#anyway the grid pattern seems to help so that’s why that’s there ^-^

[hyewka]

YANDERE!BEOMGYU who isn't one at first--someone who, as far as anyone knew, was normal. in fact, he's sociable, charismatic, befriended almost everyone thrown his way, and is on good terms with all of his exes. yandere!beomgyu who's so nice, so charitable, so aware of his surroundings that most people who find themselves disliking him can't continue, falling into his natural charisma.

so his surprise when he met you, so closed off...continuing to be this way even after his various attempts of trying to talk to you. after a while, he deemed it to be useless. not everyone was going to like him, he was okay with that. he was sure you were uncomfortable too with him being so pushy, so, he backed off.

temporarily.

after hearing about your meltdown from his friends, rumors about you being insane and unstable--it drew beomgyu in, for some reason.

at first, it was because he was curious. hanging around you every lunch break, getting you strawberry milk--even when people would wound up whispering about him too. why was he hanging out with you? you were practically an outcast at work, the crazy person who somehow didn't get fired. and he was...beomgyu.

but he didn't care. even when most of his lunches with you would be completely silent, no words exchanged as he ate his lunch along with you. then you'd get up to leave after finishing your meal, he'd quickly eat--sometimes choking in the process, to follow behind like a puppy.

yandere!beomgyu who ends up becoming your friend, even when you deemed his sweetness and pure warmth to be annoying, you couldn't help it. you enjoyed it when he'd eat lunch with you--at some point, the silence being first broken by beomgyu, who was just so curious.

the rumors about you being unstable weren't far off, you were in your right mind but you sometimes felt detached from your own self. past experiences so traumatizing making you breakdown at the trigger of them. you wanted to believe you were better, especially after getting the pass to get a job, reintegrating to society again.

you were socially illiterate, unable to talk to people outside of necessities. after all, you've learned to think that it was useless to engage anyway.

beomgyu, who was now your best friend, your only best friend, never seemed fazed by the occasional breakdowns that you'd have-- he never got mad when you'd go off the grid, needing time to be by yourself.

after a while, beomgyu was by you almost every hour of the day. people would ask you where he was if he didn't come to work, and people would ask him where you were when you didn't come.

beomgyu who is now so familiar with your irregular patterns, that he knows exactly how to calm you down, how to soothe you with his hand against your back. who knows how to count down to five, getting your breathing controlled.

beomgyu who first felt curiosity, then pity, then the need to protect you, the need to be your guardian angel. beomgyu who finds comfort in holding you close to his chest, on your bed, as you sob--incoherent rambles of a hallucination.

gradually, you'd get better, the breakdowns becoming so rare your therapist had asked you what you've done different, genuinely astonished at your progress. at the news of this, beomgyu celebrates with you, pulling you into a hug about how proud of you he is.

but inside, he's confused. so torn because of a wish so horrible and disgusting--what would happen to your relationship now? would he get to hold you as often as he did before? but those thoughts are quickly pushed down, as he flashes a smile he knows you love so much. pretending that everything was okay.

yandere!beomgyu who notices that you start getting distant. not in a off-grid way, but in a you getting closer to people around work, opting to go out for work dinners instead of going home with him now.

yandere!beomgyu who has never felt so much blinding rage until he sees his friend and coworker, yeonjun, talking with you, making you laugh. yandere!beomgyu who can't stand seeing you expand your friend circle.

until now, hes been quietly observing because at least he can still hold you against him as you lay on your bed. his feelings growing stronger, the nights he spends by your side--even if you insist that you don't need him anymore, that you don't get those haunting hallucinations, and that he should go home and rest--so intimate.

when else can he grind against your ass, his bulge rubbing between your leg, as he whines lowly, getting off at the way you stir--probably dismissing the feeling as another hallucination.

every night, he wishes that instead of cumming in his pants, he could cum inside you--his idea of intimate skinship--of making you stay with him forever instead of running off to the likes of yeonjun.

yandere!beomgyu who gets told that he can't come over anymore, and not because you're worried about burdening him but because you have a boyfriend--who doesn't appreciate a grown man sleeping with his girlfriend every night.

beomgyu didn't know about this, about you getting so close to another guy that you started a relationship. what else were you hiding from him? did he even know you anymore? were you the y/n he met a year ago?

you changed. you didn't need him anymore.

beomgyu could back off again, like he did last time when he first knew you. he should do that. that's the only sensible thing to do. thats what the old beomgyu would've done.

but beomgyu changed, just like you.

yandere!beomgyu who knows that you take your medication every lunch break, who knows where you put them in the first place--switching them out for tylenol instead when you quickly go to the bathroom.

yandere!beomgyu whose memorized your triggers, who knows what sets you off.

in no time, your mental state deteriorates, all progress the past year, undone. you have no idea why! your therapist accuses you of not taking your medication, but after a point, you go insane from her not believing your word.

beomgyu who tells you to stop seeing her, that she's doing you no good, that she's a bad therapist if shes not willing to listen to her clients. you agree, you can't see her anymore.

this isn't good for you, you pretend you're okay, but you're not. the hallucinations are back--dates with your boyfriend become a nightmare, you reject every offer to go out for work dinners, youre back to square one.

even when your boyfriend assures you that he'll stay by your side no matter what, that your breakdowns won't ever scare him, that he'll hold you and never let go, that he'll stop the nightmares for you, you can't help but feel that you're a burden.

so, you don't call your boyfriend anymore whenever you need someone by your side. instead, the next best thing--beomgyu. your beomgyu.

it's like the old times, beomgyu holding onto your waist, head buried in the crook of your neck. it wasn't long before beomgyu started again, dry humping your ass, cumming in his pants.

he goes further this time, proud that he managed to get you back to your old self--he takes off his pants, only in his boxers as his hard cock grinds against you--you, still unaware, sleeping.

then, further. his bare dick feverishly rutting in you, moaning against your neck. further. you're only in your underwear, his cum spurting on it--he'd have to clean that up later.

further. he's in you--finally. it was better than all the nights hes spent humping you. its far better.

your eyes are open now--reacting with incoherent moans, beomgyu climbing on top of you, fucking into you ruthlessly, movement erratic as he repeats his i love you's, his pure declaration of his love for you.

beomgyu's going to make sure you don't chalk this up to hallucinations, not anymore.

when the breakup with your boyfriend happens, it was inevitable. he found out that beomgyu comes over somehow, even when your boyfriend previously expressed his uncomfortableness over the arrangement.

yandere!beomgyu who has you crying in his arms, but this time, he doesn't like it. because you're crying over your breakup. how could you? you should be happy! ecstatic! like he was.

beomgyu who fucks into you the night of your breakup, harder than hes done, overstimulating you, as he cums in you, over and over again--he'll make you forget about that bastard. he didn't understand you like beomgyu did. he didn't know you like beomgyu did. he didn't know about the small mole under your right eyes, nor did he know that you had three hundred and forty two lashes in total, that you'd often lose six a day.

no one knew you like beomgyu did. no one could take care of you like beomgyu could.

a/n: lol sorry very unexpected yandere!beomgyu brain rot. i just came back from watching a movie and i got inspired. now ill get back on track, working on my sub!beomgyu smut 😂

[shiftingstoner]

I seem to have run into a pattern now every time I think about/attempt to shift.

Me: *lays in bed and starts mindlessly thinking while listening to music, attempting to keep a mental note of how long I was daydreaming* (Around the time I either start forgetting what I started with or whenever feels right)

Me: *starts thinking about walking in my IR room from a 1st person POV*

Me Thinking: "Okay so my bed is here, it feels nice and soft, very comfy. There is my desk with my art tablet and my two monitors. My closet is here..." Me: *really getting into the space of my IR room. Starting to drift away from my CR body, dipping into (hopefully) the void state*

Me: *Starts getting excited and can feel the excitement in my being*

Me: *Mind slowly drifts because of the idea of excitement. Starts thinking about why I want to shift to said IR* (Not always necessarily bad)

Me: *Start to think about IR partner/future partner, slowly turns into daydream. Now not actively thinking and staying in the moment.*

Me: *All of a sudden opens eyes and it is the morning in my CR. I had fallen asleep without knowing* Me: "FUCK I DID IT AGAIN!!!"

Now I know that for some people it's important to try and not shift to you IR for your partner/future partner. In some ways it could help you not put your IR on a pedestal and really connect with your IR, making it feel more realistic. And stuff like that. Like the idea that your IR isn't just your partner kind of thing. But between you and me most ALL of my IRs are partner oriented. What can I say I get attached super easy and fast. I mean I have maybe 3 IR that are not solely for a partner(s). That is my singer IR, my off grid IR, and an IR I like to call my justice IR. I originally created my off grid IR for the purpose of attempting to shift to an IR that is NOT partner oriented, because I like the idea of living off grid but in my CR that it WAY far in the future for me, if its even possible. Anyway, but I can't help myself and always drift back to attempting to shift to (currently my Spooky Month IR) a partner oriented IR. And time and time again this kind of shit happens to me! I can't help it! I am a heavy daydreamer! I always maladaptive daydream! Its just kind of hard for me not too, especially when attempting to shift. Like I said that is why I created my off grid IR, because I don't exactly daydream about off grid life so I would always actively think about and visualize that IR. I just wanted to share this with the community thought it was funny and wondered if this kind of stuff happens to other shifters.

[riinzler]

Darkness surrounded them, alongside a cold so deep it made his circuits ache and burn. There was nothing that showed any sense of direction and his scans came back too scrambled to be of any help. Rinzler reached out blindly, trying to find some way out of the darkness. Oh, water. He was in water. Great. No time to panic or wonder how he had gotten here, he needed to find which way was up before the seal on his helmet broke.

Think... look... there! The faintest beam of light, pulsing softly in the far distance. It seemed to be pulsing in a pattern, a line within it growing brighter before it disappeared away into the darkness. Logically, the pulse should be moving downwards so if Rinzler swam the opposite way they should reach the surface.

Not like they had any better options anyways. Rinzler began to kick and swim in the direction that was hopefully up. It was exhausting, and at some point he heard a sharp hiss. Some part of the seal on their helmet had gave way. Rinzler can feel the nip of freezing cold water at his neck as it began to make its way in. They try to kick faster, to frantically claw their way to the surface but it feels like trying to wade through a sea of grid bugs.

Finally, Rinzler breached the surface but a moment later a wave forced him back under. The startling force of it caused Rinzler to inadvertently inhale some of the water inside his helmet, and his vision blacked out. But what he thought may have finally killed him turned out to be a saving grace. Rinzler felt solid ground under him for a moment. The large wave must have pushed to land.

Using the last of his strength he dragged himself out of water, coughing from the liquid that had nearly choked him to death. It took several minutes for Rinzler to regain some semblance of clarity and several more frustrating minutes for the water to drain completely out of the helmet.

When they had finally stopped hacking up water and their limbs didn't feel like liquid the Enforcer shakily sat up to try and figure out where they were.

Large floating rocks hung in the air over the water with beams of bright white energy emerging down from them. Rolling waves lapped at their feet. Rinzler knew this place, it was the Sea of Simulation. Shit. He quickly scrambled away from the poisoned water. As if that would do any good with him having already choked on the it. Well, at least they had an explanation to why they felt even worse than usual.

Rinzler growled in frustrated anger. Now they were likely going to have to go through a decontamination process. And who knows how long he'd be out of commission for. Clu was going to be at the very least extremely disappointed, and at the worst enraged. But none of that would matter if Rinzler stayed here and derezzed on the beach. They reached for a baton at their hip, finding as they did so that both light jet and light cycle batons were missing. Well, at least they still had their discs and the communicator. It could be worse.

He unlatched the communicator and activated it. The interface was bizzare, none of the comm channels on it were even coming up as online or even unreachable. They just weren't there, like the signals never existed. Not even the grid wide emergency line. Well, he should be able to at least broadcast his own signal from it. Hopefully as he trekked to the city someone would pick up on it. Preferably an ally, but Rinzler could always just commandeer whatever form of transport any program stupid enough to attack them used.

They activated the signal transmitter on the communicator. It beeped softly, the light on the side turning green to show the signal was successfully transmitting. No time to wait, they better get moving now. With a sigh of frustration and a hiss of pain, Rinzler pushed himself to his feet and began walking towards the lights of the city in the distance.

- @enforcerrinzler (If the sea of simulation can randomly produce life then who's to say it can't act like some weird portal.)

Rinzler had been picking up on…something for most of the millicycle. He didn’t know what it was, just a little blip at the very edge of his radar, far enough away that he couldn’t get a read of what it was but it was close enough to catch his attention. He’d wanted to go investigate it far sooner but with the way he’d been assigned to follow at Clu’s heels it hadn’t been an option. By the time he was finally dismissed he’d been all but vibrating out of his shell to see what had been causing the disturbance, something he was sure the Admin had noticed and would be asking after soon but until then Rinzler was going to see what had been lurking in his peripheral all that time and driving him up the damn wall.

He was meant to stay nearby even after he’d been dismissed as was protocol but Rinzler knew Clu could tell when he came and went and he hadn’t stopped him so he was going to utilize the opportunity even though it meant he had to fly to the far outskirts of the city. It was odd that Clu hadn’t also noticed the anomaly but he could report on it once it was eliminated. As he drew closer Rinzler disengaged his lightjet to cross the final stretch on foot, using the code signature as a guide.

It occurred to him that tracking an unknown program notable enough to be registered by his threat assessment across the entire city while no one knew his current location was extremely stupid and so he sent a location marker to Clu before he continued on.

Once he was close enough he began picking up on a signal, but not one produced by a program which was odd as it wasn’t coming from any sort of device he could recognize either. It wasn’t being sent through any of the channels made to receive distress signals. What were they transmitting from and why? He supposed he’d soon find out.

The sight he was greeted with as he finally tracked down the source was the very last thing he expected to see. It was like looking in a mirror. A soaking wet mirror with an improperly sealed helmet. Rinzler didn’t know if it was the shock of seeing a duplicate or if his system really was that damaged but his threat assessment returned to its regular levels like he wasn’t currently staring at himself standing in the middle of the road leading into the city.

Rinzler’s first assumption was that it was a disguise but a quick scan showed that wasn’t the case as the program’s code aligned with his own. It wasn’t an exact copy, both in terms of render and coding but it was close enough to be completely impossible. How was he going to explain this to Clu? There were several long moments where nothing was said or done as Rinzler stared his copy down, his processor stuttering loudly before he finally spoke,

[Who are you?] It was sent as a ping, a flash of text across the other program’s vision.

Finally knocked out of his stupor Rinzler drew his disc to punctuate the inquiry though he didn’t approach. Not yet.

[How did you replicate my code?] They shouldn’t have access to his render let alone his code itself. Clu was the only program capable of that and he hadn’t sanctioned…whatever this was. A virus, maybe? Doesn't matter.

As he warily crept closer he saw the blackened pixelated residue from the Sea. He thought maybe it was an ISO but the scan would’ve revealed that. He amended his previous question,

[What are you?]

[theskit]

Danny stares at the person in incomprehension, because what? Destroyed?

That's. That's not right. No.

Sure, he'd been fleeing the GIW when he left. They'd figured out a new type of anti-ghost shielding that basically... melted a ghost's core on contact, so he'd had to run. Take the Speeder and get as far away from the portal as possible in case they lobbed something through after him, but...

But that just meant he'd need to connect to either Vlad's portal or find a natural one out of the Zone and get back to Amity from the outside. Get Sam and Tucker and Jazz to help turn off the shielding and find a way to get around the whole.. melting.. thing.

The people here didn't even know he was from an alternate timeline/dimension/whatever. There were too many differences for it to be anything else, though he'd never heard of the Zone portals connecting to alternate dimensions. All the ones Clockwork had sent him through previously had all connected him to different timelines of his own world, but that made sense, didn't it? Why would Clockwork send him to fix a different dimension anyway, right?

Danny stiffened, the pale, slightly blue/green tinge to his skin in ghost form paling even further, staring unseeingly at the not-yet-turned-on portal control panel. He was vaguely aware of the person next to him continuing to speak, but couldn't hear anything over the buzzing whine of distress his core was sending out, a noise he hadn't even known it was possible to make.

Because that was the question, wasn't it? The question he'd not truely let himself think about before now, too focused on building the portal, on finding a way back.

Why would he be sent to a different dimension? Through a random Zone portal close enough to his parent's portal connection he hadn't even thought to watch for one since the man-made connection usually prevented any natural portals from forming around it? A portal the instruments on the Speeder hadn't registered until he'd been too close to correct course away from it?

When he'd never even heard that dimension crossing portals could be a thing? Not from Clockwork. Not from Dora. Or Frostbite. Or Wolfe, who could tear open his own portals between the Ghost Zone and Earth?

What if. What if the GIW had thrown something into the Zone after him? If the new shielding was so terrible as to completely destroy a ghost's very core on contact, what would such a thing do to the Zone, which was made up exclusively of ectoplasm?

Gripped with a sudden panic, Danny quickly input the last of the coordinate data into the control panel, phasing through the hero who was attempting to either get his attention or restrain him from finishing activating the portal to slam a hand down onto the large red 'ON' button he had thought it hilarious to add at the time.

Electricity crackled around the metal ring of the portal, looking like one of those novelty lightning ball things, if they came ridiculously over sized.

He flinched away from it reflexively as the toxic-colored energy of ectoplasm swirled into being in the middle of it, fed from the battery tanks he'd had to carefully fill over the last few months in preparation as this dimension didn't seem to have as much ambient ectoplasm as his own, or at least not wherever the Titans tower was located.

Once the portal connected to the Zone, it would pull ectoplasm from there to continue powering itself rather than using roughly the electrical output of a small city. His parent's portal had knocked out the Amity electrical grid on the first activation, after all.

But even as the energy pulsed and electricity crackled, Danny could tell something was wrong. The connection wasn't stabilizing, oscillating in fractal patterns as it reached and reached and failed to find anything to connect to.

Ectoplasm, Clockwork had explained to him, was an incredibly versatile energy source. It worked mostly off of a person's intent and what they wanted to happen, since it could do everything from make ecto-blasts, to creating the islands and doors in the Zone that made up the various ghost lairs, to even changing a ghost's very appearance as their mental visualization of themselves changed.

Or, lets say, punching a hole in reality; the realization of his parents' decades-long obsession with proving their theories correct in spite of being considered crackpots by most of the scientific community.

So. As this was the culmination of months of work, of the ectoplasm he'd personally imbued with all of his single-minded determination to go back, to cross into the Ghost Zone and go home, it should have seen the portal swirling to life with the energy he'd provided.

But it wasn't.

It wasn't, and Danny watched the failing portal with growing dread as the hero beside him yelled something into their communicator.

He watched as the random fractals wove themselves into recognizable patterns, the Ghost Script a familiar sight from many a green post-it note and he felt hope for a brief moment before it all came crashing down.

Danny, if you're seeing this message, I have failed. Failed to influence the timeline away from the worst case scenario, and with the destruction of the Infinite Realms, the human world will fall with it, two sides of the same coin. I can only pray you survive the trip through dimensions, it took all my power to open the portal and I cannot see what lies beyond it. May your new reality treat you kinder than this one.

Danny sank to the ground, tears streaming down his face as the message flickered like a candle flame before going out as the whole portal powered down with a hiss. The dead shell of his hopes of going home darkening and starting to smoke slightly as internal components gave out under the strain of trying to form a connection to nothing.

His home was gone. Annihilated by those too bigoted and stubborn to realize that trying to get rid of everything they didn't like or understand was always going to end with mutually assured destruction.

Jazz, Sam, Tucker, his parents, hell, even Dash and Paulina and Mr. Lancer were gone. Dani and Clockwork and Cujo and Wolfe and everyone. He was never going to see any of them ever again. He was never going home because home no longer existed.

His core felt like it was cracking, shattering into tiny little ice crystals under the weight of his grief, the agony of his failure to protect them, to stop the GIW before it had come to this.

