I think… I believe they might have been… I don’t know, less active ? I’m not sure but I feel like recently their presence seemed less and less strong, as if they weren’t there anymore.

At least, the night, I don’t hear them anymore. I don’t see them. I just don’t feel them. Of course, during the day, the situation is worse. They follow me everywhere, it’s usual, but now they are harassing me, calling me at my office, or even sometimes on my phones, both work and personal. Most of the time, they doesn’t talk, just stay on line, breathing heavily. Except on a few occasions were they talked, whispering me all the things they wanted to do to me, horrors and nightmares, explaining the reason of their obsessions. How much they desire to touch me, to smell me, taste me.

Sometimes, I’m the one doing the talking. I beg, I yell and scream, throwing tantrum, or I cry, always asking for the same thing : to stop, whatever this is. I even cursed them once.

And, two days ago, I stopped mid-sentences, having lost my train of thought. A silence had planned on the line, for a few long seconds … Before they whispered “ talk to me”. I hang up. I hang up terrified, sure of having done another fatal error. Never had we tried to discuss together and I was fine with this “way”. It was one listening and the other talking. It was an unspoken rule and they broke it. Since, I make sure to have my secretary answer the phone first.

While I am at this, she seems more and more worried. She won’t stop telling me how I should take better care of myself, especially with my past. The worst is that I don’t even have any idea of what ‘past’ she is referring to… I mean, sure, I had some rough times, lost many, many beloved people… But how is that related to taking care of myself ? 

Anyways, back again about the other, they seems less and less worried of being caught. For example, only this weeks, they came to my office three times. Three times of them announcing themselves as my brother. Them waiting for me in the entrance. Three times of me yelling at my secretary I wouldn’t get out of my office. That my poor brother was dead ! Dead. Dead … And each time I had a mental breakdown right after it. I can’t continue like this anymore. I am too tired, too exhausted, so done.”

Tim kept cutting in rhythm his vegetables, eyes hypnotised by the blade. He was so lost, in his thoughts, in his life, in this life. The bags under his eyes were a darkish shade of purple, like bruises, proof of too many sleepless nights. Tics were movings his eyelids, as well as his mouth,  in random moments.

Tim had always been pale, but at this point, it would have been more correct to say his skin was transparent. Only his eyes stayed the same than before this downfall. They stayed clear, with no redness or blood injected troubling the pure white surrounding a soft sky blue iris and then darkness in there center. 

He finally was done with his vegetables, throwing them in a pan and got back to sitting on the bar, observing his apartment. Most of it was surrounded by the darkness but he was okay with that. There wasn’t a sound. Not even one, as if the other was gone. But Tim knew better : they were somewhere near, scrutinizing him and every movement he dared do. 

His head wouldn’t stop nodding up and down, he was scared and exhausted. Exhausted of living with this terror and stress. Terrified of letting himself relax. Exhausted of having the pictures of his deceased friends always imposed into his memory. 

Tim didn’t want to think of them. It was easier to act as if nothing happened. And truly, in some of his memory it was just like it. After all, he didn’t remember the funeral for any of them, as if just never happend or Tim just wasn’t there. Same for his family.

Tim sighed once more and stretched toward the coffee pot. He wasn’t ready to sleep.

****************************

“ I am scared you know. I mean, I don’t know what to do, how to get out of this situation.

Every body, well, the few people that I see regularly, kept saying how I look so sick, so broken, and I should be more careful because of my accident. I’m not even sure to know what ‘accident’ they are referring too. Also, my secretary kept complaining I drink too much coffee for my own good and how angry would be my doctor, who doesn’t like me taking stimulants, because it stress my organs too much. And there too I don’t get the reference, like if it was some inside joke they all share… Whatever.

All that I know is that she seems more and more weirder these days, suspicious. Like she was stressed, anxious , like if she had some kind of secret concerning me. Or maybe like she had remorse… But I don’t see what she could hide from me.

Except if she was … pairing up with the other? That would be as surprising than horrifying. But I don’t think it’s the case. She just must be worried about her own life, or maybe about me. She is just such a nice girl, she can’t be that bad.

Anyways, I’m happy that I talked to you… You’re always here, such a good listener, I love you so much Cassandra.”

Tim fell silent and listened. Listened to the waiting tone dialling over and over, in the void. The only sound was his breath reverberating through the phone, coming back distorted to his ears. His sister didn’t pick up.

It wasn’t so surprising, he already knew it. After all, she simply couldn’t, being dead for almost 4 years already. Nevermore will she answer and talk with him, calming him, recomforting him… No, nevermore.

Tim put his head in his arms,  face turned toward the bay window. It was late, but the young man hadn’t found enough courage to come home. He might just stay right here until the next morning. The light of the city downward were the only source of luminosity, so small with Tim was so high up here. He liked this idea, that he wasn’t with them, detached of this world he didn’t wanted to belong to. All this activity will he was up there slowly falling asleep, the light lulling him. 

He needed to be detached, away from anyone. He already lost everything, so it could be so easy to die now. That’s why he wanted nobody around him, not wanting anymore string to this world, to get hurt or hurt. And only when he will be fully alone, only then, Tim wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

The dim light kept him in this state, half asleep, and then, slightly out, fully asleep. The exhaustion and lack of sleep had reason of him.

And, while Tim’s eyes moved erratically under his eyelid, only then, he dared to enter his office. He took cautious step toward the sleeping man and kneeled next to the desk. His gaze fixed on Tim’s inky hair hiding his face away. The man took off the coffee mug sitting next to Tim, throwing it away in the toilet, cleaning it roughly. Then he got back to his previous spot, kneeling next to his protégé. 

He stayed right here, crouched against the desk, caressing Tim’s hair softly, lovingly. The younger man seemed to relax against the touch, falling deeper into sleep. They stayed in this positions for hours, until the first light of dawn appeared. It seemed to motivate him to get up, going to the bathroom to put fresh water in the mug. He then placed it next to a deeply asleep Tim. The young man had finally got his deserved full night of sleep, but his worried and exhausted expression was still present on his features. 

The stranger, the intruder, sighed softly and bent down, kissing kindly Tim’s forehead. And,with his hand still on the younger’s one, he scribbled a little note for him. He then kissed him a last time. And left.

He rushed through the stairs to go meet her, waiting at the escape for her. She arrived late, but she always did. They only briefly spoke, him hurrying her, but still thanking her warmly. He had needed to see Tim. Needed. She proposed that they go for a breakfast, or maybe to meet again for lunch. He declined, but told her how thankful he was. After all, she let him get into the building and covered him. He left quickly, and she got upstairs.