He was alone. More than he'd ever been as his parents grew ever more fixated on their science, as an almost-outcast at school, as the only true halfa in existence. He was now the sole survivor of his entire dimension.

He was a l o n e

He had f a i l e d

Danny turned his face to the stars slowly wheeling by overhead and s c r e a m e d

Hi! So I was into DP years ago, then earlier this year got into Batfam fics, then saw my first DC x DP crossover and just 💥

So now I’m on a new obsession that has me reading every one of your prompts and any stories that come from it and I just had this one flood my brain:

Presumed Alien Danny

So for [insert reason here] Danny has to flea Amity and the living world to stay in the Zone. He’s injured, and therefore forced to use the Fenton Specter Speeder, and flies it into the portal. Only, whether due to a malfunction, Clockwork, or something else, instead of the Ghost Zone, the Speeder gets spat out of a portal in the DC universe.

So, on the other side, the Watchtower gives an alert that an unknown energy is spiking nearby, and then a spaceship/pod looking thing comes flying out of a flash of green. It’s spinning out of control, and headed for a desert on Earth. A team is dispatched, I’m thinking Superman (alien), Green Lantern (alien law enforcement) and Batman (obvious. Kid bait).

So they get there within moments of the crash, find the thing totaled, Superman hears a strange, humming/thrumming accompanied by groans, and he cracks what’s left of it open to see this green-eyed, white-haired kid with very bad injuries and green blood covering what looks like it could have been some kind of space suit. He grabs the kid, gets him out, and Lantern makes a shield that contains the massive explosion that leaves the ship/pod nothing but charred bits lying scattered across the sand.

They get the clearly alien child to the watchtower for medical help, and though they heal very quickly they still need a lot of stitches, mainly because the first set melted and they had to use ones designed for metas with corrosive abilities.

Then, a day or so later, still healing but not in danger, the kid wakes up, stares wide-eyed at the people around him, and exclaims something I a strange language.

Yeah, definitely alien.

Danny wakes up, sees a bunch of weird, costumed people all around him, and tries to ask what the heck is going on. They all stare in confusion. One guys, who’s glowing green but a different shade, had a ring that starts speaking in a different language.

So, I figure, in an alternate dimension, the English language developed differently, so Danny’s English and the DCU’s English aren’t the same. Hence more Misunderstandings.

Also, if Connor is in this, it’s not until after Danny’s been found. 😎

So Danny gets introduced via the Green Guys magic translating ring, finds out they think he’s an alien, thinks he’s still in his world, where the Anti-Ecto Acts are a thing, and goes with it. They introduce him to the younger hero’s his age, and once he’s better they set him up in their base to live, since obviously he can’t stay on the watchtower or blend in. A few weeks in is enough for Danny to get confused by all the differences and look into it, and realize he’s in a new dimension. But he’s already knee-deep in this, so he just doesn’t ever mention it, and just refers to his ‘home planet’ as Amity.

Meanwhile, the alien kid, Danny, seems to be adjusting well, if a bit confused by the strangest things at times. The planet he mentioned as home was listed by the Lantern Corps as one destroyed by a black hole a few days before Danny’s pod showed up, so they avoid asking about the clearly painful and traumatizing experience. Superman, upon learning about the boys skill set, takes him under his wing.

TLDR-

Through a series of misunderstandings and coincidences Danny is premised to be an alien child by the Justice League and taken in as Superman’s apprentice/son. He does not correct this assumption, either ever or until he is outed by something/one else.

homie I am in love with this idea. Presumed Alien Danny makes me so happy.

I will like to add: The not-quite-english that Danny is speaking is akin to old English.

[nazumichi]

haha so october huh (click 4 better quality)

[id: four drawings of owl house characters as they appear on the new promotional poster, background light purple with darker hatching. first drawing, luz and gus smile at each other and say “same hat!!” second, hunter holds flapjack and looks irritated, arrow pointing to the bird reading “lost strand privileges.” the third, vee, amity, and willow all walk together, talking and smiling. the fourth, hunter has his eyes closed, expression pensive and a strand of cut hair around his finger. end id.]

[noface-phantom7]

Bodysuit: Task Force Replacement

A Case of SCP - 3333: The Tower and its inhabitants SCP - 3333 - 1: The Skin Stealers

(Part One)

“I really don’t like this place,” Gary breathes behind my ear for what felt like the twentieth time today as we scale up the 571st trapdoor of the Suntop Fire Lookout, or what the Foundation refers to as SCP - 3333, just a single floor more before reaching the apex. “Why can’t they just burn the place down?”

“This is a spatial anomaly, Parker.” barks the voice on our radio, making Gary flinch. “It’s not the lookout that’s anomalous, that’s just the entrance, and its inhabitants.” That was Dr. Anderson, the researcher presiding over our mission today. I hear a groan from Gary behind me as we climb out onto the 571st floor.

It was already pretty dark, and I tapped the light on my firearm that illuminated the room and my fellow operatives in tactical gear, all rolling their eyes and teasing at Gary.

“Then keep close to me if you’re that scared,” I tease at him with a grin, and he exhales sharply at this. “Guard duty has been boring anyway. Time to close this place up.”

“This is Lambda, Oak.” a deep voice breaks the teasing, from James Oak, the one leading our team today. “No wind outside, too dark to make out anything. No instance of 3333-1 just yet.” he reports to the radio. I looked around and out of the dark windows, and onto the impossibly dark abyss. It was enough to send a chill down my spine.

“So these things,” Corey, the shortest of us five asks, as he surveys the mess of the room where the furniture were strewn around, splatters of something black and what looked like tattered clothing littered the floor. “What are they exactly supposed to look like again?”

“You, they’re gonna look like you.” Anderson says over our radios, barking more orders. “That is, unless you make this quick. I’ve been squatting here all night so you—”

“Yes, doc.” Mike cuts him off, the last person in our team, as he pulls down the trapdoor to the 572nd level. “All clear here, boss?”

“Clear, proceed.” James tells him as everyone turned their headlamps on. “Once we make it up there, let’s split into pairs and search the cabins.”

“Wait, wait wait—” Gary interjects as Mike steps onto the bed to hop into the trapdoor above. “Who goes alone?”

“Do you want to?” James turns to Gary, annoyance obvious in his green eyes as he starts to climb onto the trapdoor as well. “No more questions, Parker. I’m going alone, you go with O’Donnell.”

Gary looks back at me with a sigh of relief, and I wink at him teasingly. “Thought you were up for this, bud.” I ask as I approach the trapdoor to give Corey a boost. He mutters a thanks as I gesture for Gary to do the same, although he was much bigger than I am.

“Realized it on the four-hundredth something floor,” he grumbles, climbing onto the hole and then helping me pull myself up. “Thanks for having my back, Chris.” As soon as we were up, we were greeted by thicker darkness, the lights barely cutting through. We raise our rifles as Mike kicks the door open out of the cabin.

“Don’t mention it.” I tell him just in time for Anderson to remind us to double-check our body cameras and microphones. “Now let’s go.”

Outside the cabin were even more identical structures to the lookout, arranged in a grid pattern and connected by what seemed to be sturdy wooden walkways with no railings. The abyss below was just as dark as the place, it was as if a blanket of black had been placed over the sky, the only light that cut through was our own.

“Split up.” James says, and we nod as I pull Gary along with me towards the west. “Report anything.”

“Signs of struggle here, probably from the last exploration.” Corey says on the radio, they were somewhere up north. “Dog tags from MTF-Mod and decomposing organic matter, bullets and some dropped ammo. No other signs of the creatures.” There was a sound of approval from Mike beside Corey, as I led Gary towards the first two cabins. There, on the floor, was what looked like a piece of clothing roughly in the shape of a torn hand.

“Found, uhh—tattered skin.” I say over the radio, Gary spins around with the light on his gun, looking for the rest. He shakes his head at me, and motions for me to check the other cabins. “Nothing else.”

“Dr. Williams, or what became of her, stopped transmitting from somewhere south.” Anderson says through our radio. “Who went—”

A couple of gunshots rang out towards the direction where we came from a few moments ago, and a loud yell before a few more shots.

“Oak! His camera feed was just cut!” Anderson alerts over the radio. “Someone check on him!”

“I’m going doc,” Mike radios in. “Corey—” there was another shot, this time over on Mike’s end. “What the fuck! Corey!”

His radio cuts off, and I hear another scream from James’ direction. I could hear blood pounding in my ears as Gary and I exited the cabin, weapons drawn out for any surprise attacks.

“No, no, no, no…” I could hear Gary say, could feel his shaking from the wooden floors.

“Dr. Anderson, their cameras?” I ask over the radio with the doctor panicking. “Who’s still up?”

“I—wait, Mike! Can you hear us?” he yells, and I nod at Gary to signal him to go back where we started. “His camera’s up, but he’s running and shooting at something behind Corey!”

In the dark, I saw a writing shape, just a few feet in front of Gary who was oblivious, pointing his light everywhere else but the thing near him. I tackled him just in time for a stinger to fly out of the dark, missing Gary’s arm by a hair’s width.

“Fuck, we got one here!” I scream over the radio, shooting at the source of the stinger. Gary whimpers beneath me, and rolls to his side to start shooting as well, illuminating the creature. There was a loud thud as the creature collapses in front of us, with Gary still shooting .

“Hey, hey! Come on, it’s okay.” I tell him, gripping his shoulder. “You’re wasting bullets!”

He stops at this, and we both step back at the black ooze that was in front of us.

“That, that’s James Oak…” Anderson confirms over the radio when I point my light at the mass in front of us. It indeed was him, or what was left of him. It was a gruesome scene—it was James' skin, but through the puncture wounds oozing black goo, his face contorted and almost folded as part of the creature seemed to be trying to squeeze out of his mouth, a translucent wing was left on its back.

“Let’s go.” I tell Gary, guns pointed forward. “Be more careful, please.”

“I will, thanks for that.” He replies as we press on forward. “I don’t even know what could have happened if…yeah.” I just gave him a pat on his shoulder gently to acknowledge this as we reached the spot where we split up.

“Schmidt and Santos are approaching you, but I’m not sure if they’re turned or not…” Anderson says over the radio as we hear footsteps approaching. “No wait, I don’t think they did. Only Santos’s stopped working and only Schmidt’s mic was off.”

As soon as Anderson finishes, two figures emerge from the dark, their guns also pointed at us as they grind to a halt. They were bruised, and had scars all over. They surveyed us suspiciously, even as Gary tried to get them to put them down.

“They’re not turned,” Anderson announces. “Both Parker and O’Donnell’s camera were on.”

“Are you sure?” Mike growls, still pointing his gun at us. “We just saw James a while ago and you said the same thing with his mic.”

“Hey, hey, Mike.” Gary replies, one hand in front of him to deescalate the situation. “We’re not, come on, I know your name. See, we’re all good here.”

“How about you?” I challenged, noting Corey’s silence and his wide eyes. He’s not this silent. “How do we know neither of you were turned?”

“Well my camera was on, too.” Mike replies, gripping his gun harder. “And Anderson didn’t see anything happen to Corey, and myself or else he could’ve seen or heard it.”

Gary contemplates on this, and he starts to lower his gun. I was about to do the same, as we waited for Anderson’s reply. “Can you—” I almost said, before stepping back and raising my gun again, just the same time as Corey pointed his gun at Mike. There was something in his eye, but I couldn’t put my mind on it, and his response…

“Not Mike!” Corey yells, trembling and squeezing a shot at Mike’s back. I did too, but just as quick as my bullet pierced his abdomen, a stinger burst out of his neck and injected itself at Corey. I stepped back, having to physically pull Gary back to not rush forward.

Mike always called Anderson ‘doc’, never by his name, and it must be what ticked Corey off. That and his green eyes looked about a shade darker. If we had been a moment faster, we could have gunned him down. Instead, we watched in horror as Corey was paralyzed on the spot. A long dark mouth emerged out of Mike’s mouth as soon as the stinger left Corey’s chest. As soon as it connects, the creature inside Mike seemingly starts sucking out Corey’s insides.

“What the fuck!” Anderson yells over the radio. “Shoot-shoot, shoot it goddamn it!”

It was quick, the creature burst out of Mike’s mouth as Corey’s insides were ejected like slush from its back. All that remained of Corey now was his skin, like he was a costume. The creature wriggled out of Mike, leaving him a punctured mess of skinsuit, as the dark lumpy creature with translucent wings shimmering from the flashlights entered Corey’s skin, filling out his limbs perfectly until he stood straight.

Gary and I started shooting, but the creature just ducks out. From the corner of my eye, I see a smaller creature fly down onto Mike’s discarded skin and start climbing in. I heard Gary vomit behind me, just as Mike stood up again, reaching for his own gun.

“Retreat!” I could hear from the radio, loud and clear even from the crossfire. “Oak’s camera reactivated! There’s more of them!”

“Gary!” I quickly whirl around to my partner, grabbing at his arm as he shot at ‘Mike’s’ leg. “Let’s get out of here.”

He just nods and whimpers in time to see ‘Corey’ running at us from behind one of the cabins. I shot at him and managed to hit an arm which deflates, flapping behind him as he ducks again. Gary tries shooting but, after hearing a thud behind us, spins around to shoot.

“Fuck, they’re everywhere!” He yells, still shooting. “Cabin’s there! Come on!” I nod at him, shooting at ‘Corey’s’ head as soon as he hops out of his hiding place. Gary and I basically pulled each other forward as the flashlights dropped by Mike and Corey illuminated a few steps, more instances of 3333-1 appearing wearing skins of the previous D-Class and MTF sent here.

The cabin was only a few feet in front, but Gary and I turned back to shoot a few down just in case they try to get back in and escape through the trapdoor. Anderson on the radio wouldn’t stop yelling, though, agitating Gary even more.

Gary reaches the door and kicks it open after firing a few more of his rounds on what remained of Annette, another person sent here. He tells me to run for it, and I don, but the floorboard crunches beneath me, and my leg falls through.

“Chris!” Gary screams, running to me as I desperately pull myself up. I hear Gary’s gun run out of bullets, and I throw him my spare.

“Go! I can do this!” I tell him as he reloads his rifle. I couldn’t, actually, the rest of the plank felt like it’s collapse too if I put too much weight on it. “Gary, run for it!”

Gary didn’t listen, instead, he jumps and I heard a thud behind me. I was able to crawl and pull myself up by then, just in time to see him restraining one of the creature’s whose stinger was embedded on the floorboard just behind me. He then shoots at it, and goes to join me.

“Let’s go!” I tell him, almost entering the door. Gary comes up to me, and as he makes his way to me looks at something behind me then kicks me harshly inside the cabin, hard enough to smash my rifle light on the corner of a table and my headlamp.

I was plunged into darkness as I heard Gary tackle something, gunshots and grunting. The air was knocked off my lungs, and I felt as if the world was spinning around me for a moment, unable to move. My fingers were on the latch that opened the trapdoor beneath us.

I groaned, the fall having disoriented me and the dark only periodically cut by a beam of light outside here and there. I struggled to move, until eventually, I was able to at least sit up.

I saw a figure enter the doorway, and I aimed my gun for it, only to be blinded by light. It was Gary. He was panting, his rifle wasn’t with him but his headlamp still had light. He rushes forward to me and opens the trapdoor, and then pulls me by the waist to climb down.

He then looks at me and the creatures desperately yelling over the door.

“Now let’s get you out of here.” was all I heard last, before it went dark.

–

I came to a few hours later, and Gary has somehow brought me down to the 132nd level on his own. He was bruised, but otherwise unscathed and we continued descending without him having to carry me. Apparently Anderson has allowed us to descend, and would request for someone to pick us up after screening.

“You’re gonna be alright.” Gary told me once we were around the fiftieth, close to the exit. I wanted to respond with a chuckle, but my sides hurt, probably a bruised rib so I winced, with Gary supporting me at every trapdoor. We didn’t talk much, which was strange for Gary, but I ignored it. After what we witnessed a while ago, I don’t really have much energy to talk about it.

Once we were on the second, there were already operatives waiting for us below. Gary, despite himself, was beaming. But there was something in his smirk that I couldn’t comprehend, something in his voice that didn’t seem… Gary.

“Here,” He says as he lowers me from the hole, one agent wrapping his arms around my legs to bring me down. “Gently, please. I think he has a bruised or broken rib. My bad.”

I could almost chuckle, maybe Gary’s being cheery again since we’ve just escaped our doom. He hops down the hole as paramedics enter, putting me down into a stretcher while I hold my side. He sighs, and puts his hands to his waist, and then looks at me.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He tells me, winking, before smiling. “I’ll see you once you’re patched up.” I then feel one of the paramedics jab a needle to my arm, probably to sedate me and lessen the pain.

I don’t know if it was a trick of light, or maybe my own sight was fooling me but, as I once more faded into the dark, I could swear there was a glint of something in Gary’s eyes. I couldn’t tell what it was, nor focus on it as I slipped down to oblivion.

But this has been a long day, maybe I was just imagining it.

–

FOUNDATION AGENT PROFILE

NAME: Parker, Gary Taylor

SECURITY CLEARANCE LEVEL: Level 3

AFFILIATION: Mobile Task Force Lambda-1 “Maxwell’s Demons”

RANK: Task Force Operative

COMMANDING OFFICER: [RESTRICTED]

MISSION: Containment of SCP - 3333, Eradication of instances of SCP - 3333-1

STATUS: Pending…

(Image of Agent Parker prior to enlistment, from Personnel Archives)

NAME: O’Donnell, Christopher Julian

SECURITY CLEARANCE LEVEL: Level 3

AFFILIATION: Mobile Task Force Lambda-1 “Maxwell’s Demons”

RANK: Task Force Operative

COMMANDING OFFICER: [RESTRICTED]

MISSION: Containment of SCP - 3333, Eradication of instances of SCP - 3333-1

STATUS: Pending…

(Image of Agent O’Donnell prior to recruitment, from Personnel Archives)

[acommonloon]

to bicycles and a shopping cart on our way from the EMP

Was unhappily reminded of our reliance on electronics and the vulnerability of our power grid, twice this week. The first was easy to repress as I've been aware of this "one more thing" for years, and starting yet another post-apocalyptic series on my kindle was...a familiar reminder. It was the second thing I'm still thinking about.

When my phone suddenly stopped receiving a signal, I didn't think of the scenario where the North Koreans sneak a few old Russian Ilyushin jet bombers, into the US commercial traffic pattern squawking Chinese commercial airliner codes, then climbing them high and setting off nuclear bombs to create electromagnetic pulses devastating our nation's power grid.

Nope, I didn't think that because I'm not living in a constant state of terror that at any moment the world or just my world (same thing) is about to come crashing down. Yeah living in a state of denial isn't the constant address of only Trumper's. We all fend off the vagaries of life with barricades made of hope, faith, repression, nihilism, etc.

Personally, I cope mostly by...nevermind. Even though I've seemed to notice more of those Emergency Broadcast transmissions on the radio than usual, and even though, the world's most prominent Darth Vader seems to be going down in an insane egoists death spire and taking us with him, my first thought was...yeah Android Auto really sucks. It does.

It wasn't until I pulled into the parking lot of the supermarket and unplugged my phone from the car, that I realized, not only wasn't I not getting any cell signal, I wasn't getting an icon to represent a cell signal. When I tried to make a call or send a text I got the most disturbing message. "Phone not connect to a network. No number associated with this device. You can only make Emergency calls."

WTAF!!! In this day and age, when an emergency happens, you use your phone to call for help. Really when nearly anything happens you use your phone. When the emergency is - your phone is no longer a phone, I repeat, What the actual fuck?!

Not an emergency you say? Well here I was sitting in a primo parking spot on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, temp in the low 80's, sorry world, all ready to go in to get a long list of food items when I realized, I'd forgotten the list!!! Ikr? Yeah big time Emerg!!!

So, I shakily restarted the car and drove a white-knuckled fifteen minutes in heavy traffic to the Verizon store. I could think of three Verizon stores off hand. As a former member of an AF tactical communications unit, I've been conditioned to always know where all emergency egress routes are and the nearest White Castle and Verizon stores.