It was her job to be here early, her boss was always one of the first one in the office. She snuck a glance into his office, saw that he was still fully asleep and got back to her desk. Two hours later, she heard a scream, an ugly one, full of panic and fear. It was coming from her boss office, proof he finally awoke. It was quickly followed by the sound of glass shattering, a mug crashing down, swatted to the ground. She sighed. Tim was awake. 

He indeed was up, acting as if the devil was on his heels, tripping on his own feet. He looked terrified, a little bit crazy and so pitiful, with his big blue eyes full of suppressed tears. It saddened her, knowing she was a little guilty of his state.

Tim left sobbing, without a word, shaking.

His secretary looked at him go, worried of feeling no guilt. Ô the things she was able to do for handsome face…

*****************************

“ You were there. You took advantage of my state, of my weakness. Of me falling asleep. You took advantage of it to come once again torment me, haunt me. To touch me… To violate my space, my life. 

I don’t know what you want of me, from me. But I do know you are a monster, a psychopath. A maniac ! You follow me, watch me. You ruin my life. I just want to end it, end everything, end it all. I need to find a way to stop all of it, no matter the consequences. 

And what about this note ! Why would you even left me one ? “ Even if you don’t want to see me, I will always be by your side”. Bullshit ! What does you even wanted by that ? 

It’s terrible. I feel like I am losing myself, reality beginning to mix with nightmares and visions. I’m going crazy. I’m drowning, I can’t breath, live… I’m drowning in fear, panic, lack of sleep, irrationality.

It’s been fifteen days that I hadn’t been back to my office. Not since you … That you… Since…

Fuck ! STOP IT ! RIGHT NOW ! I can’t , I can’t do it anymore. I wanna die ! I’m done with all of this, the people, the worlds, them, you … with myself too. I just cry all day … And that’s it. I do nothing, I can’t anymore. I’m stuck here, and sick of it. I don’t even dare to get out, I’m so scared to see you. To see the dead. To see all of these who will disappear, and those who already had. I’m so sick of not being able to distinguish between lie and reality. I can’t go out anymore.

I’m stuck. I’m stuck in this place and in my head. I’m stuck. With me. With me and you. You.. I… You must leave. You have to stop. I can’t keep doing this for much longer. I have already lost my mind and sanity. Aren’t you satisfied ? When will you stop tormenting me ! To force me to remember. Ignorance is such bliss….”

Tim ended whispering, adrenaline and anger disappearing until all that was left was his loneliness, abandoned. 

He blinked quickly, trying to stop the tears from flowing, even if they already were sliding down his cheeks. And Tim was left alone to weep. Soundlessly. In the dark. Laying on his back, in his bed. Arms hugging himself. He cried.

On his arms, spot color of the sky range. The young man didn’t even remember hurting himself, but those bruises weren’t real for him. They didn’t mattered. He was lost, a lost cause, forsaken. Day and night were becoming one, an indistinct temporal mass. Sometimes he’d find himself in room without any memory of going there, or why. He caught himself multiple time doing round of the rooms, knocking against flat surface, looking under furniture … Searching for someone - or something - hidden away reflex as archaic than childish.

And everytime Tim caught himself doing this, he froze, aware of having close to no control of his own actions. And each time the hours had gone from 2 to 10, without him remembering, losing track of it, it worried him even more. One day, he even found himself covered in spiderwebs and dust, without knowing how or where he got himself this dirty. 

He was unstable, incapable of reconstruct his days. But he still knew the howls were watching him with their fluorescents eyes. He knew he couldn’t go in the bathroom, fearing to catch the reflection of the other in the mirror, behind him. He knew he shouldn’t get to close of the bay glass, the dead waiting for him on the balcony.

So Tim cried even more, almost hoping the other would talk, or even breath, right against him. But there wasn’t any noises. No  movement. No reaction. The other was gone.

Tim’s felt his throat tighten. Abandon. Once again. Poor Timmy, dumb little Timmy would be left alone. He curled on himself and waited, awake, for the morning to happen.

The other breath reappeared close to 6am.

******************************

“ I couldn’t find my way back. Well, not surprising, I didn’t come here that much, sorry. The gardener helped me, he even told me how to get to my family’s tomb next.

I don’t know why I am here. There isn’t really any valid reason for it, I just felt the need to… It never happened before. 

I… Well.. You… Oh gods, I’m blushing now, all of this is absolutely ridiculous. I’m absolutely mortified of never coming to see you by my own will. Of trying to erase you from my life, to forget you for real. You are a whole part of my life. My childhood, my teenage year and the beginning of my adult life.

There is someone, something, who want me to remember you, or at least to think of the dead. For it, they keep me from sleeping, follow me and call for me in the street. Try to usurp the identity of someone they can’t be. Call me to talk about you. Force me to remember.

And the only positive aspect of this whole situation is me finally reconciling myself with my past, and with you all, guys.

I must go, I still have to see my family. I just wanted to say sorry and remember you - and myself - of how much I love you all.

Goodbye.”

Tim felt his voice shaking, tears running down his face, while he disposed flowers in front of the memorial, dedicated to all his friends. To his childhood friends. To his best friend. To his boyfriend. To the dead and the ghost of his childhood.

He stroked the plaque with their name and walked away. He had quite a hard time finding his family’s graves, but maybe he needed this time to prepare himself for it. Because it was going to be ugly and he knew it very well. 

He indeed broke down in tears when he finally got in front of them, ugly sobbing for quite a long time, until it calmed a little. Tim never felt that pathetic, that pitiful, fragile. Then, word began to fall from his mouth, rain of apologies, remorse and regrets, flooding in an impetus flow. Tim didn’t bothered to stop it. And, when he was done, he felt a feeling of relief flood through his mind. He finally talked to the dead.

Tim began to lay a flower for each of them. 

“To Bruce, beloved father and friend. He protected and loved the out cast”. A bouquet of lys.

“To Cassandra, beloved sister and daughter. She lived without regrets or remorse.”. A Camelia’s bouquet.

“To Tim. Son and bother. Other died so he lived”.

He froze. It was wrong. On the third tomb should had been Damian’s name. Not Tim’s. NOT HIS !

In full panic, he threw himself on his knees, finger deciphering the words. It indeed wasn’t his name. Neither it was Damian’s. It was someone else’s, a stranger stele.

Tim straightened and finally saw him. His dead father. He seemed younger. He seemed alive. He seemed surprised of seeing him. And while Bruce took a step toward him, hands stretching to grasp Tim, this one ran.

He didn’t slow down for the two hours ride it took to get back to his apartment, focused on the road. It’s only when his door locked behind him that he collapsed, hands clasped around his heads, screaming behind the closed door.

*****************

“ I shouldn’t have come back. It’s dumb, I didn’t even wanted to. But, well, turns out I am here. And likely you didn’t expected me. You thought I would disappear, or worse, be cast out. You thought I would just be abandoned … And that you would win, and that without me being even aware of us playing against each other.