What? Some of you savvy preppers might ask, "Shouldn't I know where the gun stores are?' For when the sky is covered in contrails and the dead have begun to walk? Nah, I live in Indiana. You can't swing a dead zombie torso without hitting a gun shop. But MF if you've just finished a hard day of drinking and your stomach has begun to cry like Nancy Keriggan Why Why Why, a WK crave case is survival.

Anyway, as I walked in the Verizon store I noticed OMG, every single person was currently looking at a hand-held screen. Every customer and every Verizon team member. Most of the team members were looking at two screens, a tablet and a computer screen. Yeah, one EMP and I might as well have been trapped in an Escape Room!!! Okay, not a very good one as the whole front of the store is windows but... <whispers> the horror!

Quickly, a team leader approached me. To some extent I imagined what the energetic young man (Dean) might be seeing as he approached. A tallish, older man, not quite fit but not quite gone Homer Simpson, and okay he probably was just seeing customer number 286 and wondering if the geezer could remember his own phone number. So when he greeted me cheerily and asked for my phone number, I said.

Umh, I was just driving along and my phone stopped working and now it says there's no number assigned to it! Okay??? he replied.

I gave him my phone number and he said, the next rep will be with you as soon as possible.

When Terrence came over, about ten minutes later, I handed him my phone and raddled off my number. Okay, what can I help you with?

Terrence was great. He confirmed my query that sometimes people's numbers are in fact stolen (no missile contrails so) but he would just check out if my sim card was working properly...first. A new sim card later and my phone began to work. I assured Terrence when I chose to replace my phone, I'd let him know and I walked out into the day in full possession of a working phone, comfortably connected to the hivemind network.  A short while later, I was in the supermarket when D texted me a photo of the grocery list I'd left on the counter. <sigh> yeah, I should have got a bigger shopping cart.

[fineosaur]

first line game 

thank you for the tags @littlerockerao3 and @salty-wench, i haven’t done one of these in a while and this one was super fun to compile (fair warning this IS quite long)

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any patterns. choose your favourite opening line. then tag 10 of your favourite authors.

pieces of you stuck on me (but i’m careless and i’m wicked) -- a rickon x lyanna fwb multichap

He’d woken up alone, something he was often used to, but in the last months, he had grown more accustomed to waking up beside just one particular person. More or less a year if he was being honest with himself. But he wasn’t completely alone either, he was just alone in her bed.

we both coincide (when the world’s wasting time) -- a rickon x lyanna story that shows their relationship spanning over a few years

The moon is already out when he still finds himself at her side. She’s solid and warm in his embrace, swaying lazily with him to the strumming harp and the melodic voice that sing the words that seem to weave their way in his head, taking root as he tries to focus on just being there with her.

in the highlands of our dreams -- a single dad!rickon x lyanna fic that’s a lot on the softer side than my usual work

Most of his life had felt like there was an errant thumb on the fast forward button. At times he knew it had much to do with the way his thoughts often ran too fast, and even with long enough legs to chase them, they just kept their brisk pace. Other times, he wasn’t so much to blame. 

watch me wary -- a rickon x lyanna fic where rickon goes off the grid for a few years and has to come back to face his family (aka rickon’s apology tour)

“You’re late again, kid.”

He rolled his eyes despite the verity in the statement. Pulling off his helmet, he held a hand out to shake the shorter man’s hand. 

watch me wary (prequel) [title in progress] -- set in the stormlands 2 years after rickon leaves home and involves him falling in love with steffon seaworth

There was a feeling between relief and guilt that followed leaving home. Often times thought of as ‘running away’ or ‘disappearing’, at least ‘leaving home’ sounded so much more tempered. 

an empire for two -- a canon-divergent robb x theon & rickon x lyanna fic which involves established throbb and an arranged marriage for lyckon

It was warmer inside the castle. It always was; with the hot water from the springs running through its walls, the castle lived and breathed through each change of season, chilling winters and weeping summers, not buckling for any. 

where the stars do not take sides -- a oneshot set in a canon-divergent setting where rickon x lyanna spend a few last hours of peace together before they return to war

The snow falls around them rather gracefully. There’s often peace in the Godswood, and the distant howls of the wolves do nothing to deter from that. Though nightfall has come and its chill alike, they stand stiffly facing one another. 

be with you -- a rickon x steffon oneshot that shows their relationship as well as how they fell in love

The floor manages to feel warm despite the hour. If he thinks hard enough, he guesses that they’re one of the only two left there. 

His father’s office is littered in papers, stacks of words that blur into one with his boredom. Really what keeps him going is the way the man in front of him continues to push his mop of brown hair back, no matter how many times it falls back into his face as he leans over the glass desk. 

sight for sore eyes -- mixed pov which has tommen pining for rickon who is pining for lyanna — true heather style

There’s a moment of reprieve that comes once the moon has passed its apex. Its scattered light plays amongst the stars that pepper the sky and the hazy streetlights that guide them through the night. 

to feel like gold -- a lyanna x myrcella oneshot where myrcella chooses to indulge in a little rebellion with the girl that’s been on her mind for months

The room is almost too bright for her liking. It hardly fits her resentment. The brisk night air streaming through her windows suits her well enough, rippling over her arms in goosebumps as she feels the frown between her eyebrows deepen.

forest fires -- an arya x gendry oneshot set with a lunar eclipse and a brief moment of repose for the couple

The night’s brisk breeze doesn’t unsettle him like it used to.

It’s still cold though. The wind makes the hair on his arms stand up and he wonders why he hadn’t thought to wear a jumper over his thin cotton t-shirt.

help! -- a stark family -smutty crack fic- that involves ned and cat accidentally stumbling into each one of their kids in precarious situations with their partners

It almost felt like nothing had changed like her children were all still children.  Like they’d never flown the coup. But as she stood there, holding a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, she knew that a lot had changed, that every one of her kids had grown up, fallen in love and were seemingly happy. It flooded her with such relief to know so, though the still gentle tug at her heart was there, telling her that her babies would no longer run to her begging to be held after a nightmare.  

it’s all hope -- canon compliant robb x theon oneshot that involves a love confession before theon sets off to pyke

Much like the fire within the hearth that beckoned him with its flickering warmth, he felt disquiet within himself.

The air felt thick, far more humid than that of the North’s. He could easily make out the Red Fork by where he stood, pulling at the laces of his tunic. It unsettled him, the rushing water, so fresh, unlike the brine of his home.

take one last look back-- a jon x satin drabble where the couple has a little spat in the car

The wind becomes distracting. With the way it whistles through his ears, blowing at those perfect curls of his, it even makes it abundantly clear how much his eyes sting.

When he leans back in his seat, his eyes meet the rearview mirror, where he can see his grey eyes, dark and stormy, the perfect juxtaposition to the gleaming sun that threatens a headache.

second nature -- a rickon x lyanna drabble that has a drunk rickon confessing his affections for his best friend, lyanna

She’s sitting in her car with one leg crossed when she sees him take a minute to check each side of the road before crossing. It’s 4 am, her car is really the only one on the road.

Her car is flanked on the side of the road and it’s completely unsurprising that his first instinct is to lower himself to her opened window and flash his stupidly white grin at her.

a troubled mind -- a robb x theon oneshot, after his parents’ deaths, robb overloads himself with responsibility and on the verge of falling apart he seeks comfort in the one person who’s always been there for him

He’s never gotten the opportunity to let it all get to him. There’s never been time for it. Not when there’s always been at least one other person that needs the safety his arms provide.

It’s part of being the oldest son, he tells himself far too often.

calmest wave -- an arya x gendry drabble, a post-show canon fix it where the couple are parents in the stormlands

The shattering waves could still be heard, breaking onto the rocky coast of Shipbreaker’s Bay, even from where they walked, with withered leaves crumbling underfoot.

There was tranquillity within the godswood, interspersed by the humidity carried across the Summer Sea and yet he still felt a breeze pick up, cooling him down as he gently held the small hand in his palm.

you were just dancing on your own -- an arya x gendry drabble where arya seeks comfort with gendry after a bad night

It’s still dark when Arya wakes up in her car; windshield covered in a think layer sleet. Her teeth chatter as she pulls her jumper tighter around herself, yellow haze in her eyes from the streetlights.

She’s in the passenger seat of her car, seat pushed back the most it can go. Her heater doesn’t work, no matter how much she bruises her knuckles against the vents.

high, high love -- an arya x gendry oneshot - set in the pieces of you stuck on me universe. after a few years away, arya returns to the man who she’s always loved

She had been back in Winterfell barely two weeks, in a way, things fell into place, though it was in the most disjointed way possible.

Arya found her footing, day by day, acclimating to the changes she had missed, she had to anyway; this was her family, and no matter how much they had changed, how many things she had missed, they made her feel like home, and she  was  back home now, for good.

stubborn-hearted blue -- an arya x gendry oneshot where arya moves into the same building as a man she had a fwb arrangement during her college days

She was still adjusting to life in the new city.

Arya hadn’t been in the Riverlands since university, and at this point, it felt like a lifetime ago, a distant memory, more like a dream. But now she had been back for almost a month and boxes still littered her living room, still waiting to be unpacked. between her new job and just trying not to pass out as soon as she was back home, there wasn’t much room for unpacking.

okay WOW i cant believe that managed to date back to over a year. this is pretty much a whole year of my writing summarised in opening lines. 

if it isnt obvious, about half of these have yet to be posted, but this was still fun to give a little teaser for those ones. 

i’ll be tagging @yanak324, @evax3, @selkiedams, @livhatesolives, @lightninginabottle0613, @watersandwolves, @estrangedandwayward, @jeynepoole, @sneetchstar, @treaddelicately, @bobafettsslut, @nalgenewhore

also, hi! enjoy! 

ps, i hope everyone is taking care of themselves and keeping safe x

[zachsgamejournal]

COMPLETED: Breath of Fire 3

It is done. God is dead. Well...a self-proclaimed god. While we cheated, my son and I did beat the game...and, despite this being one of my favorite RPGs, it's uh...my first time "beating" it.

So! We crossed the desert into the futuristic city that now lies in ruins and took the elevator up to the Myria Orbital station. It's, uh, a space station connected to the earth by an elevator shaft...I guess. Concept Art

After all the wandering about, I was pretty ready to meet "God" and get this over with--but it's the finale, so they had to make it count. We wandered about, trying to feel our way around the "space station". Eventually, we found a room I had forgotten about...it had electrified floors. To un-electrify them, there are three consoles. Each console has a pattern of negative and positive signs on a grid. You have to get the three patterns to over-lap so that the postive-negative charges cancel each other out. But with three panels, you run into issues of two positives and one negative occupying the same space: thus it stays electrified.

Clever idea: yes. Fun idea: no.

One console is in the room with the floor, and the other two consoles are in a completely different room, separated by a 30 second walk not counting the one or two random battles you're likely to get. I got really frustrated, and my son went and told my wife: "That game is making daddy nuts!"

Anyway, I figured it out and moved on. This required a boss fight (easy enough cause we're cheating), which got us a keycard and special plant-killing shells for Momo. Going back to the other wing of the station, Momo uses the special shells to blow up plant vines blocking the door (not unlike a puzzle in Resident Evil 2...).

I think beyond this, we find a labyrinth of utility hallways. I had to back track a few times. Eventually we get to an indoor garden.

FLASHBACK: (not in the game, but mine)

Back when I first tried to play this game, I defeated every challenge thrown at me. I think I did have the guide to the game, but it was mostly used to help me through some sticky parts (and look at the cool art!). I made it to the final dungeon (Myria Station) but struggled to beat the final boss.

As a matter of fact. I never beat the final boss.

I needed to be a higher level. To reach that level, I did some grinding in the garden area. Mostly, you fight Plant 42s, which I loved since it was a reference to the mutated Resident Evil plant. But it shocked me to see that the exp was about 800, when there are fights elsewhere in the station that land closer to the 2k range. Surely that would have been more effective leveling?

Either way--I just never got strong enough to win the final boss.

BACK TO PRESENT:

We find Teepo here. Jack and Rei are surprised as hell! My son was excited, cause we all thought Teepo was dead. Turns out, Teepo is also a dragon, just like Jack. But instead of wandering the world with Garr and Nina, he joined the Goddess Myria who convinced him that his powers were dangerous. So he surrendered himself to her and is now her brain-washed lapdog, more or less.

Teepo causes Ryu to go into a weird dream (which we had to play twice due to game-freeze). Here, Ryu is exposed to the thoughts and anxieties of his party members. This is supposed to convince him to surrender his power like Teepo, but it doesn't.

Nina apparently struggles to please her mother by being a good, respectable princess while also trying to be herself and pursue her own sense of justice: such as helping Ryu and saving Rei!

Rei...I guess is concerned about his own power as Weretiger. Mostly, he just seems to want to help his old friend?

Garr wants to reconcile why he was ordered to kill hundreds of dragons, especially then they easily could have defended themselves--but they didn't.

Momo wants to understand all the advanced tech here, and how it could be used to better the world.

Peco is apparently the fucking tree of Yggdrassil in mobile form, and wanders about with thousands of years worth of world-knowledge, but can't communicate it to the team cause he doesn't speak English.

So anyway, Ryu doesn't relent and Teepo must be defeated. He dies and turns into a purple dragon. Rei and Ryu are sad, but yo--dick move.

Next, we have to find our way to Myria. First, there's this confusing 3 level maze of boss rooms that have you fighting past bosses, sometimes several at a time. It was annoying, and my son was done with it. WE JUST WANT TO MEET GOD!

Once through, we find a super sci-fi, futuristic room with holograms explaining Myria's intentions. The advanced world was being consumed by sand. My guess is that pollution made that world self destructive. Myria led her people to a greener, more flourishing land and then built a giant ocean between them to stop the sands. She also made the ocean very dangerous so the humans wouldn't return. Some how, she feared the power of the dragons would bring about another sand-issue, so she had them killed to save humans.

Now, this seems like a Lost scenario where Myria is no God, and likely didn't actually build any oceans. Instead, she helped people escape their self-destructive technology, and then controlled people's knowledge of tech so they wouldn't repeat past mistakes. So basically, she kept building machines and letting them fall in the ocean so they'd wash up on shore (Steel Beach). This allowed people to use machines a little, but not "make" machines.

I think she really feared dragon power as a threat to her own power, and wanted them out of the equation since they didn't submit to her rule. Since she martyred herself as a savior of humans, she felt justified in her genocide.

Ryu chooses whether to help her or fight her. But she warns that fighting her would mean facing the desert without her protection. Warning that holds little merit in my mind, cause she's a liar.

So we fought her. We defeated her.

The space station starts to crumble. Garr decides he's completed his journey and turns to stone like the other guardians. Everyone else escapes. Myria prays to God, asking, "If there is a God..." revealing that she was playing a part and did not actually know shit (like Jacob in Lost).

Afterwards, Ryu is seen joining his friends at a cliff overlooking a desert: fade to black.

Despite the many deviations the story takes for the sake of taking up time, I really enjoy this game. The world is well defined and the characters are good. Even the villains often have empathetic motivations, or perspectives that make you doubt your first conclusions. The game also tackles a variety of concepts that are morally challenging and deals with death and sacrifice in meaningful ways. It led to great conversations between my son and I. The last leg of the game is a bit tedious and shallow. I understand why they felt compelled to make it "bigger", but they used up most of their plot early on.

We cheated. We had infinite health and all that. Basically, we just killed all the grinding and retries. The game has a great story and fun mini games (and the sound track is fucking amazing!) so I don't think much is lost by skipping the tedious random battles and leveling up. If that's something you want as part of your experience, go for it.

It's just, for RPGs like this, the best things about them are story, characters, mini-games, puzzles, and exploring. The fighting is fine, and expected, but it shouldn't take up 70% of your play time when it's really only about 10% of the fun (if that).

So I feel no shame in cheating.

My son wants to play Breath of Fire 4 now. I'm excited to revisit this one (I actually beat it before (no cheating))!

[spaceslimecosplay]

How to Sew YOUR size

Being a cosplayer is challenging for many reasons. Expense and flamboyant designs can be tough to deal with, but even if you go to that sketchy costume site to buy your costume there is one more challenge to face...sizing. As a tall and chubby woman, I’ve always found it nearly impossible to find my size. Even sewing patterns seem to have the problem of making “average” size ranges that don’t fit right. Anyway, the point of this tutorial is to teach you guys how to sew basic patterns to fit you!

NOTICE: If you like to buy sewing patterns and just adjust them to your size, that’s fine too!

Step 1: Break it down now, ya’ll!

The first step to any project is breaking down your outfit. I’ll be using my Litwick cosplay for this. I find it easiest to look at (or create) a reference, then draw it piece by piece on a separate paper. “Okay, so how do I know what is and isn’t a whole piece?” You don’t. Unless you find a very detailed character sheet, the number of pieces is completely up to you.

As you can see, I made views from the front and back. Colors and designs changed while I was sewing this cosplay, but such is art. Also, it really helps to look up similarly shaped clothing online to help you draw a flat of your clothing. Flats are exactly what they sound like, a 2D drawing of clothing. This is where you’ll lay down seams, buttons, and just get a general idea of the shapes you’ll cut out for your outfit.

Step 2: Shapes and Measurements

No matter what size it is, clothing will usually be made up of a few shapes. A size 4 shirt will be made of the exact same shapes as a size 26 shirt of the same type. With this information in mind, break down each article of clothing into basic shapes. The halter top on the top of my dress was made of stretch cotton with 4 shapes: collar, back left, back right, and front. I admit I altered this from a sewing pattern, but we’ll get patterns in a second.

The vertical lines with horizontal marks are seams. This isn’t necessarily a flat as much as it is a diagram, really.

Also, I live by measuring tape. It allows you to go around round objects (like literally anything on your body) without all the hard math! If you don’t have one, I advise either getting one or magically become capable of math. The rest of this tutorial uses measuring tape.

In the fashion world, there are basic areas for measurement. If you’ve ever gone to a tailor, these are the same areas they’ll measure on you to tailor your clothing. This picture will help you locate those areas.

Once you know your sizes and the shapes you’ll be making, you’re ready to start!

Step 3: Making your pattern

You have your reference, your flats, and your measurements. Time to mush them together and splatter them on some paper. I use wrapping paper with a grid pattern. Cheap, easy, maintains better than those cheap toilet paper-like sewing patterns from Joanns.

Always make a mock of your clothing with cheap material that’s similar to your costume fabric. Mock garments allow you to save good fabric and make alterations. 

Patterns are actually a lot easier than they seem. If your neckline is supposed to go (comfortably) around your neck, measure your neck, divide by the amount of pieces you have. I had three pieces for the halter top. Because my front and back pieces were symmetrical, I just cut two pieces and split one down the middle. Why does that matter? It matters because it means I divided my neck circumference by two, then split it into three. If you measure the front piece both of the back pieces, it still adds up into the total of inches around your neck. If it doesn’t? Trim it down or re-math and re-cut.

For your bust and waist, take your bust and waist measurements and alter the shape to those measurements. Commit this to memory, you’ll use this technique for ALL of your measurements (or at least until you learn a more formal technique). Using a ruler, draw a vertical line on your paper that matches the length of your garment. Now create horizontal lines (starting from the middle number of your measurement i.e. 5 inches, line the vertical line up with 3) and draw a line matching the HALVED total of your neck. Measure from your neck to the center of your bust. Draw another horizontal line at the end. Next, use a ruler to draw the shape of your garment. I freehand curves and alter them as I go (HENCE THE MOCK MATERIAL). In general, though, it’s a better idea to use a curved ruler. The point is that you’ll want to hit every end point of your horizontal lines. Depending on your measurements and material, you may have a few curves in your originally straight, blocky, shape. That’s natural.

Now, the bust/waist/hip measurements are a bit...exaggerated, but I wanted to show that it’s perfectly fine to start with the small shape on the bottom and come out with a slightly curvy or straighter pattern.