But, sweetie, you are way too stupid to beat me. I always had been greatest at this kind of game, I’m not a quitter and I have stamina… You are so dumb you didn’t even noticed you were only a mere pawn… Brainless secretary.

Although, I hadn’t been this efficient either. After all, I was dumb enough to trust you and never doubt you… That was as stupid as your action. Anyway, it won’t change the fact they lost. They aren’t aware of it right now, but they have lost. No matter what they are to you. No matter what I might be for them. No matter what they think they are to me. I’m going to end this sick game. And I will make sure you will suffer the consequences. Or just suffer. I will make sure you won’t be able of closing your eyes without doubting of being able to open them once again. I wish, almost wish, you will die, so I won’t have to see your face ever again. But, Jessica, I won’t do it… After all, you are my secretary …

I will be the first suspect of your murder. But I still need you to suffer. To suffer as much I did those 4 last months. I want you to fall on this hellscape like I just did.

But don’t worry, I will catch this son of a bitch and make him regret his fucking fixation. I’m not an object, I’m not breakable. I’m not malleable. And I’m not fucking rational ! NOT ANYMORE !

So now, you will be a good girl and tell me who employed you. Who you helped to play me this ‘trick’. Tell me so I can end it for real with them. SO … WHO. IS. IT. WHO ?”

Jessica began to cry once again in front of Tim. She was unable to articulate two coherent words and it only pissed off the man more. He threw suddenly his coffee mug through the room, sending it to shatter on the opposite wall,  missing Jessica. She curled on herself, yelling even more.

Tim massaged his head, feeling a headache coming. She should shut up soon or he will lose the poor self control he maintain. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. No, Tim won’t hit here. No, he won’t lose control. No, he didn’t tried to aim the mug at her. You must understand Jessica, the poor man is exhausted, so stressed. He just lost a little his calm but he is better now. He just needed to know who left the note signed by his brother. And after, he could rest. After he would be better, calmer, and will finally stop yelling at her. Maybe he wouldn’t even take her to the justice… He just needed a name Jessica, just a name.

But the secretary wouldn’t talk, keeping her mouth sealed, mute if excepted the sob. So Tim sighed. He couldn’t do it, he didn’t know what to do. Maybe he wasn’t awake enough to think straight… Maybe he needed a nap… Or a coffee, yeah, that sounded about right ! After he could handle in a better way this whole situation !

He stopped only when he registered Jessica giggles, horribly distorted and ugly in her rattle voice. She never had a pretty laugh, more a travesty of one, something sounding like a cackling. No, Jessica never had a nice laugh and this one wasn’t an exception. Tim realized she wasn’t even trying to hide the truth now, because she believed she had the upperhand in this. That she was smarter, than him, than them. 

She explained everything, proudly, sure of having outsmarted both of them, tears turning into a smug grin. Yes, she helped them to find Tim. Yes, thanks to her, they got Tim’s address. Yes, she was also the one who helped them to sneak in the office. Yes, yes , yes she was the one who made it all. All of this… And who could blame her ? It wasn’t her fault, oh no no no. It was Tim’s fault. He caused this whole situation all by himself. After all, it was him who drank too much coffee for his own good… Or refused to go see a doctor … Who denied the simple existence of his accidents and their sequelae. It was Tim who had stopped to even try to sleep, live and eat !

And, indeed, she started to do all of this for him. She really wanted to help you, Timmy, you know ? To help you get out of this whole paranoia spiral thing, this psychosis he had. So she called them, revealing him where Tim’s place were.

And, at one point, quite quickly actually, it wasn’t about Tim anymore, but about herself. The other was gorgeous. They were desperate. They were heart broken,weakened by Tim’s rejection. So, yeah, at one point it wasn’t for Tim at all, she switched camps, she was there to help the other. They needed affection so badly, craved it, and Jessica was the solution. Her objective had become to have him for herself, maybe even get rid of Tim, never mind of him. She wanted them in her bed, in her arms.

Today, she reached her goal, almost there. The other would give up soon. And for Tim, given his state, it was only a matter of time before he mess up, make an - another - error, which would either get him to a psychiatrist hospital, or to the tomb.

Jessica almost have her date, almost, she was so close to it. The other promised her a dinner for after he got a chance to talk to Tim. Both of them were so close to their goal.

And that, Tim just realized it. She had almost reached it, at least it’s what the other made her believe. They had baited her with a promise of a pseudo relationship, in exchange for him. His stupid secretary had sold him for a one night hook up. Apparently he wasn’t worth much more.

To be fair, she was just plainly lying to herself, at what point sending a stalker after Tim was for his so called “ well being” ? Did she truly believe they would heal him of his paranoia by spying on him !

She was crazy. Jessica had lost her goddamn mind… She had sent him a stalker … A STALKER ! And she HELPED them !

So Tim did what he did best : he panicked. Once again. She betrayed him, she knew everything about him and she sold him… And what would have happened if Tim hadn’t confrontate her ? Jessica would have let the other go to the end of his fantasy, even if it mean mean Tim’s death ?

Then, Jessica made another error. One of too many. She announced point blank to Tim how she invited the other to catch up with them here. In Tim’s own office, with the whole building being empty… But she reassured him, no need to worry, they just wanted to talk, and once it will be done, she will finally have her date with them. And no, Tim hadn’t a word to say about them coming here, it was already engaged, too late to back up. He was just so lucky to have such a handsome brother.

It finally clicked on Tim’s overwhelmed mind. Of course ! She had believed them ! She fell into their trap like the idiot she has always had been… Jessica believed they were related to Tim, but it couldn’t be possible in anyways. Because Damian and Cass, his only siblings were dead.

He got up quickly, realizing they were going to show up soon. Tim needed to get out of here or he’d be a dead man when they arrived. Jessica reacted quickly, displeasure at Tim’s attempts to ruin her chances of that date clear on her face. Given Tim’s manic and sleep deprived state, it wasn’t hard, catching him by the collar and pulling him back before he could make it to the door.

It might be because she was way taller than Tim, or because the young man was in such a bad state that Jessica believed she could overpower him. She just ignored how much caffeine was currently pumping through Tim’s vein, how much adrenalin fear could release in a body, how much strength this broken Tim had. 

Jessica just had time to pull on his arms that he punched her in the stomach, before knocking her down. His head was full of noise, of fear, he didn’t have time for this, he didn’t have enough time, he couldn’t … He hasn’t… She shouldn’t … She grabbed his legs; pulling hard and he lost it again. He lost his train of thought. He lost control. Tim tried to free his legs, he had to go and when he saw it wasn’t working, he just grabbed a chair next to him and began to hit her repeatedly. He hit her, over and over, until she curled on herself, letting go of his pants. 

Jessica was fine, she was fine, it was mostly bruises, maybe a broken ribs, Tim repeated himself while he hurtled down the stairs. After all she deserved it, she was going to be fine, just fine, he didn’t have enough strength to hurt her too badly. He kept saying it over and over, while sprinting through the darks alleys, alone, odd mirage in the night. He kept himself to think how close he had been to be caught by them until he locked the door behind him.

Less than five minutes after his escape, a silhouette would lean over Jessica, before calling 911.

********************

“ I know you don’t wish to see me or hear from me. But I need to tell you something. You don’t have to answer, or even to believe me… Please, just listen for once. And I want you to know I respected your privacy until now, I never came here because I never thought you needed help that much. But right now you didn’t leave me any choice. I hoped, truly, you would get better without me having to step in the picture, but turns out I had been wrong, the events of this afternoon talk for themselves I think.

This time, I’m not here to tell you how much I miss you, neither of how much I need you in my life, by my side. No, I’m here to help you get a grip on yourself. You can’t keep acting like you do, you are putting yourself in danger. You make yourself sick.

No, please, I hear you moving, don’t go… I’m begging you, just listen to me until the end. And when I’ll be done, you can call the cops on me if you want…

Let’s just go back to the beginning… Six years ago, you and all your friends, your childhood friends, planned a trip to celebrate the end of your classes. And, at the last moment, you call in sick and stayed home, confined to bed. 

The bus they had rented might have been a problem, or maybe something else happened … But what we knew, is that they had an accident. And nobody survived. This day, you lost your boyfriend, your best friend, and all your other friends, all at once. It pushed you into depression, which lasted over more than a year…

And two years after, you were doing better, so much better. We thought you had finally accepted it…

Then, Bruce and Cassandra - your dad and sister - had decided to go to the Opera. You had gone all three of you, your whole family minus Damian, your brother. You had an accident, another accident in your life. It was such a stupid one, a drunk driver who collided with your car. The driver died under the shock of the impact, so did Cassandra. Bruce was declared deceased during the hospital ride. You, fell into a deep coma.

Your family got buried when you were still unconscious, you stayed in this state for at least three months.

And, when you finally woke up, you were alone. All alone. They were dead. Your friends. Your family. Dead… Only you were left… And your brother Damian.

So, you can guess what had been my surprise when Jessica contacted me, making me discover an … Interesting fact. Damian was dead. Well, it’s what you had said to everyone you knew. It’s what you convince yourself of. That Damian had a car accident, with your family, and that he died in his coma.

It’s false. And I believe you aren’t even aware of being wrong. Damian is alive. Your brother is alive.

And, even if unconsciously, you prefer to believe he died, so you could detach yourself definitively of everything you loved, I know it wasn’t deliberate.

I can accept you not wanting to believe I am Damian. After all, I had already accepted to stop contacting you like you begged me last time. But, your current health worried me too much to kept myself from staying away from you. So please, I’m begging you, Tim, open up…”

The other voice was hesitant, pleading. Tim was still curled in a nook of the wall. In a cache. His cache.

On the floor, surrounding him, lied dozen of papers. Birth certificate. Death certificate. Press articles. Hospitals bills. And, in the center, nothing, if it is the lack of one death certificate. Damian’s one.

Tim had indeed come to this conclusion. Damian was alive. Damian hadn’t abandon him. So why ? Why was he dead in his mind ?

And, if the other, this person who had been in his office, who tried to contact him… Was really Damian ? Then, did that mean, that this “other” was never in his apartment ? That all along, it had been … him ? Tim ...

It would explain why Tim found himself so many times in the hidden places, without knowing how he found them. Would it be why he never could prove he wasn’t alone… Why he lost the course of the time … Could he be the other ?

Tim curled even more on himself, and sobbed. The other on the other side of the door began to pound on it, imploring Tim to open it, to let them console him.

Tim was slowly being aware of losing touch. But he didn’t wanted  to, no, he couldn’t lose control once again and being what he feared for so many months. He had to pull himself together. Right now. He began to bang his head against the wall, the pain keeping him aware.

He got up, slowly and began to walk to the kitchen, shaking like a leaf. He had two choices … To pour himself another cup of coffee… Or to go open to the man who identified as his brother. The one who begged him to open.

And … Suddenly. Black.

Tim regain consciousness of the reality shortly after. The pain was trashing up his brain. He still registered the bloody knife and his forearms open and dripping of scarlet.

Tim yelled, screamed, in full panic mode and run straight to the door. His hands were slippery, but he still succeed to open the door. He then came to a stop, astonished by the vision, right in front of him. His surprise was mirrored by a younger Bruce, with a desperate look in his eyes. 

The man then took him in his arms, pulling him close. Tim tried to breath, to stay awake and recognised the smell of the man : Damian. Damian.

“ Oh please, please, Dami… Don’t left me alone. I don’t wanna die ! I don’t want it anymore !”

And, with Tim weeping in his arms, Damian called 911, for the second time in a few hours. He then kept his brother right against him, whispering sweet words and praise. About how much he loved him. About how much he missed him. How he would never again left him alone.

Damian was crying too. His brother was sick. His brother had cut his veins open. His brother was dying once again.

Tim lost consciousness little time before the ambulance arrived.

****************************

While Tim lying unconscious in Damian’s arms, who kept talking to his brother, the dark figure changed of hiding spot, trying to get a little closer to Tim and his brother.

They heard Damian trying to explain to his brother about Jessica and how she would be alright, with no long term complication and with no complaints. That he made sure she wouldn’t approach them anymore. After all, she was crazier than Tim was.

And the third man keep waiting, in the shadow, boiling rage pooling in his stomach. He should be the one touching Tim, he was his protégé… HIS Tim. But he waited, he was patient enough for it. He knew that one way or another, Tim would be his… Soon enough.

So he watched silently Tim go with the paramedics, and with a terrified Damian. And when everybody was gone, when he was sure of it, he got out of his hiding spot.

He stretched, slowly, cat like and find his way to the kitchen. He casually grabbed the knife, and cleaned it, as well as every blood spot. 

Tim had almost caught him, the young man knew he was there. He was aware of Tim being intelligent, but had underestimated him. He sighed of satisfaction : he was truly captivating. Even if Ra's has been stalking him for quite a long time, he never got tired of it. 

How could he got bored of watching the man sink into worse and worse desilusion. His pretty Tim had first developed an addiction to coffee, then a sudden partial amnesia, quite selective actually, and a compulsive need to stay awake. And the big final one : a second personality !

Ra's guessed it was the lack of sleep who created this split : after all, everytime Tim loose control, letting another facet out, he persisted to take pillows and blankets to make nest, like if his only goals was to get ready for sleep.