Depending on your material and pattern, you might need to add darts to make a tighter fit. Darts are triangles or diamond shapes made on a pattern, that act as folds to make a garment more form fitting. You’ll want to test placement of your darts through your mock up. There’s a few places to place darts, but the places I’ve used them are: bust to armpit, stomach, and back.

Step 4: Sew and alter

If you’ve decided to make a mock first (as I so wisely advised) your next step is to sew your pieces together and alter them to fit better. Alterations could include: Adding or subtracting the size of your patterns, adding or releasing darts, planning for zippers/buttons/closures, etc. Once you’re happy with your mock garment, seam rip the pieces apart again and use them to alter your original pattern.

NEVER CHEAT YOURSELF QUALITY TO MAKE UP FOR LOST TIME. If you mess up and you have 3 days left until that convention just go without a costume! I know going to a con without a costume when you’ve worked so hard sounds heinous, but trust me, it’s better to make up for your mistake for a future con than to sew over it and pump something you’re not happy with out.

Ta-da! You have your own pattern to fit your body! Now you can sew up the real thing.

DIsclaimer: I am but a humble space slime. I cannot do more than simple math. I also admit that I have no formal training. This tutorial is how I taught myself to sew my own costumes. It took me years to perfect this technique. It’s a little long winded (probably a lot more steps and alterations than a pro would have), but I decided to put this out there for anyone who wanted to try their hand at sewing. Good luck you guys!

 Pro tip:

The amount of pieces for the garment decide the size of which you cut them. If you have two pieces, a front and a back, divide your measurements by 2. If 4 pieces, divide by 4. ALWAYS ADD IN YOUR SEAM ALLOWANCE (.25 inches)

Pro tips:

If there’s belts and buttons galore on your costume (and you aren’t a COMPLETE perfectionist), just sew them down. Not every belt or button has to be functional.

More or less pieces depend on the effect you’re going for. If you have a few layers of shirts or jackets, it will save time (and you from heatstroke) if you just create the illusion that you’re wearing more than one piece of clothing. You could also create each piece and have that volume of multiple articles of clothing under that jacket. Your choice!

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

Hike

Commission for the grand @auspiciousagape !!! So sorry this took so long, love! I hope you like it!

Commission info is in my about page!

~

Jayson adjusted the basket slung over his shoulder restlessly. Why had he agreed to this again?

Because Marcus hadn’t been allowed to visit in a few weeks and Jayson really wanted to see him. To feel that two-tone warmth when they stood close together.

Jayson rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip. He really had to get these feelings under control.  What if he let them slip while they were out? No, they would not slip out. He would not let them.

“Nervous?” Rosalia asked slyly, making Jayson jump. She moved to stand beside him and grinned as he glared at her. “Oh, don’t act so annoyed. He’ll be here.”

“I know he will,” Jayson replied, still scowling a little. “He always is.”

Rosalia shot him another sly look, but said nothing.

Soon after that, Jayson’s ears pricked as he caught the sound of boots thumping up the drive. He looked and grinned, heart lifting, when he saw Marcus running towards them. Rosalia patted Jayson’s arm and said sweetly, “I need to get back to work. Have fun, Jayson.”

“Uh-huh,” he said absently. “Thanks, Rosa.”

She snickered and went back inside of the House.

Jayson took three steps forward and then Marcus slammed into him, hugging tightly. Jayson laughed and hugged back, basking in the warmth that shivered through his empathy whenever Marcus was near. “You’re not late, no need to run,” Jayson told him, still grinning.

“I wanted to be early,” Marcus replied, muffled in Jayson’s shoulder, before releasing Jayson from his fierce embrace. He grinned too, and Jayson almost told him that he looked adorable with his hair all mussed and his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. “The Seneschal was being dramatic again, though, so I had to run.”

Jayson shook his head and tweaked Marcus’s nose. “You’re not stern enough,” he teased. “Practice a foreboding frown and a tone of disapproval.”

Marcus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling still. “Whatever. When are we going?”

“Right now, if you want,” Jayson replied, picking up the second basket and holding it out to Marcus. “It won’t take long to get there, but we have a lot of work to do.”

~

Normally, Jayson would have asked one of the other Healers to come with him. Kurreb was always easier with a companion, and it helped build connection. But all of his friends and the other Healers were doing other things, and so Rosalia had decided to pester Jayson into asking Marcus to come.

The joke was on her, Jayson thought grimly, as he and Marcus approached Mirus Forest. Nothing would make him confess to Marcus. Nothing short of truth serum, and that was illegal, anyway. And so, they were safe.

That is, they were until Jayson made the mistake of looking at Marcus when they entered the cool shade of Mirus and the fairy-lamp mushrooms lit up in alarm. Marcus gasped, his face lighting up, ears pricked, tail high. “They’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Jayson swallowed hard as warmth built in his chest. “Yes,” he replied, his gaze on Marcus’s face, “They are.”

The first ten minutes were spent showing Marcus the herbs and plants that needed to be picked in large quantities, and also the copycats that should be avoided completely. Then they set off down the path that had not been used recently, and started gathering.

Most herbs had been tamed into patches along the myriad paths, as were bushes, vines, mosses, flowers, and slender trees whose leaves were a very effective headache cure when made into tea, though they tasted horrible. But there were some that were too delicate to move into easier reach, and these were the ones Jayson looked out for. He knew roughly where they all were, he’d been on Kurreb plenty of times; but plants, being what they are, don’t follow people rules. The patches shifted, or shrunk, or grew, or split up. Jayson left the path often to try and find the shy little herbs he needed.

Marcus filled a third of his basket quickly, tying each bundle together neatly with string and stacking them in a grid pattern. He also hummed, or imitated birds, and Jayson had to smile. Marcus’s eyes were wide, his expression delighted and awed as he took in the wonders of Mirus; flowers that shifted through the rainbow every time their petals were ruffled, ponds of strange colors with vibrant algae and cranky blue frogs, stones that vibrated gently and gave off heat. Every time he heard an interesting bird call, he did his best to replicate it. He looked so happy, in his jeans and t-shirt, with dirt and sap all over his hands and knees.

Jayson wanted to help him stay happy. He wanted Marcus to never lose this day of beauty and freedom. Brown-toned love shivered through him.

When they reached the river that flowed through the forest, around the middle of the morning, Jayson kicked off his shoes, rolled up his pant legs, and told Marcus, “The water here isn’t magic, really, but it is nice on the feet after walking. Come on!”

Marcus immediately took off his own shoes and socks and rolled up his pants, and they both leapt into the river, yelping at the cold. Fish scattered and a grumpy turtle swam to the other shore.

Jayson sat on a large rock near the bank and hummed happily, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to feel the sunshine on his face. Was there anything more peaceful than sitting in the sun by flowing water? Well, other than stargazing in the hammock with Marcus.

That sunshine-yellow love touched his empathy, and then the brown love, the color of perfectly-brewed honey cough syrup, rose too. He smiled and opened his eyes, and when he looked at Marcus again, his friend was bent over, peering intently at the rocks in the riverbed. He was blushing faintly.

“Hey, what are those little crab things?” Marcus asked, pointing.

“Crab things?” Jayson stood, walked over, and also bent to look. “Oh! Those are hermit--AUGH!”

Marcus laughed far too gleefully as Jayson fell into the water and came up spluttering. “You are way too easy to trick!” Marcus exclaimed, grinning as Jayson growled and rubbed water out of his eyes. “It’s been years and you still fall for ‘what’s this’!”

Jayson reached up, grabbed Marcus’s shirt hem, and yanked hard.

Marcus shrieked as he plunged into the water with Jayson, but when he sat up he still laughed. Jayson had to smile back, and slicked the water out of Marcus’s silky hair.

“You’re an ass,” Jayson chuckled, then stood and helped Marcus up. “Alright, we’re both soaked. Let’s get back to work.”

Marcus sighed dramatically but followed him out of the river.

Their dunkings seemed to wash away any leftover quietness. Marcus complained about the courtiers and the military between bird calls; Jayson grumbled about the newest trainees, a pair of twelve-year-old twins who thought they knew more than the master Healers because their parents were the court Healers in another country. Marcus taught Jayson to whistle like a robin; Jayson taught Marcus how to properly ask the fireberry vines for a harvest. They ate the spicy delicacies as they walked.

At noon, they sat beneath a huge oak tree covered in sweetheart ivy, and ate the sandwiches Jayson had brought.

“I just don’t understand,” Marcus muttered, nibbling a piece of ham. “My uncle says that we need to strengthen the army, but it’s already as strong as we need. He acts like we’re going to war at any minute. The delegates and ambassadors are nervous around him, now, and he doesn’t seem to notice.”

Jayson shrugged as he swallowed a bite of sandwich. “Maybe he wants attention,” he offered. “I’ve known a few people like that.”

Marcus snorted, but sighed and leaned on Jayson lightly. Jayson’s heart turned over. “Maybe. Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come with you next time you do this?”

Jayson smiled and resisted the urge to kiss Marcus’s ear. “Yes, of course.”

~

Late afternoon sun was slanting through the trees, touching everything with gold and yellow. The forest was alive with birds, squirrels, ground mammals, chiming bluebells--and the laughter of two teenagers in the river.

“No, no, that isn’t a waltz!” Marcus cried, apparently unable to stop giggling, as Jayson deliberately messed up the figures. “You’re doing that on purpose!”

“Not at all, sire,” Jayson replied primly, trying to ignore the shivers of excitement in his chest from the touch of Marcus’s hands and the closeness of him, as Marcus attempted to teach Jayson to dance. “I am simply following my heart. Hup!” He lifted Marcus by the waist and spun them both around, cackling as Marcus whooped and water flew off of them both in a glittering whirl.

They had finished harvesting earlier than Jayson had expected, and were now just being silly and wasting time because they didn’t want to go home. It was nice. Jayson didn’t feel like he had to be a miniature adult out here, with just Marcus and time slow and sweet as honey. He felt more like himself.

Marcus buried his face in Jayson’s shoulder when he was set down and continued giggling for a few moments. Jayson stood still, his hands still on Marcus’s waist, breathing a little harder with exertion, and had the thought that, if he put his hand under Marcus’s chin and tipped his face upwards, he was at just the right distance for a kiss. He was not ashamed or alarmed by that thought; he simply held it, and wondered idly what Marcus would taste like. Sweet water from the river; the mint that Jayson had found that they had both promptly rolled in; the fireberries from earlier. He smiled to himself, thinking of how nice it would feel to kiss Marcus.

Marcus had stopped giggling, and was now just standing quietly, pressed against Jayson. The water rushing around their legs felt just as good as the sun on their necks and arms and faces. Jayson’s empathy picked up several emotions that he sensed were coming from Marcus: pink contentment, silver happiness, blue calm. It was lovely to just exist, in a place where no one would judge, hurt, or accuse them. 

Jayson closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Marcus still smelled like warm earth and honey.

“Should we head back?” Marcus asked, very softly.

“We don’t have to,” Jayson murmured. “We can stay for a little longer.”

Marcus sighed and slid his arms around Jayson’s neck. “That would be nice,” he said.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Tales to Tell

A Stitched Story

JSE Fanfic

Ah, a longer one. Perhaps not necessarily in word count, but in how much stuff happens. The boys have an encounter with some, shall we say, new magic. And meanwhile, it seems the two halves are having problems of their own. I actually was really glad that I was able to get out a longer story like this, given how I’ve been a bit busy recently. It was fun, too. Enjoy :3

Tagging @septic-dr-schneep for inspiring this AU with this post.

Read where it started: Stitched Together | Season One | Season Two

Previous Season Three story: Torn Apart

Taglist (finally): @bupine​ @violet--majesty

It was 6:45 am, and Chase had been awake for three hours. He’d been staring up at the ceiling the whole time, listening to the sound of JJ’s slight snores as he tried to get his mind to shut off. Of course, eventually, it was a lost cause, and sat up, looking around the dark room.

He’d been sharing the guest bedroom with JJ and Jack, usually spending the night on the spare air mattress with a sleeping bag. Though it appeared he’d fallen asleep on the actual bed this time. JJ had fallen asleep on the mattress instead, and Jack was nowhere to be seen. Chase couldn’t help but feel guilt curl in his stomach. Standing up, he grabbed his cap, adjusted his bandanna, which he’d apparently fallen asleep in, and quietly slipped out.

Stacy was in the kitchen (also dark, perhaps there was an issue with the power,) shoving the last dregs of cereal into her mouth. She paused for a moment, glancing towards Chase as he entered, then continued. “Uh...hey,” Chase muttered.

“Hey,” Stacy replied. She was wearing her work uniform, the simple skirt and apron that designated her as a waitress at the Dish and Glass diner. “So I have to leave literally right now.”

“Okay.”

“You remember how you promised we’d talk about everything going on with you once I got home, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And also the power’s gone out. I think it must be a problem with the city grid, cause I looked at the fuse box and it seems alright.”

“Okay.”

“...okay, then.” Stacy finished off the cereal, dropping the spoon with a clatter. She stood up, grabbing her purse and jacket from the nearby chair. Chase followed her as she went into the living room and opened the front door. Before she left, Stacy hesitated, and looked back. “You’re not...thinking about doing anything...?” She trailed off.

“Anything what?” Chase asked.

Stacy shrugged. The motion, usually so blunt and casual, seemed more hesitant than usual. “I don’t know. Just...” She sighed. “I hate to bring up old wounds, you know, but...after everything happened, with us, you just sort of...and then...never mind. Just don’t do anything...you shouldn’t.”

Chase nodded slowly. There was a small ache in his chest. “I’m not...being serious about doing anything...I shouldn’t.”

“Um...good.” Stacy nodded. "I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“See you.”

After Stacy left, Chase walked over to the nearest armchair and sat down hard. A few minutes passed. And suddenly, he laughed. “Perfect, now I’m staring at the living room ceiling instead of the bedroom ceiling. Fucking awesome. The patterns here are so much more interesting.” 

“Well you do not need to rub it in.”

“Aaak—!” Chase jumped, flailing for a bit before looking over at the sofa. Schneep was laying on it, mostly covered by a blanket. If Chase didn’t know any better, he’d think that Schneep was also staring at the ceiling. “Jesus, man, I’m sorry, didn’t see you there.”

Schneep waved away his comment. “Is fine. I did not say anything.” He fell silent for a moment. “So. I could not help but overhear you two talking.”

“Oh, uh, did we wake you up? Sorry.”

“Not you, Stacy did. She was getting ready.” Schneep turned his head towards Chase. “This is not the point. Are you...Chase, are you okay?”

“I...yeah, I’m fine. Relatively, I mean.” Chase swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Hmm.” Schneep narrowed his eyes. “You said ‘I am not being serious about doing anything I shouldn’t.’”

“Well, I’m not,” Chase protested. “I just...sometimes things happen.”

Schneep didn’t answer for a moment. The silence weighed heavy in the early morning light. “Sometimes they are just thoughts, Chase,” he finally said, almost too quiet to be heard.

Chase sighed quietly and didn’t say anything. It just felt like everything was crushing him right now. Slowly. “I said something awful to Jay before you showed up,” he said quietly.

“Really?” Schneep answered in the same quiet tone.

“I didn’t mean it. It was just...things were getting heated. A-and now I don’t...don’t know what to say to fix it. I tried to apologize. It...came out wrong.”

Schneep paused. “Perhaps you just need more time?”

Chase shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Then you just need to find the right words.”

“I don’t know how,” Chase breathed.

“Well...then it is a good thing you have other friends, yes?” Schneep asked. “If you need an impartial...judge is not the correct word, but anyway, I was not there. I could—”

The doorbell rang.

Chase jumped again, then couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh my god, the worst timing.” Sighing, he leaned back into chairs. “Probably sales people or something.”

“Ach.” Schneep scowled. “Ignore them. Always trying to sell you things.”

A smile pulled at the corner of Chase’s mouth. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what sales people do.”

Another ring, followed by a few knocks. “Persistent, whoever they are,” Schneep commented.

“Yeah.” Chase stood up. He was pretty sure that sales people waited at least a few minutes before ringing the doorbell again. He was pretty sure that most people did. “I’ll check it out.” Sighing, he walked up to the door and cracked it open.

An older woman in a neat navy-blue suit was standing at the door, dark hair swept to the back in a braid. She looked very out of place in the family-oriented suburb Stacy’s house was located in. “Hello, my name is Delyth Mae, I’m from the Department of Safety on the local City Council,” she said smoothly.

Chase blinked. “Uh...hi.”

Delyth nodded. “I’m out here with a team. It seems there have been some unusual radiation readings in this neighborhood.”

“...uh-huh.” Chase didn’t know what else to say. He was well aware that most people would’ve been at least a little concerned, but he’d been through worse. At least radiation wasn’t going to kill you right away. Or make you kill other people. Or—

“Ah, well.” Delyth seemed a bit...uncomfortable with Chase’s odd reaction. No, it wasn’t quite uncomfortable. Concerned? Maybe. Interested? Yes, in some way. “Anyway, we’ve traced these readings to this house. May my team and I come inside to see what the problem is?”

“Um...” Chase caught movement in the corner of his eye. He glanced over to see Schneep, now standing up, eyes narrowed and facing the door. “One second,” Chase said, closing the door before Delyth could protest. “What’s wrong?” He asked Schneep.

“I...she feels...different,” Schneep said slowly.

Chase blinked. “‘Feels different’ in the way that you couldn’t feel Jackie or Marvin and they turned out to be...?”

“I suppose.” Schneep folded her arms. “Well, I can feel her, but it is different. It is...spicy.”

Chase stifled a laugh, turning it into an awkward snort. “Spicy?”

“It is the best I can do, okay?” Schneep snapped. “Is...scharf, it verbrennt deine Nase.”

“Why are you talking about noses?”

“Look, do not let her in, okay?” Schneep headed to the hall. “I will wake up the others, I think they must know.”

“Uh, okay.” Chase opened the door again. Delyth Mae was standing there, looking over her shoulder. It was then that Chase noticed the unfamiliar gray van parked on the side of the street. There was a logo on it that read “Department of Safety,” but for some reason, that didn’t reassure him. He’d never heard of the Department of Safety before. “So...” he said, and Delyth immediately turned back to look at him. “This is, uh...actually my ex��s house. And I just remembered, she left for work a few minutes ago. I don’t really want to let anyone inside without her here, you know?”

“That’s very understandable, sir,” Delyth nodded. “But this will only take a few moments, and it really is in the best interest of her, and you.”

“Yeah, uh...can you come back this afternoon? She’ll be back after three.”

Delyth went silent, eyes darting around Chase to try and catch a glimpse of the inside of the house. Then she smiled. “Very well, sir. But if I may ask, may one of my team members take reading from this threshold?”

“You mean, like, on the step?” Chase considered this briefly. That couldn’t really do anything, could it? “Sure, I guess.”

“Excellent.” Delyth turned and waved at the van. Its passenger side door opened, and a younger man, dressed neatly but not as formally as a suit, stepped out and rushed up to the doorway.

“Hi,” Chase said idly. “I’m just gonna, uh, stand here while you...” he trailed off. The young man’s eyes were yellow. No, they weren’t just yellow, they were glowing. How were they glowing? That was odd, but it was...oddly pretty...

The effect was almost instant. Chase found himself relaxing, almost falling over. It was like being wrapped in a warm, familiar blanket.

“Man, that was easy. Barely did anything.”

“Yes yes, can we go inside now?”

“Hey. Let us in.”

Chase stood aside, pushing the door open. A moment later, Delyth walked inside, followed by the man with the glowing yellow eyes and, a few minutes later, another young lady who looked quite similar to the other man. Chase blinked. What...just hap—

He screamed.

The three strangers stopped in their tracks, spinning around to look at him. “What—?” Delyth couldn’t even finish the question, watching in disbelief as Chase suddenly sank to the floor, pressing his hands to his neck and hyperventilating.

“Oh my god, Tavish, what did you do?!” The young woman said.