Ra's smiled, deep in his thoughts, smelling Tim’s clothes, smelling him. Yes, Ra's was quite pleased of the turning of the events. Tim’s other facet would cover him. Nobody would believe someone, a stranger, had lived hidden in the apartment … 

At worst, they would believe Damian’s presence had triggered Tim to believe so. If only Damian hasn’t came here, had let Tim sink just a little bit more, Ra's would finally had the boy for himself. To take him away with him, somewhere nobody could find Tim. 

Sadly, he would have to wait. Damian was the brother, he had more right to have Tim. Ra's was just a stalker, a nobody. 

They were two to lust after Tim … And Damian had currently won him… But it’s alright, Ra’s is patient.

“ I knew I would find you here Ra's. We need to talk.”

Damian deep voice rumbled in his back. Ra's sighed.

[thehoodsweetheart]

Sandcastles | Part III.

A/N: Sandcastles is officially a series! I really hope this is up to par. Please excuse the mistakes.

Warnings: Fuckboy!Erik (?), Angst!, Use of the N-word (I’m Black. I have that right).

Summary: If you have not read Sandcastles Part 1 and Part 2, please do so before reading this. Although, it may not be totally necessary to do so but it helps. The reader is a Black Woman, always has been always will be.

Word Count: 2.4K

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           Fear. Erik didn’t possess the concept of fear. He’d overcome that emotion in his early years. Somewhere between finding his father dead and his first mission as a secret operative, that feeling had been wiped from him. At least that’s what Erik believed. Who could possibly still possess that emotion after witnessing and partaking in such horrendous acts? Fear equated weakness and he prided himself of not being weak, never letting anyone in close enough to expose a weakness. That was until he did. He let you in.

            When Erik realized that he let you in, he tried to push you away but you didn’t tolerate it. This was before you and Erik were even in a “real” relationship. Erik thoughthe was able to give people the cold shoulder, but yours could get colder. Erik had grown accustomed to stringing women along, fucking them, leaving them, and popping back up whenever he felt like it. When he attempted to ghost you, you completely ghosted him. You did not go for the ‘I’ll pop up in a few months to see if I can still hit’ game. When he saw you on what he thought was a date, he lost it. He wasn’t going for that shit. He knew that he had to make y’all relationship real. Erik fearedlosing you. This was something he would have to come to terms with quite a few times. He actually feared losing and loving you.

           This kind of fear was one that perplexed him. He wasn’t like he was afraid you could get him killed or kill him. He’d done his research after meeting you the first time. This fear was childish in Erik’s mind. It was the fear parents provoke when they threaten to take away something after you misbehave. One where you know you could live without it but you still feel like you need that thing or just really want to keep it. Or possibly it was the fear of what became his new normal being stripped from him? It wracked his brain until he’d have a lapse in judgment. The fear of loving you led to him doing things that would risk you leaving. It was a cycle.

         The birth of Iman only added to his paranoia. He never put much thought into having children because he simply never thought he would live long enough to have them. When Iman was born, he questioned everything he’d ever did wrong. Was he even good enough to have a love so pure? What if his past came for him and he lost you and Iman? He feared walking into a repeat of his childhood. His father’s death haunted him. Death was something he could accept. It was second nature but not with you two. Erik would give his life to spare you both.

         These thoughts invaded his brain as he sat in a long drawn out meeting. Queen Mother Ramonda came to Los Angeles for the benefit and there was quite a bit of business to handle since she was in town. Erik was the first to present her updates with his social outreach work at the center, along with some technological advances he worked on with Shuri. But once he was done presenting, his thoughts began to invade him. Erik constantly checked his watch and peered out of the closest window spacing out. For the start of the day, Erik felt normal coming back to work, confident even.  There was a shift. He could feel it in his stomach as if something wasn’t right. It could have been paranoia.

       Erik received a notification to his phone that only heightened his paranoia. Iman’s Kimoyo beads dropped offline. It wouldn’t have been odd but this was the third time he’d gotten this notification that day. Iman’s Kimoyo beads never went off more than once, two times max. Why would Y/N take off Iman’s kimoyo beads so many times in only a few hours? His leg bounced as he slouched into his seat bringing his hand that now formed a tight fist to his mouth. It didn’t help that Y/N’s kimoyo beads had been offline since the night of the benefit. They were the final item Y/N threw at him before leaving.

       Erik’s eyes scanned the room as if he was searching for an answer that was obviously not in that conference room. Shuri shot him a quizzical look. He could only assume she had received the notifications for Iman. By the time the meeting wrapped up, Erik had not received a new notification signaling that they were back online. It had been 32 minutes since the last alert. He didn’t need his iPhone to tell him that. He had counted. He brushed past everyone being the first to exit the conference. He needed to figure out what was going on. He knew he could easily check once he was in the privacy of his own office. Before he could reach his office, he felt a small hand grab his shoulder. Erik spun around with annoyance only to see Shuri with a concerned look on her face.

“Hey cuz…Is everything cool? Have you talked to Y/N? Iman is still showing offline.” Shuri asked with her eyebrows furrowed together.

“Don’t even worry about it lil cuz. I’m about to give her a call now.” He tried to wave her off and continue his walk to his office. Shuri stopped him again.

“You know, I know right? I’m young but I’m smarter than you, American.” Shuri teased. Erik scoffed. “I’ll do an override to tap into the beads. See if Y/N left your sorry ass...again” She whispered her disapproval.

“Nah, I don’t need you doin all that. Y’all all up in my business bad enough as it is. Iman probably had an accident and needed to take an extra bath.” Erik stared down Shuri with cut eyes.

“We wouldn’t be in your business, if you didn’t mix business with pleasure in your office…and if that scenario makes you feel better, believe what you want. WHEN you need an actual answer I’ll be in my lab.” Shuri waved her hand turning to leave him.

“Yeaaa…please focus on something important kid. I know you have some new developments that you haven’t completed yet. Maybe a new toy?”

Shuri rolled her eyes raising her hand holding a middle finger high, unaware of her mother sauntering through the hallway.

“Shuriiii”, Ramonda scolded. Shuri groaned stomping away. Erik chuckled only to earn a side-eye from his aunt.  She mumbled a ‘mmhmm’ before walking away.

           Erik entered his office immediately dialing Y/N’s number. He listened to it ring for a while before going to voicemail. He tried not to think much of it. That was his first time calling her. Erik hung up dialing her number again only to get the same result. He took in an uneasy breath trying to calm his heartbeat. He took a seat at his desk, his leg bouncing as he debated if he should call her for a third time back to back.  You normally answered his calls if he called twice in a row, even if you answered just to tell him you’d call him back. He decided against calling again. Erik knew he should give you some time and not let his paranoia overtake him. Maybe he was too used to you being available? Or maybe Shuri was right?