“I don’t know! Nobody’s ever reacted like that before!” The young man protested.

“Enough!” Delyth snapped. “You two, go search the place! I’ll deal with this.” The other two nodded, and disappeared further into the house while Delyth kneeled next to Chase. “Sir, I understand this is probably overwhelming, but—”

Chase’s hand suddenly shot out and grabbed her jacket, yanking her close. “What the fuck are you?!” He shouted, blinking back sudden tears. “Why are you here? Can’t we have one fucking place that’s safe?!”

“Sir.” Delyth remained remarkably calm, carefully pulling her suit fabric out of Chase’s fist. “It’s okay, we mean no harm. We’re magicians.”

Everything froze for a moment, Chase’s whirling thoughts grinding to a sudden halt. Then he started to laugh. “Ohhh of fucking course! Of course of course of course—” Any recognizable words disappeared into hysterical gasping.

“I understand it’s a lot to take in,” Delyth said evenly. “And I do apologize for making Monroe put you under suggestion. But this is an urgent matter. We’ve been tracking an unusual—sir, please remember to breathe. Evenly. Count the seconds if you must.” She reached out to put her hands on Chase’s shoulder, and he slapped her arms away. “Alright, then. Even breaths, sir.”

Chase ducked his head, pulling up his knees so he could hide his face. His shoulders shook with the effort to control his breathing. It was just—magicians. How did none of them ever think of magicians? Of course if Marvin and Jackie could do magic, then other people would be able to, as well. They weren’t special. JJ had tons of magic books, too. Where else would he have gotten them except from magicians? After a few more seconds, Chase looked up at Delyth, who was waiting patiently. “What,” he hissed, “do you want?”

“We’ve been tracking an unusual magical signature for the past two weeks or so,” Delyth explained. “It has been wandering around, but we did a more in-depth scan last night and found that it’s now stopped here.”

“An unusual...?” Chase repeated, mumbling. Well, he could think of at least six things that could be referring to.

A loud THUD! came from down the hall.

Delyth’s head snapped towards the sound. She immediately stood up and ran towards it. Chase sat, puzzled for a moment, until it hit him like a bucket of cold water: the others. He scrambled to his feet and ran after her.

The door to the guest bedroom was flung open wide, a blue glow emitting from the doorway. Chase and Delyth ran inside, both stopping soon after. The two young magicians were facing Jack, Schneep, and JJ, who were pressed against the wall. The magicians’ eyes were glowing, and the woman had her hand extended, holding a long, white...wand, that was the only word for it. Flakes of ice blue magic drifted around it. A bright blue circle was shielding the other three, curving around them. JJ had his hands extended as well, clearly holding the shield in place. His mask was missing and his hair and clothes were a mess, but he wasn’t faltering. Schneep stood next to him, holding his scissors like he was ready to stab with them at any moment, his scleras strangely black. Jack was behind the two of them, and the first to notice when Chase and Delyth entering. “Chase!” he yelled. “What’s going on?!”

“Uhh I wish I knew,” Chase said. “These guys are like...magicians.”

“Yes, we are magicians,” Delyth repeated absentmindedly. “Nairne, what happened? I heard a noise.”

The young woman—Nairne, apparently—gestured with her head towards the bed. The nightstand had been knocked over and thrown a foot away. Pale blue magic was spreading like frost along the wall and floor. “We heard talking in here, and when we came to check it out, this crazy guy attacked us!”

“Excuse me, you threw that magic at us before I pushed you!” Schneep spoke up, protesting.

The young man—Tavish—scoffed. “Oh hell no, we just walked in and you flipped out!”

“I did not make it physical!”

“Everyone calm down!” Delyth shouted. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Tavish, can you run the seek again?”

Tavish nodded, eyes flashing yellow once before he closed them, muttering words under his breath. After a moment, he pointed at Schneep. “It’s coming from him.” He then moved a bit to point at Jack. “He kind of has a signature, too, but it’s a lot different, and weaker.”

“Wait, what?” Jack said. “Signature?”

Delyth nodded, like she was expecting this. “You two give off distinct magical signatures. We’ve been trying to pin down this one for a while.”

Jack laughed. “Oh yeah, we have magic fingerprints, not the guy holding up the shield, that makes sense.” He glanced at JJ, who shrugged.

“No, the warlock has one, too,” Tavish said. “But it’s not what we were looking for.”

“Hey, uh, don’t take this the wrong way,” Chase jumped in. “But I really don’t like having this discussion while that lady is pointing her magic wand at my friends.”

Nairne shot Chase a nasty glare. “Well I don’t like putting my wand down while your friend is trying to stab me with scissors.”

“I was not going to stab you!” Schneep protested. “Not unless I had to!”

“Alright, look.” Delyth’s eyes flashed purple, and she stomped her foot. The ground shook, and Nairne and Schneep dropped their things. “There. We’re all even, can we discuss this civilly?”

JJ nodded, and lowered the shield. He looked around at his friends. I think this has been a misunderstanding, he said. They might work for the ABIM. I’ve never met anyone from them, but I know they mean well.

“Um...” Tavish coughed awkwardly. “Sorry, are you deaf?”

“I think the signing has something to do with the...situation going on with his mouth,” Nairne muttered.

“Ah yes, the...stitch-uation,” Tavish chuckled.

Everyone else winced. JJ glared at him. Of course, that doesn’t stop them from being insensitive pricks. He finished off the statement with a gesture that you didn’t need to know sign to grasp the meaning of.

“Hey!” Tavish protested.

“Bit of a dick move there, dick,” Nairne said.

“Completely unprofessional,” Delyth said, leveling Tavish with a glare. “Do you want another citation?”

“No!” Tavish rushed to say. “No, not—” He turned to Jameson. “I-I’m sorry.”

JJ didn’t say anything, just folded his arms.

“Ummm anyway,” Jack said, walking around to stand beside JJ instead of behind him. “What was that you were saying? Those letters...ABIM?”

“The Association of British and Irish Magicians,” Delyth said coolly. “Yes, we represent them. For the past two weeks, we’ve been tracking down a strange magical signature.”

“She said that earlier,” Chase said, edging around the magicians to go stand with the other three. 

“This investigation was spurred because someone teleported into the midst of our library, which is warded strongly, and should prevent any teleportation.” Delyth’s eyes ran over the group of four. “I was there. I saw someone appear, then almost immediately disappear. Though I did not get a good look, I do think it was one of you.”

“It was me,” Schneep said, raising his hand. “Thank you, now I know that that really happened. Was my back to you? Otherwise I am sure you would remember the scars.”

“Yes, it was just the back, but I recognize your hair. Vaguely.” Delyth clasped her hands together. “Tavish here, though his attitude is something to be said, is one of our best trackers. We’ve been following your signature for a long time.”

“Look.” Schneep stepped forward, in front of the other three. “If I did something wrong, I did not know that I did. I...was still getting used to my abilities. They were going hay-wired. I apologize if I troubled you, but do not bring the others into this.”

Delyth said nothing. Tavish and Nairne stared at her, waiting for a response. Then, slowly, she nodded. “I see. So you don’t know.”

Schneep paused. “Know what?”

“There is an...oddly high amount of soul magic in the city,” Delyth stated.

There was another small pause. “Okay...?” Jack said. “Is that a problem?”

“It is...strange.” Delyth said slowly. “There is only one soul magician in Mirygale, and she has nothing to do with this.” 

JJ’s eyes widened. He turned to the others. Soul magic is very rare. It’s a talent you either have to be born with, or have accumulated throughout years of practice. So if there is a strangely high amount of rare soul magic in one given place, it may be cause for concern.

“Um...” Nairne shifted on her feet. “Can we...can someone...?”

“JJ just explained that soul magic is rare,” Chase summarized.

“It is,” Delyth agreed. “And you two—” She pointed at Schneep and Jack. “—are giving off soul-based magical signatures.”

“How can something be soul-based?” Jack asked. “Doesn’t everyone have a soul?”

“Yeah, but not everyone has the right kind of magic that can mess with souls,” Tavish said. “It’s very distinct.”

“So you can understand why we’d want to figure out what’s going on,” Delyth said. “But it seems none of you know anything.”

Chase, Jack, and Schneep muttered in agreement, but JJ looked thoughtful. Jack, can you translate this question? He asked. Can you ask them if a transference spell is soul-based?

“Oh, uh, sure,” Jack said. “JJ just asked if a transference spell is soul-based.”

The three magicians went very still. “How do you know about that?” Delyth asked in a low voice.

“Uh...it’s a long story,” Jack said. “Why, is it...bad?”

“That is very dark magic,” Nairne muttered, glancing back at the other two.

“Something’s off about them,” Tavish said. “We should take them in!”

Suddenly Schneep was holding his scissors again. “Go ahead and try.”

“Hey, let’s not fight, how about?” Chase said, raising his voice. “I wasn’t lying about this being my ex’s house, and she won’t be happy to come back to it trashed. And the girls are still asleep—”

“Are there children in this house?!” Delyth suddenly asked, looking around.

“Yeah, two of them,” Chase said. “I’m assuming they’re still asleep, I might be wrong.”

While Delyth and Chase were talking, Nairne and Tavish exchanged a look. Tavish raised an eyebrow, and Nairne nodded. Nobody else noticed except for JJ, whose eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Nairne suddenly flung her hand outward, sending a spray of white-blue magic outward. JJ was already moving, conjuring up his shield a second time. The magic bounced off it, attaching itself to the walls on either side and and spreading.

“Hey!” Schneep’s head whipped toward Nairne. “That is cheating!”

“Guess you won’t like this either, then,” Tavish muttered, and made a throwing motion at the shield. A ball of yellow light attached itself to the bright blue glow. JJ barely had time to glance at it before the ball suddenly exploded outwards, shattering the shield and sending the four flying.

“What are you doing?!” Delyth’s composure snapped as she yelled at the other magicians.

Nairne bent over and scooped up her wand. “They��re suspicious as fuck, so we’re taking them in! That’s part of the regulations, Mae.”

Schneep suddenly appeared behind Nairne, scissors open wide and held very close to her throat. “You have shitty regulations, then.”

Tavish glanced over at Nairne, then elected to throw another ball of magic towards Jack and Chase. JJ intercepted it, catching the ball in a net of blue magic, which wrapped around it in a sphere and absorbed the explosion. Chase looked away from the flash of yellow, and notices that in the commotion, something fell out of the nightstand drawer. He lunged forward and grabbed the gun by the handle. “Can we all just calm down?!” Jack shouted.

Nairne pointed her wand over her shoulder, a bolt of icy magic shooting out from it and hitting Schneep in the face. He gasped and stumbled backwards, wiping the magic away. Tavish chuckled, and threw another ball over at Nairne and Schneep. Nairne dived away, but Schneep got caught in the blast. He flew through the air and hit the wall hard.

“Enough!” Delyth shouted, eyes starting to glow purple.

Schneep got to his feet. “Yes, enough!” His eyes flashed turquoise, and the world shifted.

The ground seemed to tilt, the air wavering and warping, blurring the surroundings. Chase, in the middle of standing up, fell back to his knees and covered his hand with his mouth. JJ staggered, arms pinwheeling. Jack squeezed his eyes shut.

And suddenly, the four of them weren’t in the house anymore. Instead, they found themselves in the living room of an apartment, one that was familiar to all of them, even though the room was dim, lit only by morning sunlight coming through the windows. Jack opened his eyes. “Schneep...did you somehow take us to your place?”

“Yes,” Schneep said plainly. He was unaffected by the journey.

JJ leaned against the back of the nearest sofa, looking around. Seems not much has changed, he said. 

Schneep nodded. “I try to keep it in order.”

Chase scrambled to his feet. “What the fuck, dude?! My kids are still there! With the crazy magicians!”

“I...ah.” Schneep coughed. “I did not think of that.”

“Chase, it’s okay,” Jack said, standing up. “You saw the way that...leader lady reacted to hearing the kids were in the house. She won’t involve them.”

“It’s not so much her that I’m worried about as the two other assholes,” Chase snapped.

They were remarkably rude, JJ signed, frowning.

“Ah...does anyone want something to eat?” Schneep hurriedly said. “I have been stocking the kitchen cabinets.”

Chase sighed, and collapsed on the room’s armchair. “Yeah...fine. I just...” He rubbed his face. “God, Stacy’s gonna be so pissed when she gets back.”

Can she call you? JJ asked. Do you have your phone?

“Uh...” Chase checked his jean pockets, then his hoodie pocket. “Oh, yeah.” He pulled out his phone, turning on the screen. “It’s kinda low, though. I never got around to charging it last night.”

“Your phone?” Schneep asked.

“Fuck, I mean, yeah, Doc,” Chase said. “JJ asked me if I had my phone.”

Schneep nodded. “I am now assuming that any pause you have is JJ speaking.”

“That’s fair.”

“Hey, can we talk about what just happened?” Jack piped up. “Some magicians showed up, telling us that wow, not only is magic real, but there’s a whole magic community with apparently some sort of fucking...I don’t know, government, then they call JJ a warlock, tell us Schneep and I have unique fucking signatures or something, and attack us?”

“I think they were trying to, like, arrest us,” Chase said. “That guy, he had...mind...” He paused, distress flashing across his face for less than a second. “I mean, uh, mines. Like, magic mines. Maybe it was a knockout...thing.”

Jack gave Chase a peculiar, but sympathetic, look, then moved on. “Maybe. Apparently we were suspicious, I dunno.”

“I think the suspicious part was that we knew what this...transference is,” Schneep muttered. He walked over to the edge of the room just so he could lean against the wall.

They said it was very dark magic, JJ said. Which does check out with what we know about it.

Jack quickly translated the signs for Schneep, then added, “Okay, but that’s no reason to immediately attack.”

“There is also a high amount of soul magic in the city,” Schneep recalled. “Which is unusual, yes? Perhaps they thought we were behind it?”

Chase sighed. “We’re not. But...maybe we know who is.”

Silence fell over the group, echoing with memories. “But...Anti is...gone now,” Jack said hesitantly. “So maybe the soul magic will...I don’t know, fade back to normal levels. And they’ll leave us alone.”

“Maybe,” Schneep muttered. He straightened. “Well, my offer of food still stands. Who will come to the kitchen with me?”

“Let’s just all go,” Jack said.

That sounds good, JJ agreed.

Chase looked down at his phone again. “You guys go ahead. I think I’ll...I might call Stacy, try to explain what just happened.”

“Alright. We’ll get you chips or something,” Jack said.

The three of them disappeared through a side door, leaving Chase sitting there. He opened up his contacts, then hesitated. Yeah...he should tell her. He should. Just in case.

— — — — — — —

Stacy was taking her first fifteen-minute break in the back room of the diner when her phone started ringing. She huffed quietly. The ringing had interrupted the mindless scrolling through Instagram that she’d been using to try to relax. She didn’t recognize the number, so she hung up. And then it called again. And once she hung up again, it called. Sighing quietly, she picked up the call, figuring the person was going to keep trying. “Hello?”

“Hi, um, I’m looking for Chase?” An unfamiliar man’s voice asked.

“You have the wrong number,” Stacy said coolly.

“What? Really?” The man said, surprised. “That’s...weird. Uh, do you know Chase Brody?”

“He’s my ex.”

“Oh fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Stacy was starting to relax a bit. A spam call probably wouldn’t use such casual language. “Uh, if you want I can tell him you called.”

“Well, he doesn’t know me,” the man said. “I’m a friend of a friend.”

And Stacy was once again suspicious. “How’d you get this number?”

“Through that friend,” the man explained. “I asked him to give me Chase’s number so I could call him for him, but I guess he just remembered yours. That’s...a bit weird.”

“Very weird,” Stacy agreed. “What friend wanted you to call him?”

“What friend wanted me to call Chase?”

“Yeah.”

There was a slight pause, then a sigh. “This is going to sound insane,” the man said. “Anyway, I thought the friend was dead, we kinda all did, but apparently he’s here, and he really, really wants to find Chase but can’t remember his address, or apparently his phone number.” He paused. “The friend’s name is Jackie.”

Stacy was frozen for a moment. Jackie? The Jackie that they’d gone to the funeral of, where Chase has cried the whole time? “Is this a fucking prank?!” She suddenly snapped. “Cause it’s not funny to make—”

“No no no, I promise, it’s not a prank, I have just as much idea what’s going on as you do,” the man hurried to say. “I thought Jackie was dead, but no, he’s...he’s right here. I’m literally staring at him. And he wants to meet up with Chase.”

Stacy sighed deeply. This was going to be more of that bullshit Chase and his friends were getting caught up in, huh? The bullshit that they still wouldn’t tell her about? “Okay, I’ll tell Chase you called, tell him to...check on you or something, I dunno.”

“That would be great,” the man said. “Oh, uh, my name’s Malcolm. Malcolm Akela, you should be able to find my address online or in a phone book or something. Just in case you need something.”

“Uh-huh.” Stacy glanced at the clock. Her break was almost up. “Well, look, I gotta go, but I’ll tell Chase...all this.”

“Thanks.”

The call ended. Immediately, her phone started ringing again, this time with a familiar number. Stacy sighed, then picked up. “What is it, Chase?”

— — — — — — —

Halfway across the city, in a small apartment above a shop, a magician was looking for a flashlight in a dark bedroom. Yvonne silently cursed the strange power outage. She’d use her magic to light up her surroundings, but she needed to save it. After a bit of fumbling in a drawer, she found it. “Aha! Torch!” She flicked it on. “Let there be light.” Chuckling, she left the room and headed into the living room.

Marvin was sitting on her sofa. It wasn’t a sight she ever expected to see again, but here he was. He looked a bit distant, and had bandages wrapped around the cut on his throat, but was otherwise alright...and alive. 

“Alright, here we are.” Yvonne shined the flashlight around the room, briefly flicking a nearby lamp switch to see if anything had changed. Nope. The power was still out. “How are you doing, Marv?”

“Hmm?” Marvin looked up at her.

“How are you doing?” Yvonne repeated. “Like...good, bad, whatever. You know? How do you feel?”

Marvin blinked. “I feel...we’re...not...where’s the other one?”

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yvonne muttered. “But look, I found something for you.” She crossed the room, making sure she didn’t trip over anything in the dark, until she was standing in front of Marvin. “Look! This thing!” She held up the object she’d found in her closet.

Marvin’s reaction was delayed a bit, but once it registered, he gasped. “Oh!” He reached out and took the mask from Yvonne. It was white, a few designs painted on the surface, most notably the four card suits arranged in a diamond on the forehead. He traced the outline of it, running his fingers over the ceramic. “This...this is mine. Just mine.”

“Yeah, it’s yours.” Yvonne cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’m uh...sorry I could never give it back.”

“Back...?” Marvin turned the mask over, now playing with the black ribbons that would hold the mask on his face. “I...gave it to you. You wanted...to copy it?”

“No, not exactly. I just...well you know, magically-enhanced ceramic, hard to come by. I always said it was an accident waiting to happen, if a spell backfired it could do some serious damage to your face, but you were so confident in the spell, that I just...had to see...” Yvonne trailed off. “Of course, while you were here dropping it off, I...did you...copy a spell from one of my books?”

“Mmm...” Marvin’s eyes clouded over, losing focus. “Spell, spell...spell on loose paper...spells in type...lots of spells...”

Yvonne sighed. “Never mind. Let’s just get this started.” She backed up, rounding around a coffee table, putting the flashlight down on its surface. There was a peculiar looking instrument on the table. It was mainly a giant lens, its diameter larger than a basketball. “Stay still, okay?” Yvonne said, positioning the lens so it was facing Marvin.

He nodded vaguely, still running his hands over the mask, holding it to his chest. “Just mine...” he said, voice barely audible. “Not the other one...not the...”