           He couldn’t fight the urge anymore. Erik swiveled around in his chair, his fingers moving with no hesitation as he logged into his work computer. It had been 44 minutes since Iman’s kimoyo beads sent the last notification with no indication that they were back online. He doubled clicked the icon for the program that allowed him to view the activities in his home via the cameras he installed throughout the house. Each room assigned to its appropriate label.

          The first room to come into view was the living room showing no sign of disturbance. Erik could feel his adrenaline spike as he double clicked the label for Iman’s room. Her nursery appeared but he could see her crib was empty but the kimoyo beads lay in the center of it. Did she bounce and take the baby? What if she just left to run errands and the Kimoyo beads fell off by accident? Or she could be giving Iman a bath. Erik hoped it was one of the later scenerios. His chest tightened as he scrolled through the current activity of the various rooms seeing that Y/N and Iman were not at home. But where could they be? He gave Y/N a call once more. This time it went straight to voicemail.

          He picked up his office phone about to dial his assistant’s phone number when it hit him. He no longer had an assistant. The intern, Arya, was taking on the role as his assistant. In the past six months she had full access to his schedule, followed him around everywhere, and managed to keep up with him without getting in his way. That was until they crossed that professional friendly line and began an affair two months ago. For Erik the affair was a physical thing, no real emotion lived there. Nonetheless, Arya was not worth losing his family over. When T’Challa made the decision to let her go during Erik’s one-week leave of absence, he didn’t care. That was one step towards fixing world that crumbled before him.

       Erik opted to call Shuri instead. He knew Y/N formed a close bond with Shuri and Nakia over the past few years. It was strong possibility that Shuri could get an answer from Y/N faster. He wasn’t going to lie to himself and say she had forgiven him completely. Shuri answered in a knowing tone.

“Did Y/N mention her next doctor’s appointment?” Erik’s voice rushed almost sounding as if his question was one word.

“Whoaa, slow down. It’s not until next week or something but I don’t keep your wife’s schedule. You should know that.”

“Tell him to stop trying to spy on his family from his computer.” T’Challa interjected only for Erik to smack his teeth.

“Nigga nobody’s spying. I’m trying to make sure they’re okay.” Erik countered.

“Ah, is that what we’re calling it now? Okay. Well maybe you should head home? You probably won’t stop checking the cameras until you see them come back anyway.”

“Shit nigga, wouldn’t you?! I knew I shouldn’t have come into work today. I could’ve did that damn presentation from my home office.” Erik ranted as he snatched his blazer from the couch in his office. He scrambled to put it on while looking for his keys.

           Erik quickly ended the call rushing out to his Acura NSX. He sped the entire way home. Despite trying to be optimistic and think they were running errands, something just didn’t feel right. It was nagging at him since the meeting. Maybe it was his conscious reminding him that he still fucked up and needed to right his wrongs with his wife? But after last night and this morning, the way she screamed his name and clung to him, just as she always had, he thought he still had time to fix things.

           He arrived to the house in record time. He walked in calling Y/N’s name only to be met with silence. He checked the garage seeing that your car was in fact gone. Erik clenched and unclenched his fist while beginning to count backwards from ten. The pressure he was feeling in his chest was beginning to weigh him down. He couldn’t explain why he was anxious about walking upstairs in his own house to his own room. Nevertheless, his feet carried him there.

           He reached their taking in his surroundings. The gleam from your 7-karat pear shaped diamond ring caught his attention. Approached the nightstand noticing the handwritten note under your ring. He read and reread the note three times trying to internalize what you wrote. His nostrils flared as his eyes began to burn. He balled up the note with hast throwing it across the room. He screamed ‘fuck’ storming out of the master bedroom. You really left him and you took his heart with you, Iman. To top it off, you didn’t want to be apart of this new pregnancy. His chest heaved just thinking about it.

         Erik made his way to Iman’s nursery seeing the closet was open. For whatever reason, he hadn’t noticed her closet while checking the cameras earlier. His mind was centered on the Kimoyo beads then. Iman’s closet was practically empty. There were only a couple of onesies and dresses left. He counted five. Erik walked over to Iman’s crib grabbing the plush pink elephant that Iman loved. He leaned over the crib’s railing clutching the stuffed animal inhaling its scent. Y/N really took his baby. His family was gone.

        The sound of slamming doors followed by the doorbell ringing snapped him out of his thoughts. Using the back of his hand, he wiped his tears. He rushed downstairs hoping it was his wife, but why would she show up after writing that note. He opened the door without even checking to see whom it was, only to reveal two men in khaki colored uniforms. He squared his shoulders feeling his internal rage grow.

“Who the fuck are y’all?” Erik barked. The men blinked a couple times looking taken aback.

“Uhh…Umm…We’re from Enterprise Moving company. We were sent to get Mrs. Udaku-Steven’s belongings.” The shortest one stuttered. Erik’s frown deepened.

“Y’ALL NOT TAKIN’ SHIT! GET THE FUCK OFF MY PROPERTY!” Erik slammed the door in their faces and immediately went to call you.

      He got your voicemail once again. It took his entire strength not to throw his phone. There were knocks at the door followed by the doorbell once again. He clenched his jaw as he heard the moving men asking his to open the door. Erik decided to text you.

You better call that moving company and tell them to leave before I body ALL these mothafuckas!

           Erik knew you were screening your calls. It was confirmed when his text appeared as read a minute later. The gray bubbled with three dots popped up, then went away, and popped up again before going away. His phone began to ring as you picture appeared. He pressed the green button answering. Before he could even say hello, your voice blared through the speaker.

“ERIK! PLEASE DON’T!”

Tag list:

@purple-apricots @chaneajoyyy @toniilaney @wakanda-inspired @almeda-344 @desireatatyana

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@elaindeereads @soufcakmistress @bujotellsyourstory @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir

[es-mentiras]

I Can't Stop Watching Contagion | Folding Ideas

Coping with crisis in the real world by confronting it in fiction

[O]ne purpose of fiction is that it allows us a space to practice intense emotions and states without exposing us to the complexities or harms of those states in reality. ... Watching a disaster film in a disaster, particularly one as sociologically driven as Contagion, is an extension of this. Rather than practicing intense emotional states before they happen, this instinct of exposing ourselves to what we’re already experiencing, amplifying existing emotional states, it works as a form of emotional inoculation. I am scared and anxious and uncertain, and so I will make myself more scared and more anxious and more uncertain, because it’s still fiction, it’s still safe, it still has an end. It is bounded. Things will get bad, things will then get worse, people will die. The world is unfair, it is unbalanced, it is unjust, and catastrophe will bring out both the best and worst of all of us. And then it will end.

...

There is an escapism to a story about horrible things, because that story is complete. It is bounded. It provides a framework to horror that doesn’t exist in the real present. Our future is uncertain, beset on all sides by devils, and we can come out better or we can come out worse or we can die and none of us knows which it will be and we’re all screaming at those in power to make the moral choice, to choose better.

...

On one hand I am deeply privileged to be in a position where I am and can remain isolated. On the other hand I can’t even think about the other hand.

Disease does not have a narrative meaning, it does not have an eye for poetry or twists or closure. The only meaning is in how we respond. So I watch Contagion over and over and over again. Because I need to practice emotions, and I need to live in a bounded world, and I need to believe we can choose better.

full video transcript under the cut:

[video is Dan Olson of Folding ideas lying on his couch, staring unmoving into the camera. scenes from Contagion are projected over him.]

VOICEOVER: This video is not an essay, it is a raw nerve.

Contagion is a 2011 film directed by Steven Soderbergh, starring an ensemble cast including Marion Cotillard, Matt Damon, Laurence Fishburne, Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Kate Winslet. The film revolves around the origin, contraction, spread, and cure of the fictional MEV-1 virus, a highly contagious, aggressive, and fatal strain of hybrid bat and pig flu.

The initial patient, Beth Emhoff, played by Gwyneth Paltrow, contracts the virus in Macau after shaking hands with a casino chef who has recently handled an infected pig. She spreads the virus to several other people in the casino after they handle objects that she’s touched, such as gambling chips, a martini glass, and her cell phone. An important aspect of the film is that the fictional virus is highly transmissible via fomites, which are objects that an infected person has touched after touching their mouth or nose, coughing or sneezing on the object, or otherwise leaving infectious residue on an otherwise inert, non-biological object. A local waiter who handled her glass returns home, infecting members of his family before wandering into traffic in a fever-induced delirium where he is struck by a vehicle and killed. A Japanese businessman who shared chips with her returns to Tokyo where he falls ill rapidly, dying suddenly of a seizure on a crowded bus, infecting several bystanders who touch him or handrails that he touched. A Ukranian model who handled Beth’s phone flies to London where her symptoms also escalate rapidly while she transmits the disease to others via handling portfolios and riding in a cab.

Beth returns to America where she infects several people in Chicago, first her ex lover Jon who contracts it when they have sex while she is on layover, and a bartender at the airport who handles her credit card, before flying to Minneapolis where she infects the coworker who drives her home from the airport and her son Clark. A day or two later Beth’s husband, Mitch, played by Matt Damon, picks up Clark from school after Clark begins to exhibit a fever. While Beth and Mitch are talking in the kitchen Beth suddenly has a seizure. Mitch rushes her to the hospital, leaving Clark with a babysitter, but Beth’s condition continues to worsen, she fails to respond to treatment, and she dies. As a stunned Mitch is driving home he gets a call from the babysitter that Clark has possibly had a seizure and might not be breathing. Mitch tells her to call 911 immediately, but before anyone can get there Clark is already dead.

From there the story expands to encompass the doctors, politicians, reporters, hucksters, and ordinary people who are swept up in an all-encompassing pandemic that threatens to kill a quarter of the global population. The movie is an incredibly tense hundred minutes of society pushed to its breaking points, not as a fantastical disintegration into wastelands of leather-clad murder gangs or a zombie apocalypse, but one rooted in the historical reality of epidemics.

And I can’t stop watching it.

I have watched Contagion over fifteen times in the last two weeks. Several days I’ve just watched it on repeat two or three times. And I'm not alone. According to Netflix it is, at the time of writing, the second most watched thing in Canada. For weeks it has sat in the top ten.

Unlike many similar films, such as the 1995 film Outbreak starring Dustin Hoffman, the film is not about any one person, and there is no singular twist of victory. Rather it is an example of sociological storytelling. It’s about the systems and networks that these characters exist within, and how they both influence and are influenced by those systems, and what happens when those systems are placed under tremendous strain. Kate Winslet plays Dr. Erin Mears, a front line worker for the CDC who is sent to Wisconsin to track the transmission of the virus and contain its spread. Half way through the film she catches the virus herself, and then her condition worsens, and then she dies. It is unceremonious. It is not foreshadowed  or paid off because it is not poetic, because pandemics are not poetic and don’t have a tight arc or an eye for narrative fulfillment. It doesn’t have meaning, the only meaning is in how we choose to respond.

Because this is sociological the movie doesn’t end when doctor Ally Hextall develops a vaccine. What would be the singular victory moment in most films is instead the beginning of a slow, painful march back to stability as first the vaccine needs to be mass produced, and then distributed to billions of people worldwide. It is a dangerous task that needs to be tightly controlled as it requires access to the isolated virus and thus is very slow to ramp up. The film trudges through the immense societal tension that is created when there is a cure, but it will take over a year to make and distribute enough for everyone, a situation that lays bare every societal privilege. Dr. Orantes, played by Marion Cotillard, is kidnapped and held ransom for the vaccine by Chinese villagers who are keenly aware that in the priority of global politics the poor, the rural, and the non-white are at the very back of the line. They are terrorists, but they’re not wrong, just desperate. They are at the back of the line, and the government throws them under the bus anyway. Despite the existence of a vaccine Mitch continues to keep his teenage daughter, Jory, under aggressive quarantine out of legitimate fear of the disease that has been amplified to paranoia by the trauma of losing Beth and Clark, the survivor’s guilt of being naturally immune, and the uncertainty of whether his daughter would share that immunity or not.

In December 2019 the coronavirus COVID-19 was identified by doctors in the city of Wuhan. Over the course of January and February the spread of the virus began to be identified in South Korea, Japan, and Italy and, gradually, most of the rest of the world. The disease itself is not exceptionally lethal when compared to epidemics such as the Black Death in the mid 14th century or the spread of Smallpox through indigenous populations following contact with Europeans in the 16th and 17th centuries, but, first of all, “better than the black death” is a pretty bad standard, and second on a global scale a mortality rate of 1-2 percent in an unchecked pandemic still means, in absolute terms, millions and millions of preventable deaths. This is compounded by the strain that mass illness, even one that is not terribly lethal, inherently places on an already strained society: crowding healthcare systems, disrupting infrastructure, and forcing people to choose between working while ill, and thus infecting others, or losing their jobs. A low mortality rate is often the result of adequate care, but the quality of care goes down as the number of severely ill goes up, as the number of infected healthcare workers reduces the number of people qualified and capable of administering that care. This, in turn, has a knock on effect where unrelated illnesses and injuries become more dangerous. A heart attack or broken leg that would be easily managed under normal circumstances becomes that much worse when there aren’t enough people to help, aren’t enough beds to go around. The more people who are exposed, the more need to roll the dice against that one to two percent, and the more are going to lose.