“It’s your mask, yes,” Yvonne said absentmindedly. She ran her hands along the edge of the lens, the silver frame holding it becoming alight with blue and hints of yellow. As she did so, she stifled a yawn. She’d been up all night, trying to figure out what the deal was with Marvin. The Soul Lens had only occurred to her a few minutes ago. She began chanting some words, causing the Soul Lens to start glowing with white light. Trails of blue and yellow magic dripped over the glass, swirling iridescently like the surface of a bubble. Until it suddenly cleared. Yvonne bent over, peering through the Lens.

Through the Lens, everything had lost its color, being seen in shades of gray. The room was still dark, except for a light coming from Marvin. She stared intently at it, eyes wide. After a few silent moments, the Lens powered down, and she straightened, shaking her head. “Marvin...” she said in a hushed tone. “I was right. Your soul is broken.” That was the only word she could think to describe the fragmented way the light had appeared. Also, the Lens couldn’t show it, but she’d detected something...foreign...when she’d first sensed his soul. “What the fuck were you doing?”

Marvin didn’t answer, closing his eyes and leaning back against the sofa.

“Jesus...” Yvonne shook her head in disbelief. This was way, way beyond her knowledge. What was she supposed to do next? She couldn’t go to ABIM, they didn’t trust her and she didn’t trust them. Was it possible there was something in her storage that could help?

She was so lost in thought that it took her a moment to realize there was something glowing outside her window.

Marvin noticed it first, sitting up straight and twisting his head to the side to look at it. He gasped, and started to laugh.

“Marvin, what—what the fuck is that?!” Yvonne ran over to the window. For a second, her first insane thought was that magic worms were trying to get inside. But no, as she got closer she realized it was string. Green glowing string, cut into various sizes, none longer than her forearm. They were wiggling as if alive, trying to squirm their way through the window seam. “No! No, out!” Yvonne double-checked the lock on the window, looking back at Marvin. “Is this your fault?! What is this?!”

Marvin grinned. “It’s me! Us? All. Shards, missing missing, put together, held together.”

“What the actual criss-cross applesauce hell does that mean?!” Yvonne looked back at the window. The green glowing strings were bunching together. As she watched, some of them formed into...a hand. “No!” She slammed her hands down on the windowsill, eyes flaring sky blue. A shockwave of blue and yellow magic burst outward, sending the green strings flying into the distance. They disappeared into the sky, and Yvonne took a moment to catch her breath. “Impressive Sending there,” she muttered. “Must’ve pushed them at least a few blocks away...”

Marvin seemed to slump a bit, somehow disappointed. He closed his eyes again. “It’s nothing, nothing...I-I...we need...it’s not...fair...”

Yvonne sighed, running a hand through her colored hair. “Well, life’s not fair.” She turned back around. “What do you need, Marv? What do you want? What can...what can I do?”

“Need...” Marvin opened his eyes. They flickered green. “Need...the other one. Want? Want...the...t̢̧h͠e͢m.”

There was something odd about the way he’d said that. “Who’s them...?” Yvonne asked hesitantly.

Marvin grinned. “The puppets.”

— — — — — — —

“I’ll text you the number, okay? For now, it seems like I really need to get home, since apparently you left the kids home alone with some strangers.”

“Sorry,” Chase muttered. God, he couldn’t do anything right, could he?

Stacy’s voice softened. “I’ll call you later.” And without further ado, she hung up.

Chase sighed, setting the phone down. This day had been a lot to process. And it was barely eight o’clock.

Jack reappeared in the living room. He smiled at Chase. “Hey, dude. I brought you some chips.” The smile quickly faded. “What’s wrong?”

Chase looked over at him. “Get everyone else in here. There have been some...complications.”

[portalford]

Another Life or Another Dream

AO3

Stanford Pines is seven years old and can’t sleep.

His brother, Stanley Pines—also seven—can’t sleep either.

These things may or may not be directly related.

“Sixer, s’like, the middle of the night.”  Stan, still mostly asleep, pulls a pillow over his face.

Ford, hanging upside down off his bed, swats the pillow away.  “It’s two in the morning, Stanley.”

“Yeah?  S’worse.”  Stan pats around for the pillow for about three seconds before giving up and tossing his arm over his eyes.  “Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

That gets him one open eye.  “Didja try lyin’ down.”

“Yes, Stanley.”  

Both eyes open now.  “Bad dreams?”

Ford hesitates a moment, two, before admitting, “Yes.”

Stan is scowling, but Ford knows it’s not at him.  “Want me to go check in the closet?”

“No.”

“Under the bed?”

“No.”

Stan’s scowl has morphed into a frown.  He’s thinking.  

“I fell asleep reading a book about monsters,”  Ford offers.  Maybe if Stanley has more information he’ll be able to help.  “I didn’t get to the part about how to fight them—maybe if I read that it’ll help.”

Stan, wide awake now, stands up on his mattress so Ford doesn’t have to lean out so far.  “Want me t’ listen so I’ll know too?”

Ford had really been hoping for this, but he offers Stan an out, just in case: “You sure?”

“Yeah, dude.”  Stan bounces up; Ford catches his arm and helps drag him up into the top bunk.  “You think I’d miss a chance to punch a monster?”

“You wouldn’t miss a chance to punch anything.”

“‘Xactly.”  Stan pokes him in the ribs, right where he’s ticklish.  Ford scoots away before either of them can escalate things.  “Start readin’, Sixer.”

Ford opens the book to the correct chapter and clears his throat, like the announcers on the radio do when they have something important to say.  “All right.  ‘Changelings are fearsome creatures, but they are not invincible.  There are some weaknesses you can exploit, should you be faced with this beast…”

*****

Stanford Pines is twenty years old and can’t sleep.

Fiddleford is awake as well, but he seems happy with this state of affairs, blankets pulled up to his chin to ward off the chill of their poorly-equipped dorm and weighty book of advanced mechanics balanced on his knees.

Most nights, Ford is perfectly content to work well into the earliest hours of the morning, and sometimes straight through until classes the next day.

With the current state of his throat, head, and overall wellness, however, he would welcome unconsciousness over the awful half-alert state he’s been in most of the day.

A stifled cough escapes—his control is slipping, after twenty-three hours of forcing his mind and body to operate at normal capacity—and catches Fiddleford’s attention.

“Stanford?”  Fiddleford lowers the book just enough to see over it.  “Y’alright?”

Ford discreetly clears his throat.  “Fine, yes.”  Damn.  He still sounds like he’s dragging his voice over a gravel road.

Fiddleford’s book is lying in his lap now, disregarded.  “You sure about that?”  

He’s using the tone that means he knows Ford is lying, and that he’s allowing one more chance for Ford to tell the truth of his own volition.  Ford ignores it.  “Certainly.”

Fiddleford is glaring overtop of his glasses now.  “Stanford Pines, you are sick as a dog, and lying like one t’boot.”

Ford badly wants to make a sarcastic response, but he’s no longer sure he can speak without setting himself off coughing.  He settles for a shrug.

“Did you take anything?”

Another shrug.

“Heaven’s sakes, Stanford.”  Fiddleford tosses his book aside and bustles off to the drawer that contains various over the counter medications (his), snacks (his), and spare pencils (Ford’s).

Two minutes and no less than six furious and deathly sincere threats of shoving aspirin “down your stubborn gullet God help me I’ll do it,”  Ford has been coerced into taking painkillers and drinking a glass of water.  Fiddleford offered to run out and get soup and crackers, but Ford refused.  Fiddleford has a test tomorrow—he should be sleeping.

“It ain’t until tomorrow afternoon, knucklehead,”  Fiddleford says when Ford suggests this.  “I got time.”  A moment of silence.  “Still can’t sleep?”

Ford makes a vague gesture with his hand to the affirmative.  Now that Fiddleford knows he’s ill, there’s no need to try and keep up a facade of being well.

“My sister used t’read to me when I couldn’t sleep.”  Fiddleford hefts his book.  “This stuff’ll put me to sleep, and I like mechanics.  I bet it’ll work on you.”

“Bet it won’t,”  Ford rasps.

“I’m not takin’ that bet because you’ll kill yourself to win.”  Fiddleford fluffs his pillow behind him, clearly settling in for the night.  “I’m gonna read out loud and you can tell me to shut up whenever.”  He harrumphs and starts from what’s clearly the middle of a sentence in the middle of a chapter.  “—can be modified to accept most kinds of springs.”

Ford doesn’t tell him to shut up.

*****

Stanford Pines is twenty-eight years old and can’t sleep.

To be entirely truthful (and the rarity with which he is truthful these days, even to himself, would be disturbing if he could dredge up the energy to feel disturbed), he can’t remember the last time he did sleep.  Possibly three days ago.

Now, being unconscious while a multi-dimensional demon uses your body for nefarious means probably should not count as sleep, but the other option was to admit that he truly could not remember the last time he slept, and that was unacceptable.

So.  Three days ago.

His house is freezing.  He’s had this thought many times in the past however-long-it’s-been, and every time it takes him longer and longer to remember that this is because he fell behind on his heating bill at some point Before.

Absurd things, bills.  He should have built that self-sustaining generator and taken his house off the grid entirely.  Why hadn’t he?

Ah.  Yes.  

Anyway, the cold makes him sluggish, but not sleepy, so it’s nothing to be concerned about.  Imagine being concerned with something like the temperature.

Ridiculous.  There are thousands of things much more concerning than the measure of hot or cold, and he is dealing with approximately nine hundred and fifty-three of them.

This is not an exaggeration.  He did the math a few days (months? years?) ago. 

Oh, it would have been three days ago—he remembers because he came to groggy and wondering when theoretical mathematics made his ribs hurt.  His head, certainly, if the problem was knotty enough, but surely not his ribs?

Realization had set in a moment later (as had the ever-impending panic attack, but let’s not dwell on that).

The glass of water he’d been drinking falls from his hand, apparently for no reason.  He stares at it blankly, mind automatically attempting to draw patterns in the spattered liquid and crystalline shards of glass.

Another part of him offers some comparison between his own mind and the shatter-shapes of the glass.  He promptly silences that part.

He’s shivering.  Probably it’s why he dropped the glass.  Probably it’s the cold.

He tucks his hands under his armpits.  That should help.

Still.  Best not to sleep.

*****

Stanford Pines is fifty-something years old and can’t sleep.

His sleep schedule is haphazard, but the sleep itself is better than it has been in years.  Complete and utter exhaustion will do that for a man.

The nightmares don’t even wake him up every time anymore, so those ones don’t count.

Unfortunately, tonight he’s let himself go past ‘exhausted to the point of collapse’ and right into ‘exhausted to the point of being too wired to sleep’.

Nothing Bill has or ever will put him through could rival the sheer torture of this state of being.  He takes a moment to enjoy being able to think such a thing without fear that Bill will pull the thought from his head and use it against him.  Only a moment, though—his concentration is too fragmented for anything more.

He won’t take anything to help himself sleep—he never does.  He can’t.  A single moment of grogginess could be a moment too many, and he won’t take that risk.

He falls back on well-worn techniques instead—cataloguing the constellations of different worlds, conjugating pluperfect Kesslian verbs, translating a poem he heard at a campfire one time.

He doesn’t think about Earth.  Somehow that never helps.

There is one thing to say for running so utterly on empty:

once you fall asleep, you’re far too tired to dream.

*****

Stanford Pines is fifty-eight years old and can’t sleep.

He was asleep, until about thirty seconds ago.

He much prefers being awake.

His hands are shaking and his heart is pounding and judging from the pain when he twists to look at the clock, he probably wrenched his back again.

There is nothing yellow in the room.  The only omen of Bill is the remembered laughing cacophony in his head.

Sometimes, in more morbid moments, he fancies that the metal plate reinforcing his skull only gives Bill better ambiance and acoustics for his fits of hysterics.

His back is aching and it’s still hours before anyone else will be up and he can’t tell if the faint tremor in his body is from exhaustion or the nightmare.

He still prefers being awake.

*****

Stanford Pines is fifty-eight years old and can’t sleep.

It isn’t because of nightmares or illness.  There are no demons, real or imagined, and he isn’t lost in another dimension.

“And then what, Grunkle Ford?”

It is, in fact, because of two small children with an insatiable appetite for stories.

Ford smiles at Mabel.  She’s far more likely to air her impatience with his theatrical and intentionally-provoking pauses than Dipper, though her twin’s expression matches her eagerness.

“Are you sure you want to know?”  He asks, just for that little bit more.

Mabel does not disappoint.  She swats at him—she has quite an arm; Ford wouldn’t be surprised if Stan has been giving her boxing lessons—and yells “YES!”

“C’mon, Grunkle Ford, tell us,”  Dipper cajoles.

“All right, all right.”  He leans in, as though to tell them a secret, and they mimic the motion, eyes bright with anticipation.  “The ice would have crushed the boat if we had tried to go through—so we went over instead.”

Bafflement.  “What?”

“We flew.”

Astonishment.  “It was a flying ship?”

Ford laughs.  He can’t help it—their unfeigned delight at the strangeness of the universe reminds him of days when his eyes had been that bright, his wonder that unfettered.

He is living those days vicariously through them for now, for now, but—maybe not forever.

He has hope that he will live them for himself again someday soon.

He has hope for a lot of things now, actually.

It’s nice.

Mabel opens her mouth to ask what is probably seven or eight questions all at once, and lets the air out in an ear-piercing squeal as Stan swoops in from behind and swings her up onto his shoulders.  He catches Dipper with his other hand, tucking the boy up under his arm.  “All right, you little gremlins, time to hit the sack.”

“Awwww—”

“But Grunkle Stan—”

“Don’t ‘but Grunkle Stan’ me, kiddo.”  He gives Dipper a little shake, nearly dropping him in the process.  He is either not aware of or ignoring the fact that Mabel has stolen his hat and is trying to find some way to wear it that will not impede her vision.  “Ford’s got enough nerd stories to last ten of your young lifetimes.  Trust me—I’d know.”

Ford makes a bit of a face at that.  He has to stop it from twisting into a smile when Stan makes a much more exaggerated face in return.

“Could you do the monster chase game, Grunkle Stan? Please?”  Mabel’s eyelash-batting is entirely wasted due to the fact that Stan can’t see her, but it adds something to her plea nonetheless.

“What’s in it for me?”

“We’ll go to bed without complaining?”  Dipper offers.

“If you catch us we’ll pick up the whole yard tomorrow!”

Ford and Dipper give near-identical winces at Mabel’s recklessness.  

Stan, of course, is immediately sold.

“Done,” he says.  He swings Mabel off his shoulders and lets Dipper down, but keeps hold of both of them.  “Hope both of you are ready to lose all your free time.”

“Big words,”  Mabel challenges.

Stan snorts.  “On my mark—readysetgo!”

They’re off, Stan roaring in a fairly good imitation of the giant six-legged creature of unknown origin Ford had run across on D-272, and Dipper and Mabel laughing and shouting as they barrel toward the stairs.

It’s impossible to sleep through this racket.

Ford doesn’t mind at all.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Daniel Michaelson: Embrace

(final prompt for @whumptober2019: Embrace! Since yesterday’s was such a sweet, genuine bit of brotherly loyalty and love and comfort, today is... well, it’s the exact opposite of that. TW: there’s some pretty much outright torture here. Blood, knives, stress positions, dehumanization, it’s all here, folks. Abraham Denner is very, very good at what he does - and what he does is terrible)

“Did you think you were my first?” 

Abraham sits back in the folding chair, looking down at the slim, sharp knife he holds in one hand, chosen expressly for today's purpose. The end of it is still red, and he tilts the knife down, watching a single drop coalesce at the tip, swell and grow fat, shimmer in the dim light, and finally drop to the ground.

There is a tiny spot that briefly darkens where it lands and then is indistinguishable from all the other blood soaked into the earth here - insignificant, like the puppy’s life.

A life he has broken and remade in his own image.

Red is kneeling, in the dim light and cured-meat smell of the smokehouse. Kneeling and bent totally at the waist, folded in half with his arms out in front of him, forced straight until they pull, a little, at his shoulders by the ropes cutting hair into his wrists that tie him to the hooks in the wall near the ground.

Bram reaches down to pull his fingers against one of those ropes, then lets it go, and smiles at the twang and the groan from the back of Red's throat, forced unwillingly from behind the muzzle.

"Oh, right, your shoulder isn't quite healed yet, is it? Silly me. Well, I suppose we should keep talking, hm? Or I should. You can't really hold up your end of the conversation today, can you?"

Red doesn't even try to look up, and Bram smiles at the sheen of sweat on those muscled shoulders, along the line of his arms, the trickles of sweat that run over the clear shadows along his ribcage.

It's hot in here, today.

Abraham feels it as a gentle, comforting warmth, but the sweat on Red is a giveaway that he feels the heat very intensely. 

Funny. Bram never feels warm unless he’s in direct sunlight.

Red’s hair is a riot of mess everywhere that it isn't plastered to his forehead and neck with the sweat or the leather isn't pushing it in. Abraham’s are caught, for a moment, by the metallic glint of the little padlock laying against the back of his head.

He smiles at the curve of the grid he can see along Red's cheek and jaw, the way it's red there, too, smeared around from Bram's thumbs. 

But that doesn't hold a candle to his back. 

His back is a beautiful mess. Abraham's been working on it for the better part of two hours now, carving into the skin with a steady hand and a practiced eye for anatomy. Never too deep, never even grazing anything he can’t live without. 

You can't see the design through all the blood, but you will, soon enough - and when it scars Bram will get to feel the twisting patterns he’s made himself, run his fingertips over them and watch Red hold himself so carefully, perfectly, obediently still. 

For now, kneeling and prostrated and bloody, he looks like a flagellant. As though he’s a pilgrim out of time, a penitent being bloodied in purification, bleeding out the weight of his sins before God. 

Bram Denner is not God, of course.

The puppy that used to be Daniel Michaelson prays to him now at night, though, and that's close enough.

“Did you think I was born with this knife in my hand? That I sprang fully formed from my father's forehead like some slightly less muscular and significantly prettier Athena?"

Red doesn't answer - but then he can't, with his voice locked away. The only sound from him is the harsh breathing through his nose and low, ragged sounds coming from the back of his throat as the position he's in stretches his shoulders just a little too much and aggravates the still-aching too-recently dislocated joint.

Bram only left it like that for a few hours, but these things take time to heal, and Bram has never been a fan of letting old wounds heal before creating new. 

The sweat runs into the cuts all over his back and makes them sting, no doubt. Maybe Red can't even feel it any longer, though. 

Doesn't matter.

"No, this is the kind of thing you discover in yourself and then cultivate, puppy. You understand, right? You sure showed me some hidden talents that we got to cultivate together, hm?" 

He kicks out his legs, landing a glancing blow into the puppy's shoulder, and Red coughs behind his teeth, whining a little at the ache and the pain as he inadvertently tries to force his jaw open and fails.

"You paying attention, puppy?" 

Red doesn't even try to look up, nodding with jerky, dazed movements. Honestly, he's probably lost enough blood by now to be feeling pretty out of it - and he has that trick where he leaves his head when the muzzle is on, too. Abraham hates that trick. But the only thing that seems to prevent it is the headphones, and he wants little Red to really hear his voice today, in whatever part of him can still hear.

“Good boy. I know what you’re thinking. Why is this happening? What possible mistake did you make to earn this punishment, what lesson must you learn? What rule did you break?” Bram laughed, the deep, low little rumble of sound that he used to charm the bodies out there in the world, all of them collections of organ and bone waiting to be made better, to be fixed.

 But Bram was only one man, and even his prodigious skills could only be utilized on so many people at once. Besides… he’d hate to be distracted away from the puppy. 

Bram was very devoted to the puppy.

“Let me reassure you, little Red, you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong this time.”

Red made a sound like a sob that came from somewhere deep within his chest, giving a single full-body shake, and fuck, he was so beautiful like this. Bram leaned over and tilted his head, looking carefully for a clean spot of skin. It was hard to find but eventually he located what he was looking for and smiled. 

“This isn’t about punishment, little Red. This is about honing a craft. I had to learn these skills that make good boys like you over… years… You know, we all have something we’re good at, but you have to really practice to turn a basic talent into a real skill. You’ve been so good lately, but I can’t just… waste these talents just because you’re getting so good at keeping me all kinds of happy, you know?” 