As of March 2020 most of the United States and Canada have entered a period of uncertain quarantining. Non-essential businesses are closed, events are canceled, workers are being sent home or laid off, borders are being shut down,and the economy is in freefall. Every existing societal problem, from income inequality to housing inequality to healthcare, is being stressed and amplified by not only the virus but the complicity of our governments. News comes out hourly about warnings the people in charge received months ago, and the ways in which they were either ignored or exploited for personal gain. Several American politicians were briefed on the security risks of COVID 19 in late January, and then took to Twitter to decry public fear as a partisan hoax while they dumped their stocks in preparation for a crash that they knew was coming. People in government, their corporate donors, and their pundit allies are getting anxious, debating breaking quarantine and telling everyone to go back to work and roll the dice on whether or not they’re going to die for the economy. We are standing on the precipice of a very uncertain future, and we don’t know if that future is days, weeks, months, or years away. This could be the new normal for a very long time.

So why do I keep watching Contagion?

A dimension of narrative that I like to bring up pretty regularly is the idea that one purpose of fiction is that it allows us a space to practice intense emotions and states without exposing us to the complexities or harms of those states in reality. This is typically in the context of the fanciful: reckless stunts, wild sex, gun fights, or general risky behaviour. We talked about this with Fifty Shades and the idea of non-consent as a fantasy subject.

Watching a disaster film in a disaster, particularly one as sociologically driven as Contagion, is an extension of this. Rather than practicing intense emotional states before they happen, this instinct of exposing ourselves to what we’re already experiencing, amplifying existing emotional states, it works as a form of emotional inoculation. I am scared and anxious and uncertain, and so I will make  myself more scared and more anxious and more uncertain, because it’s still fiction, it’s still safe, it still has an end. It is bounded. Things will get bad, things will then get worse, people will die. The world is unfair, it is unbalanced, it is unjust, and catastrophe will bring out both the best and worst of all of us. And then it will end.

Is there looting, and arson, and murder? Yeah. But it is, ultimately, out of the ordinary. People get paranoid, people get desperate, they riot under stress, but even when food supply lines break down, the world isn’t summarily turned over to those with the bullets and the willingness to use them. There is no Mad Max dystopia, no Fallout post-apocalypse, because at the end of the day humans are pro-social. The cooperative survive.

In 1349, in the midst of the black death, it must have looked like the end of the world. Entire households, entire villages, dying a gross, horrifying, pain ful death, month after month after month. Then for generations, every year wondering if this was the year the plague returned. Was this the year there would be no one left to bury the dead. But people survived. The working class, who bore the brunt of the disease and saw the bodies of their families, clans, and communities piled like cord wood, fought back against the aristocrats who isolated themselves in their towers and remote estates. It was messy, and bloody, and it took decades, but in the end serfdom was abolished. Europe lost upwards of sixty percent of its population over the course of five years, but it wasn’t Armageddon. Things kept going, people kept going, and Europe would go on to be absolute bastards to the rest of the world.

The disease in Contagion is not unrealistic, real diseases have been as deadly, or worse, but it is dramatic. It moves very, very quickly, is highly contagious, and kills a huge number of those who are infected. In reality this aggressiveness would kinda work against the disease, and, morbidly, would help responders limit the spread. It moves so fast and kills so quickly that there’s little question of who has it, and within a couple days everyone who has it is either recovered or dead. This was the aspect of the SARS epidemic that allowed response teams to effectively quarantine the virus where it burnt itself out. That said it’s not impossible that something could spread so aggressively, be so incredibly contagious, that it could spread like wildfire and become almost impossible to contain before anyone even knows what’s going on. But it’s undeniably dramatic and emotionally effective.

48 hours. We can contain two days in our head. A situation where things will get materially worse literally tomorrow or the day after if nothing is done right this second, that’s a comprehensible timeline. Forty eight hours is short enough that in a catastrophe, driven by adrenaline and stress and necessity, you can stay awake that long without even realizing it. COVID’s life cycle is closer to a month. By the time you get sick you’ve already been sick for two weeks, and now you’re in for hell for another two to four weeks. It’s just past the range where it really feels real. Two weeks isn’t long, but it’s still over the line into the indeterminate “future”.

This problem extends in both directions. There’ s only so much space in the mind for time. As the news ramps up, as things get worse, the present crowds out history. The distance between the irrelevant past and the now contracts. ’Days ago’ becomes distant. ‘Months ago’ is irrelevant. Years ago is ancient. By evening even earlier the same day is suspect in its relevance to the Now. We remember January but it has as much presence in the mind as childhood. Our lives become superliminal, displaced from time, as we wrestle with our own minds and how they try to process the chronology of our own existence. By Sunday, Friday no longer feels real, and yet every day’s news is the consequence of decisions made fourteen, twenty one, twenty eight days ago. Today’s responses won’t yield results until well into next month. This flaw in our meat is a gap into which charlatans, hucksters, and conmen can drive a wedge and pry us open, and pry they will try.

When I first saw Contagion in 2012 I thought the weakest element was what I considered at the time to be the demonization of online media. Jude Law’s character plays an online pundit and conspiracy theorist who preaches to an audience of millions about an herbal tincture of forsythia that he claims is the cure, a cure he just-so-happens to be selling. It is, in 2020, the realest element of the film. Herbal cures, hydrogen water, steam treatment, teas, magnets, suspensions of silver, tinctures, and tonics. We’ve got pastors standing at the pulpit telling their congregation it's all a hoax, that there’s no reason to suspend services, that their nebulous enemies are just trying to shut them down. We now live in a world where the US president told people based on a rumour that chloroquine, a drug used for treating malaria and lupus, was the cure, so a man in Arizona ate a packet of fish tank cleaner containing the chemical. He’s dead now. And that is, again, all part of it.

There is an escapism to a story about horrible things, because that story is complete. It is bounded. It provides a framework to horror that doesn’t exist in the real present. Our future is uncertain, beset on all sides by devils, and we can come out better or we can come out worse or we can die and none of us knows which it will be and we’re all screaming at those in power to make the moral choice, to choose better.

And I am in an absolute haze. My daily life has not much been impacted, overtly. I’m already an agoraphobic shut-in wh o worksonline and has a bad sleep schedule. But it’s too much. I’m tired all the time. I can’t pay attention to the news and  Ican’t not pay attention to the news. Working is difficult.  I have a long history of respiratory illness. I am at risk.

On one hand I am deeply privileged to be in a position where I am and can remain isolated. On the other hand I can’t even think about the other hand.

Disease does not have a narrative meaning, it does not have an eye for poetry or twists or closure. The only meaning is in how we respond. So I watch Contagion over and over and over again. Because I need to practice emotions, and I need to live in a bounded world, and I need to believe we can choose better.

[end transcript]