Bram leans down, thoughtfully, and slides his hand along the metal muzzle that locks Red's voice up, smiling at the pinpricks (not pain, not really - Bram never feels much pain at all) as his thumb finds the spots he turned into little jagged edges that pop up from the wires to cut and poke and tear. When he lifts Red's chin, he finds empty blue eyes staring up at him from above the muzzle, hair hanging over them that goes unnoticed. 

Bram hums appreciatively at the sight. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, just taking it in. 

Wide, nearly sightless blue eyes under sweat-soaked red hair. The slight unconscious nearly inaudible whines, vibrations Bram can feel against his fingers when he presses them to Red's throat. The red smears where his skin is retorn every time the muzzle goes on or off.

Nate never appreciates it - he’ll be angry once Bram finally lets the puppy back in the house, he’s usually angry these days anyway. He’s been pulling away from Bram’s kisses, acting differently. It takes longer - and takes more incentive - to make Nate be his black-haired prince, his true love, like he used to be. It’s confusing and troubling to Bram, but he tries not to think about it, too much. It had taken him months to hunt Nate down when he ran - and he can’t run, not here in the middle of the woods with his bad leg. There’s nowhere to go.

He’ll come around, Bram is sure of it - it just might take a while. But as long as Red is here, Nate will never, ever try to leave… that, at least, he’s sure of. 

Nate just doesn’t understand, is all, because he’s not really a Denner yet. Those things take time, but he’ll get there, he has to. He doesn’t grasp how all of this builds, layer on layer, into a perfect portrait of exactly what something like Red was born to be.

The dim light that comes through the cracks in the wood slats makes Red’s blood too vibrant, nearly surreal. It looks like paint, like his puppy is a Renaissance painting with those bright blue eyes and that wavy red hair. He’s pure unadulterated beauty in every line, scar, and bruise. 

Red had cried when they started in here, but he was far past tears now. Now he was blank, and empty, locked inside his head just a little further than Abraham Denner could follow. He would be back, later, and the pain would still be there for him, to shape him.

He didn’t need to be here to learn his lessons.

All Bram needed for those was his body.

“I have made you,” Bram murmured. “I have made you from the dust of your life and you are my creation, little Red, and I call you good.”

Maybe he was a little bit of a god, after all.

He slid his hand over Red’s hair, feeling the damp softness of it in between his fingers, before forcing his head back down until Red’s chin was pushing into his collarbone, baring the back of his neck to Abraham’s eyes.

A bit of clear, unbloodied skin. A blank canvas, ready to be painted. A piece of creation, like the dark and formless sea before it split to make the heavens.

“You belong to me,” He says softly, marveling at it, at the miracle of coincidences it took to bring little Red into his orbit at just the right time, the right place, when he needed something to help him hold onto Nate, when he had gone too long without someone to remake. “All of you, forever, belongs to me. You’re all mine.”

He moves his chair closer, watching Red shift around, trying in vain to find a way to take some of the pressure of the position he was trapped in off his knees and thighs. 

“Poor thing, your feet went numb ages ago, am I right? And your legs must ache. Don’t worry, I’m almost done. Just one more thing, puppy, and then we’ll go inside and get you all washed up and bandaged, okay?”

If Red even hears him now, he doesn’t react, only continues breathing harshly and quietly towards the floor. If he could talk, Bram thinks cheerfully, he would probably tell Bram he was busy being someone else.

It’s a neat little trick, but it never lasts long after the muzzle comes off - and when Red comes back, he feels all that pain he worked so hard to escape. 

Bram moves the knife, with its thin, razor-sharp blade, to the back of his puppy’s neck. The clear skin splits apart like darkness and light - like the land and the sea - opening and welling up with the same brilliant red blood. Bram carves two careful straight lines at diagonal angles that meet at the top, connects them with a shorter line through the center. 

Red groans again, but it’s fainter, now - more distant and hazy. He’s begun to shake helplessly, and Bram frees his hand from Red’s hair to rub soothingly at his shoulder while he lowers the knife to carve again. “Good, you’re doing so very well, my sweet boy. Just a little more.” 

Another straight line, vertical this time. Then a half-circle curved to meet the line at either end. He continues to soothe Red with one hand while cutting him with the other, and feels the man’s shaking grow more and more noticeable under his hand. 

He’s pushed him nearly too far, right up to the line of what his body will take before it simply drops him into unconsciousness in a desperate attempt to escape. That’s all right; Bram knows how to walk the line very carefully. He learned that skill a very, very long time ago.

Finally, below the first two letters, he carves the final one. One straight line up, one diagonal line to the side and down, then another straight line up. The blood is smeared and running down the sides of his neck now. Bram leans down to lick it up, feeling Red shudder but try to hold himself still.

He doesn’t try to pull away, even like this.

“Good. Very good, sweet boy. We’re all done now.”

Bram looks over his handiwork with a satisfied eye, then moves to the ropes that hold Red’s arms out, taking his sharp little knife and slicing right through them until the wrists are freed, wrapped in deep red welts that will bruise, in time.

Red bruises so very, very easily. Something about pale redheads, Bram thinks. Makes him irresistible when you can see all those pretty marks.

Red falls forward without the tension to hold him, collapsing onto the ground with little choked-off cries of pain as he tries to pull his arms back and his shoulders - stretched for hours - protest any attempt to bring them back to his sides. He can’t unfold his legs, and just rolls onto his side to take the pressure off, trying to sob without opening his mouth even as his eyes are still glazed, fogged-over, and empty.

Bram lets the knife drop to the side and kneels down himself, bundling the bloodied redhead into his arms, heedless of the blood he smears, enjoying the little hisses of further pain as he presses his palms against the new cuts along his back. 

Red doesn’t fight him, and that’s perfect - just curls up against him, head under his chin, clutching weakly at Bram’s shirt with shaking fingers, whining and pleading behind his teeth. Bram knows the different sounds so well by now, has beautiful dreams about them. 

“Don’t worry, you’ve been so good,” He soothes. “No more for today. No more. I’ll take you inside and get you all clean. We’ll bandage you right up, you can take a little nap on your mat, then you’ll get some dinner made for Nate and I tonight, hm? You were so good, helping me keep my skills up. So very, very good, little puppy. Do you know you’re my very good boy?”

There’s a movement of the soft sweaty red hair as Red nods against him, fingers finally able to get a good grip in his shirt, twisting into the fabric the way a child might hold onto their mother. Red’s eyes are closed and he breathes, in and out, in stutters and stops.

He's very nearly unconscious, and it makes him weak and pliable in a way that sends sparks of joy through Bram's mind.

Bram smiles, sitting back into the dirt, keeping the other man sitting right in his lap, letting himself be soaked in the blood. He lets his fingers run over the new letters carved on Red’s neck - A, D, N - and licks the blood off them enjoying the sparks of life on his tongue, the taste of pain and misery and I give up that has been forced into Red’s veins. 

"Oh, you sweet thing.” Bram presses a kiss into his hair, feels Red boneless against him, maybe even pushing himself a little more against the cool skin in the baking hot smokehouse, taking the comfort Bram chooses to give with gratitude, because this is better than the pain, and it’s all the choice he gets. 

He takes Red by the muzzle that runs along his jaw and tilts his head back, leaning in to kiss the sweat-soaked forehead, feels the flutter of Red’s eyelashes against his cheek when he nuzzles into the side of his face.

One of Red’s hands moves up to touch Bram’s neck, to curl around it, to pull him back to kiss his forehead again, wordlessly, whining low in his throat, desperate for any sense that the pain is really over, that Bram can be kind if only for a second.

He’s praying for mercy, Bram thinks with a laugh bubbling in his throat. I think you’ll find I can be a merciful god. The joke would be wasted now; he'll have to tell Red later, when he comes back to himself. 

Red won't laugh - but he'll give that tremulous, trembling little smile that never reaches his frightened eyes, and that's even better. 

Bram smiles, and kisses each closed eyelid. Red slowly starts to truly relax, to trust that for this moment, at least, it’s over. 

“You're not my first,” Bram breathes into his ear. “Not by a long shot.”

He tucks a little bit of red hair behind one ear, feels Red's pounding heart start to slow. Those empty blue eyes look right into his, and he wonders what little Red can even see. 

“You’re not my first, and you won’t be my last, little Red, but I think you might be my best."

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone -01

Masterpost

She's good. Really good. That's why Fury turns a blind eye (haha) when she sometimes sneaks out alone into the night. She's got senses. She's done this longer than almost anyone else and she can just tell. No one tracks vampires down better than her, so why would she let herself be slowed down.

Tonight, she is after two young breeds. She caught their trail somewhere around Anděl, followed it up the Petřín, lost it, picked it up again in Holešovice and traced it to the other side of the Vltava, a basement in Karlín. They're inexperienced, alone, reckless, hungry, and she's going to wipe them out before they can get their shit together. This ends tonight.

She needs to be careful, though, because young vampires actually have a keener sense of smell, coming with the insatiable hunger. There's no moon out tonight, which puts her slightly at a disadvantage. Still. Not waiting for backup. Not when she's got them right here.

She's prepared. She smells like mud, smeared her face with it, her neck under the bite guard, her wrists and hands. She stinks. She's armed, knives and guns strapped to her thighs, her back, inside her sleeves. She breathes deeply.

One of them is wailing inside, inhuman noises. It's been forever since she felt empathy for that kind of thing. Yes, it's painful, turning into a monster, but they're still monsters. She'll gladly put them out of their misery. So they won't rip more people with them and create more wailing families, actual wailing people. Not this scum.

The heavy wooden door is barred, so she'll have to slip through the shaft. There are scratching marks on the wood. They really don't know how to be careful. They'll pay for that. She smells blood, probably their own. Whoever turned them just abandoned them, and now they're easy prey.

She breathes deeply again, pressing the handle of her silver blade into her palm. The anticipatory adrenaline rushes through her. Now. She's ready.

She rips out the grid and jumps down the shaft, not caring about the noise. It's a little brighter inside, old broken furniture strewn around, bicycles, canisters. It smells of oil. One of the vampire fledglings jumps up, hissing, baring her bloody fangs. Young vampires sometimes feed on each other, as long as there is still human blood inside their veins. They're strong until they burn through it. Natasha grins, baring her own teeth, flashing the silver knife. The vampiress jumps onto her and she rolls out underneath her, slashing at her calf. The monster howls. The other vampire, barely more than a boy, cowers. Natasha lets the knife cut through the air, in his direction. The vampiress lunges at her again and she's strong, fast, but clumsy. Natasha kicks her in the chest so she crashes into a couple of flimsy bikes. The other vampire prowls towards her and Natasha spins to sink the knife into his shoulder, eliciting a whimpering growl. The vampiress crawls up again, blood around her mouth, eyes fresh red. Natasha elbows the other in the face, knocking out one of his fangs, then tangles with the first. She's strong, high on blood as she'll never be again, sinking her claws into Natasha's forearms. The armour holds, though it cracks, and Natasha knees her in the stomach, breaking her down, and she swings back to trade blows with the other until she slices his neck, shallow, she'll have to do that again later. Finish the job. Wait. Her hair stands.

She's knocked forward all at once, crashing into a solid wooden table, knocking the air out of her. Stars. Shakes her head to clear it. Vision blurry. The third vampire, tall, male, stalks towards her, sneering. This is bad. Something trickles down her forehead.

She rolls away before he slams the table to pieces, rolls away again before he kicks her, but then there's no more room, she scrambles upright, knife knocked out of her hand, barely dodging the claws of the vampiress, then he grabs her and flings her across the room like a dirty sheet, she hits the concrete wall groaning, now she's really dizzy, get up, get up-

There's a subtle woosh and then it's quiet all of a sudden. She preens her eyes open, ready to throw up. Black. Black cloak. She's only heard of those, never seen one before.

There's a thump as the now dry vampire hits the floor, pale, crumpled up. She crawls back in disgust. And fear. Hits the wall immediately. The vampiress is beheaded, body twisted unnaturally, and the boy's slit throat bleeds into a puddle. The black cloak turns. His eyes are white. Their eyes turn black once they've burned through their own blood but with every full moon they see, they become lighter. He must be old, just a sliver of grey left. Old and powerful. She tries to crawl back farther into the wall. No one survives seeing a black cloak. Hardly anyone.

The white eyes study her, stepping over the dry one's arm. This cellar is too fucking small. He's not armed, other than claws and fangs, and he moves excruciatingly slowly. Dressed in all black, like the freaks around the castle she wouldn't approach over her dead body. Even they do not dare to don the black cloak. He's either an impostor or, judging by the color of his eyes, the most dangerous vampire she's ever met. He stops. "I know who you are."

The silver throwing star slips from her hand easily and he dodges just as easily, swiftly, she hardly sees him moving, just hears the cloak cut through the air. He straightens with annoyance, brushing dark hair out of his forehead. She bares her teeth at him, hissing, snarling. He mirrors her, automatically, presenting the longest fangs she's ever seen, streaked with gold. Yes, he's old, decades old. Maybe even a century. "I don't care who you are," she returns, even though she is burning to know.

He seems very annoyed with her. The hair on the back of her neck doesn't like it, any of it. "You're not difficult to find. The mud won't cover the smell of your blood."

Not for a vampire his age, no. "What do you want," she spits out, not really a question. Just bite her already, get it over with.

"There is something that-" He dodges the next throwing star as well, swooshing cloak. "You know what, under vampires, that is just considered rude."

"Under humans as well," she returns. Nobody ever considered her polite. And she's done caring. Now that she's going to die anyways.

"Would you let me finish," he demands. "I'm not going to kill you. Or you would be dead already."

Fucking liar. She's heard about that. Old vampires like to play with their fickle human prey. She brandishes her teeth again and he can't help but do the same. The black coat has golden patterns stitched into it. Would be considered nobility, under any other circumstances. "Go on. Please."

She pushes herself up while he is momentarily distracted with a car going by outside. Reckless, at this time. She leans against the wall, still dizzy. Ready to throw up. The smell of blood and death doesn't help. Oh wait, now's her chance to-

He knocks her against the wall roughly, gun clattering on the floor. Oh, now he's angry. He doesn't smell dead, sort of like an old book. His eyes look less white from close up. "Seriously," he hisses, though no breath hits her. His fingers are tight and cold as stone. "I'm not going to kill you. Get that into your-"

The silver slashes through his forearm, barely missing the bone, and he groans, recoiling, flesh turning gray, she doesn't bother kicking him and runs. If he were human, he might just have bled out from that. The door's only held shut by a broom stuck through the door handles, easily discarded, and then she runs , the hair on the back of her neck not going down until she reaches the hunters' stronghold.

 "Are you fucking serious ," Fury hisses at her, even though she's barely dressed. "Alone? Again?"

Bruce studies the bruises on her arms, not saying a word. She can tell he agrees, though. "It was just two," she returns feistily. "Well, three. I could have handled three."

"Is it so fucking hard to ask for help," Fury curses. "Would it cost you an arm and a leg or what? Ruin your cold, heartless persona?"

Bruce folds the scalpel kit and pulls the blanket over her. Like she's not going to get up and dress. "She's right. Not even a scratch. Plenty of bruises, though."

"You're the luckiest bastard I know, Romanoff," Fury snaps. "Are you sure it was a black cloak?"

"His eyes were almost white," she repeats, pulling a clean jacket on. "You think I'm making things up?"

"And he just let you run away," Fury remarks sourly. "On foot. You do know they can basically fly ."

"That's just a stupid rumor." Natasha waves him off. "I've never seen a vampire fly. "

"I have," Fury returns dryly. "Believe me. A black cloak would've never let you get away."

"I cut his artery," Natasha repeats, slipping off the table. "Guess that slowed him down enough. Stop doubting me, I have no reason to lie to you."

Fury does not look convinced. "And he was looking specifically for you."

"I guess," Natasha agrees, tugging her pants up. "Claimed he knew who I am." She leaves out the rest. No need to tell them those lies.

"So you have a black cloak on your trail," Clint remarks, quietly leaning in the doorframe. "Guess you're not going out anytime soon."

"If there's really a vampire like that in Prague," Fury interrupts. "We're all as good as dead. I don't care about your bloody arteries."

"Well, good," Natasha agrees, even though she doesn't. "Then I can sleep till sundown and go on another round, yes?"

 "Are you sure you're okay?" Pepper asks. "I can cover for you, if you want. Haven't paid you back for last time."

It's very invasive but matter of fact is, going out when you're on your period is a risk and they have to plan around that. Just like when you have a small cut or a recent nosebleed or anything. Can't risk vampires smelling that and going berserk. And rather than informing Fury about their exact menstrual cycles, they rather just switch the shifts around. "It's fine. I'm fine."

"Really?" Pepper repeats unconvinced, tightening her ponytail. "Bruce said you crashed into a bunch of things. It's okay to just take a break."

"I don't need a break," Natasha returns, fastening the thigh holster. "You can pay me back another time. Go see whether you can detach Tony from his project instead."

A faint smile enters Pepper's face, automatically. "Probably not, but I'll go try. But really, if you need anything, just a word."

"I don't need anything," Natasha replies, putting the magazine in. "But thanks."

 "You're not taking this seriously, are you," Clint remarks.

"If I did," Natasha returns, giving up stepping lightly. "What would I do? Hole up inside the tower? How's that going to save anybody?"

"You don't have black cloaks in Russia, do you," Clint asks. Natasha shakes her head unwillingly. "They're not just strong vampires. They were turned by Schmidt himself during the first Uprising. Lots of them were killed but some went into hiding with him. They're fiercely loyal and only listen to him. Every other vampire who dares wear a black cloak is brutally slain."

"Yeah, yeah, the famous superspreader." Natasha scoffs. "But I thought he's somewhere West. Why would he send a black cloak here ?"

"They're enforcers," Clint explains. "Take out hunter cells that get too annoying. Or clean up unallowed newborns. You know, there's long been rumors those crazyheads over in the castle swore allegiance to Schmidt."

"So we could all die," Natasha repeats. "Is what you're saying."

Clints grins. "Eh, life's dangerous. Stop, I think I hear something."

Something turns out to be a stray cat, jumping on a trash can, almost giving them a heart attack. It hisses at them. Clint gives it the finger, though that doesn't appear to impress the shoddy beast. "Where were we. Oh, yeah, there's all sorts of rumors, that they have special powers and all that. Of course, nobody knows what's actually true because no one-"

"Quiet," Natasha whispers. "It smells, doesn't it?"

Clint tries, over the trash can. Natasha slips past, peeking onto the next street. Deadly quiet. She smells blood, vampire blood. Must have passed from the other side of the river again. She unlocks her gun, holding it close to her chest as she proceeds over the street. All her senses tell her they're here. Clint's close on her heels.

Probably infighting. Those baby vampires never manage to form significant groups without killing each other. Not that she minds. Makes things easier for her. She breathes in through her nose and follows the scent to a backyard.

Corpses. Impaled. That's not infighting, that's an execution. She shudders staring at the bloody wood peaking out of their chests. Five. Five of them, though two of the bodies are ripped in half, strewn across the yard carelessly. A shitton of dark blood. Pretty fresh. "Tasha," Clint remarks quietly.

She looks up from the carnage, taking a second before she spots the dark figure towering high on the roof. The cloak still sends a shiver down her spine. He's staring down at them and they're helplessly cornered in this backyard. Then he drops off the roof, swoosh , like the wind, and then he's gone.

"Well," Clint remarks, shuddering visibly. "He certainly was wearing a black cloak."

"Shut up," Natasha mutters. "Let's get back to the tower before he realizes he doesn't have to run from us."

 Fury goes full tower defense mode, putting up more traps, more alarms, increasing the guards on each shift, constantly accounting for everyone and not letting a pin drop without his knowing. She can tell, though, that he doesn't really believe in it. She's heard rumors that he lost a whole hunting cell to a black cloak, himself escaping only with one eye, the lone survivor. She's not sure it's true, though. And how are a couple of booby traps going to prevent this from happening to them, too?

She hates being controlled like that. Free spirit, as Alexei used to say. Just because she couldn't stand being around him after some of the stuff he did. She has her red lines, too, though not everyone believes that. So, she drops out one night, just slipping through the window down the grey stones of the powder tower, and then she's gone.

 Prague's always quiet at night, as every vampire-infested city, but tonight it's especially quiet. She wonders how many people have heard of the black cloak in town, how far the rumors have spread. There's not a single open window as she strolls through the Old Town, no noises coming from inside. She feels weirdly at ease. At least she's pretty sure there are no more baby vampires in the old districts. The Malá Strana is, of course, a totally different business.

"Reckless," the awful voice remarks. "Going for a walk alone at night."

She looks up and she could've sworn he wasn't standing next to the Astrological Clock just seconds before, but now he is. "You do know those are the Twelve Apostles right next to you."

His white eyes make it very hard to read his expression. As if that monster's expressions mattered. "You do know that sort of thing has no effect," he returns calmly.

She breathes out with annoyance. "Are you stalking me?"

"Yes," he replies. "Pretty easy, as I said, you're the-" It looks like he knocks her knife away with his cloak, though that's obviously not it. She doesn't believe in fairytales about magical cloaks. The knife clatters on the cobblestone. "Could you stop throwing stuff at me?"

"Sorry," she replies, not sounding it. "Force of habit. Go on."

He scoffs. "You're the worst smelling human I've ever come across."

She snorts. "Oh no. So, if I cut my palm right now, you won't care at all?"

His nostrils flare just at the mention. He rolls his eyes, dropping off the ledge, cloak flaring up, landing soundlessly without really bending his knees. "What's wrong with you?"

"Got a vampire stalking me and can't get rid of him," she replies, unconsciously reaching for her gun. "Not for lack of trying, though. I thought that was obvious."

"How about you leave that gun where it is," he suggests. "And you just let me talk. As I said, I'm not going to kill you."

This fucking liar again. She's not in the mood for games. "Did Schmidt send you?"

"He wants you," the vampire replies.

"Dead," she specifies.

"Alive," he corrects. "He wants to turn you. Recruit you."

She shudders inwardly. "Oh, so you are going to kill me."

"I will merely bring you to him," he claims. "So he can turn you himself."

She scoffs. "If I end up bitten by a vampire, you better believe I would walk straight into the sun."

"Trust me," he returns softly. "You wouldn't."

She bares her teeth at him, him doing the same. Can't shake it. "Sure. I've seen plenty of young vampires, I know turning is just great ."

"It's painful," he admits. "But you'll always want to live."

She sneers. "That's not living. You're not alive ."

"Point of view," he says. "But I certainly won't kill you."

"Why me?" she questions. "What's so special about me, except for my horrible smell?"

"You're giving Rumlow a hard time," he states. "Ever since you came here. So why not turn a pain in the ass into an advantage?"

"I'm not going to be an advantage to you," she repeats. "So you can just kill me, really, that's easier on both of us."

He scoffs. "Again, not doing that. But take your time. I have a couple more nests to clean up."

"You really think I'm going to agree to being turned?" she asks, bewildered. "I'm a hunter. Are you sure you thought that through?"

"You will," he replies. "Trust me."

"I don‘t," she clarifies. "Even if I'm not currently throwing silver things at you."

"So you don't want to hear about the nest in Žižkov," he remarks.

She groans inwardly and asks the stupid question. "So you're not going to kill all of my hunter friends?"

"Oh right," he states. "I won't. If you agree to be turned."

It knocks the wind out of her. "What?! You just forgot the extortion part?!"

"Sorry," he actually replies. "So yes. I think you will agree."

Fuck. How could she- she's not cuddly or anything, not even polite, pretty prickly actually if you ask anyone but Clint, but sentencing them all to death - but she's going to do worse if she's a vampire. The perfect dilemma. Hurting people either way. She grabs the silver knife, he already looks annoyed, but she only slits through her left palm, hissing at the sting. Blood on the blade, blood in her palm, blood dripping on the cobblestone. He sniffs, involuntarily, fangs coming out, eyes turning into animalistic slits, growling. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just suck me dry," she says. "Really. I'd prefer that over turning into a monster."

He comes closer, though he clearly doesn't want to, the scent drawing him in. Apparently, her blood doesn't smell bad at all. She holds out her hand, waiting. He growls, prancing back again, moving incredibly fast. Pupils blown. He's shifting so much, breathing in the scent, dragged towards the source, yanking himself back, trying to escape but not really wanting to. She waits, afraid, hand shaking, more blood dripping down. She smells it, too. He growls again, fangs bared, resolve growing thinner and thinner, though he is way more controlled than any other vampire she's ever met. He's still a monster and she never wants to be like him. He has the face of a hungry animal, starving animal, predator. She wiggles her fingers, pressing out more blood. He sneers, sniffing, nothing remotely human about it. Her hand's still shaking, even more.

He flings himself at her, too sudden for her to see, she tries to slash at him but he knocks the knife out of her hand easily, dislocating her right shoulder in the process. Good Lord, he's strong. He yanks her left hand towards his face, breathing rapidly, all tight, she's got tears streaming down her face because fucking shoulder, his eyes are almost all black now, fangs just a few inches from sinking into her hand, but he stays there, blinking rapidly. She groans, get on with it, make the pain-

"What did you put in there?" he snarls, sounding not even remotely human. "What did you put in your blood?"

She presses her eyes shut, praying he'll just do it already, kill her already. "Nothing," comes out as a faint whisper. "Just do it. Suck my blood."

He growls, yanking her hand even farther up, she moans in pain. Just end it already. Just do it.

She's pushed back, all of a sudden, at least a dozen feet, crashing into the chairs of some outdoor restaurant, the pain becomes even worse, she rolls about, groaning, whimpering, trying desperately to breathe. Run over by a truck, that's the feeling. She preens her eyes open, just in time to see him- not fly but jump, black cloak flaring, onto one of the towering ring buildings, 30 feet, 50 feet, she's too broken to estimate, then jump again, seemingly carried by the wind, and he's out of her field of sight. She groans, pressing her eyes shut for just a second and then dragging herself up, limping back towards the tower.

[my-happy-little-bean]

Figment of My Mind

pairing: none~ warnings: mild swearing, body horror, death (though it is implied that it is imaginary), bloody imagery, mentions of poison, mentions of thunder storms, mentions of fire/allusions to burn-out, slightly unsympathetic!patton / morally grey!patton, unsympathetic!janus, remus, & virgil words: 3334

summary: Roman tries to make the right choice, but falls into something much more than just “wrong”. 

Or: the one where Roman chose neither the wedding or the callback.

a/n - hello, it is i, bean; posting some rough, angsty horror at like 1 am because that’s !! just !! where we’re at right now! working on everything but the thing we’re supposed to be working on! 

i was heavily inspired by the song “figment of my mind” by bruno major (someone pleeeease make an animatic with this song it’s great), so that’s what the lyrics are! it was also written to make @wisepuma23​ and @thesocialbookwormishere​ proud lol – they’re such talented beans, and i wanted to hop on their angsty train to horror town lol. 

i’m sorry if this isn’t the happiest journey, but i really enjoyed writing something! it reminds me of that angst i wrote for patton when “can lying be good” came out – ah, the good ol’ days of bean angst lol. 

enjoy!

[read on ao3~]

–– 

“i traveled into deep space to see what i could find a purple angel led me to the universe inside.

welcome to the real world not the dream you left behind.  that was all a figment of your mind.”

–– 

When Roman left his room, the stars in the sky were only still forming.

It was late at night. Thomas (and by extension, Patton) had already gone to bed in tears. They have been doing that all week.

Logan had confided in him a few days back, confessing that he wasn’t sure why Patton was crying. Patton had nothing to lose with the verdict Roman made. In fact, he still won in some ways. He had theorized to empty, static-filled ears that perhaps Patton’s tears were just a reflection of Thomas’ emotions; a normal reaction everyone dramaticized to illogical extents.

Then he theorized idly that maybe Patton was crying because he felt like he was wrong the whole time.

(Roman didn’t leave his room for two days straight after hearing that.)

They didn’t have much left for Roman nowadays, and neither did Thomas. The days crept closer to dreaded April 13th and no one made a sound. Nothing was being done, nothing was being made. It was as if everyone was haunted by Roman’s decision; as if the sound of the gavel was echoing everywhere he stepped. 

And then, as April 12th ended– when Roman finally thought it was all over–

he realized that neutrality in a war was the enemy.

(In a moment of hypocrisy, Patton yelled at him, “Dishonourable.”)

So that was why he was here, sneaking out through the hidden door of his room and into the Imagination. He moved swiftly across the fields of nighttime fog and dew-covered grass to the giant, steel gates guarding The Dark Side.

Or, the other side. 

(It hurt less to think of himself like an ‘other’ rather than...well, that.)

He stood before the towering gates. It made sense that he felt like he was crossing paths into the dark forest Disney movies warned him about. A streak of lightning cracked across the sky like splintering glass, and every three minutes, a maniacal cackle shook the ground at beneath feet. 

Leave it to Remus to be so dramatic. 

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him, he thought wearily, gripping the hilt of his sword just in case. Would he even let you near him?

And then, a bitter thought: There has to be some family who will. 

Suddenly, a cold hand grabbed his shoulder. Lightening screamed with him as he turned on his heel and whipped his sword tall in front of him. 

“Show yourself, vil–”

Then, his vision cleared. 

It was suddenly raining in the Imagination, and Virgil stood in it, drenched.

“Virgil,” he hissed, slowly lowering his sword. “I could have killed you.”

“Can’t die.” The words came out as a low rumble, one that shook the earth beneath them in a different way. “Not real, remember?” 

“But you– but we’re–”

Virgil shook his head, waving a hand in front of him with a smug smile.

“Relax, Princey.” The old nickname pressed itself into Roman’s arm like a curse crawling on doomed lands. “Just some dark, 3 am humour.”

It wasn’t much reassurance, but Roman didn’t care. He was already clinging onto it tightly, never wanting to let it go.

“What are you doing here, J.D-lightful?” 

“Trying to figure out what the fuck you’re up to.” Virgil leaned forward, almost cockily. “What are you doing here?”

A pause. Roman forced his stare down at the rotten dirt below him. 

“I’m going to fix everything,” he muttered. 

Virgil skipped the first obvious question. “And you think Remus is going to help with that?” 

“I think something there will.” Roman pressed his feet into the ground with a snarl. He gripped onto the hilt of his sword even tighter. “If I go now, Remus will never even need to know.” 

Roman noticed how Virgil grit his teeth and clutched the sleeves of his gridded hoodie as if it’d swallow him whole and make him disappear completely. 

“What do you even need in there?” 

Roman turned his back on him as another crack of lightning shattered the glassy sky above them.

“Remus controls intrusive and destructive thoughts,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “And what is the only destructive thought plaguing all of us right now?” 

The answer hung between them, dead as the grass impaled by the ends of the metal gates.

“What if Thomas had gone?” 

“So you made a decision then.” Virgil’s voice, despite its venom, held an edge of worry. “A bit too late to figure out what the right choice was, no?”

Roman huffed, standing tall despite the fact that his words made him shrivel. 

“If you’re just going to stand there and be completely unhelpful,” Roman growled, walking towards the gate and grabbing the handle, “I’m just going to take my leave now–” 

“Wait.”

Roman stiffened at the layered tone of Virgil’s voice. He spun around to face him against his will, being forced to look at the hooded side. 

Virgil suddenly stuck his hand out, and Roman saw a glimpse of dark eyeshadow painted in thick layers over itself under his eyes.

“If you cross, you know what’s going to happen, don’t you?” 

Roman blinked. “What?” 

“You– do you even know what you’re getting yourself into?” 

“Not the point of an adventure, is it, Marilyn Morose?”

Virgil groaned. “I should let the damn thing eat you alive, Jesus Christ…” 

“Seriously, what are you talking about?” 

Virgil waved his hand, still outstretched. 

“Let me take you.” Another bolt of lightning pierced the sky. Roman felt as if it was going to fall on him at any second. “If you can survive with me, you’ll probably leave with what you really wanted.” 

Roman stared at his hand, as if the offer in it grew legs and was crawling up that inky checkered sleeve. Virgil’s words seemed to swarm in his head, and he didn’t quite understand what he was saying, but something told him that he needed to listen.

Virgil’s hand floated between them like a paranoid ghost.

And so, with a deep breath, Roman took it. 

–– 

“we flew amongst the patterns, impossible designs they’d been there the whole time hidden by my eyes

if i’d had a body it surely would've cried but tears were a figment of my mind”

–– 

Roman felt himself fall apart when he touched Virgil; as if Virgil was passing sharp sparks between their palms, and those sparks were finding cracks in skin Roman didn’t even know existed.

It felt as if his entire world flipped vertically, the ground defying the laws of reality and throwing him, somehow, onto the floor at the other side of the gate. 

Roman couldn’t even feel Virgil’s hand anymore. Instead, he just felt lightning stab his chest and blur his vision, a swirl of purple, yellow, and green swimming in front of him.

Then, it all stopped in an audition room. 

Virgil was nowhere to be seen, but Roman could feel him everywhere. He made himself believe that it was just because Thomas always felt this way before an audition.

Maybe it was the monotone filter of it all. Everything in the room—the camera, the table, two chairs, the walls—were various shades of black and white. 

And he was standing, stuck, in front of the empty chair. He still felt dizzy from whatever hellish trip Virgil had sent him on. He wanted to stumble on his feet just to make it feel more real, but he was rooted on the ground, completely still.

Then, lightning struck the two chairs and when the smoke cleared,  Deceit and Patton were staring at him, 

their eyes crossed out in yellow, drawn-on dashes. 

“SING.” 

Roman felt himself reel back at Patton’s voice, and a piano– out of sight, out of mind– began to play. The moral side had leaned over the table and slammed his fists into its surface, dark cracks in the wood blossoming from the contact. The noise was so loud, yet useless in muffling the haunted ivory keys, which played a hollow echo of Roman’s favourite audition song.

Fuck. 

Deceit said nothing, but he did smile at Roman in that kind– no, deceitful way he always did.

Did Deceit always have that line near his lip?

Roman shook his head. Forget Deceit. This audition wasn’t what he wanted. This was Thomas’ dream. This is what they had to choose. Mary Lee and Lee would surely understand, and so would Patton. He was selfless all the time, he deserved this. Deceit was right. 

In fact, Patton, in a fabricated moment of clarity, could possibly understand that now. Perhaps his command was actually encouragement; encouragement Roman missed oh-so much. 

Roman cleared his throat, straightening himself up. He could suddenly feel the ghost of Thomas mirror his movement in a lag. 

The role didn’t even need Thomas to sing, but Roman did as he was told anyway. Maybe he had to play along to hold this decision in his hands and save everyone. 

He smiled bravely.

“When you come home to me, I’ll wear a sweeter smile, and hope that for a while you’ll–” 

“FAIL.” 

Roman blinked. But he was perfectly in tune with– 

“FAIL!” Patton screamed at him again, lunging forward over the table, which split in two. The sound of the piano above them began to eerily croak.

“Patton, I–” 

“YOU FAILED!” Patton pointed at him as the accusation slipped his lips. Yellow poison leaked from the corners of his snarl and the piano went out of tune into a mess of sharps and flats. 

Deceit sat still. 

“DISHONOURABLE.” “WRONG.” 

The words suddenly began to layer over each other in what felt like an infinite descending tone.

“YOU SIDED WITH THE VILLAIN AND–” 

“HOW COULD YOU LET HIM GET AWAY WITH–” “WHAT KIND OF HERO–”

Roman finally tore his feet from the ground in shock. When he looked down at what initially bounded him, he saw yellow snapdragons coated with blood from his ankles, which was now pierced with thorns. The red and the yellow was so sharp– too sharp– in the midst of the black and white of the audition room.

On the broken piles of flowers he stepped away from laid the ghost of Thomas; on his knees and shaking.

“–FAILS?”

He felt tears slip down his cheeks and freeze into sharp crystals digging into his skin. In front of him was a broken dream, a broken man, the wrong choice–

And in the corner of his eye, Roman watched as Deceit grinned;  the line extending his smile cracking. 

Out through the cracks leaked blood. 

–– 

“i was shown a few things I'd been getting wrong she told me i’m a good man and have been all along

by the way I heard her say, ‘there’s no such thing as time it’s all a figment of your mind’."

–– 

Roman’s scream ended when he was flipped upside down,  now standing at an altar with a bouquet of yellow carnations.

The tears from the audition room were no longer piercing his skin, but they lingered as static in the form of a sticky residue. He was very certain that he was going to kill Virgil once he got home. This black and white world was somehow too bright, too daunting. 

And he left him alone in it.

Roman focused his vision on the new sight in front of him, holding his bouquet tightly like some kind of chilling reminder. 

A bride and a groom were walking away from the altar, their backs facing him. People were in the crowd, throwing the same yellow carnations into the air. It was a happy sight, despite the monochrome tinge. Violins sang brightly in what felt like the perfect photograph. 

Perhaps this was the choice Virgil was talking about; the one he’d leave with; the one he really wanted. Yes, he could want this. Maybe he even needed this.

Because at the end of the aisle was Patton, black and white with a sharp grin. 

Another layer of violins was placed on top of the pre-existing ones. 

“kiddo, i’m so proud of you!”

Roman’s breath hitched, holding the bouquet tighter. Mary Lee and Lee were already gone, yet everyone kept throwing their flowers. 

“you’re so good.  so good.”

“my hero.”

Roman broke into a wide grin. This decision felt so close. Patton’s voice felt like a rush of summer air in the midst of a cold, winter night. The words felt like they were close– so close– to carrying Roman on his back closer towards this decision; like they were already spinning the hands of the clock back and–

Patton suddenly became blurry in his vision, and a green figure appeared beside him, 

holding a dead Thomas by the neck.

Shit.

A familiar cackle cut through the illusionary Shepard tone created by the violins, which once played a sickly sweet melody in his ears. Roman looked at Remus, horrified, and then at Thomas. 

Thomas was wearing his wedding outfit — Roman recognized it because he helped choose it, of course. And it was beautiful. 

But at its seams were falling ashes; crispy burnt ends to such a beautiful suit. 

And Thomas was white as a sheet, slowly crackling away in embers where he hung.

Remus’ grin was made of bloodied pearls, his white streak cracking and spreading in patches to other parts of his hair. He threw the Thomas corpse– was he really dead?– onto the ground and pulled back his morning star by both hands, ready to strike–

Then Patton stepped between Remus and Thomas, holding his hands over his face to catch the spikes of the morning star before it could finish its swing down. The violins shrieked with Patton and Roman watched as his hands began to bleed upon contact. The flowers were still being thrown, as if to celebrate this horrible victory.

Patton, struggling against Remus' persistent force, let out a heartbreaking sob.

“...how are we still being hurt?”

“why is he getting worse?” 

“he shouldn’t be here, thomas is good–”

“–because you chose this –”

Roman’s heart broke when Patton stiffly met his eyes.

“what more are you going to do to stop this?”

Roman started to run towards the horrid sight, almost against his will. The violins hung above him, the chords pulling him back by his wrists, still attached to the bouquet of yellow carnations.

And he was screaming; screaming Patton’s name and crying as the petals of all the flying flowers slashed sharply at his face. The aisle seemed to make itself infinite, as of stringing Roman along on a treadmill moving too fast. 

He could see the outline of Remus amidst the slowly-paling flower flurry; bright green with a thick red puddle pooling around his feet. He saw the outline of his grin, blood dripping from each tooth.

Patton’s voice was barely a whisper, yet was loud enough for it to echo all around Roman’s head.

“you’re not doing enough.” 

“he has to be stopped.”

“stop this, hero, stop–”

And when Roman finally reached the end of the aisle,  Thomas was nothing but ashes on the floor. 

Patton stepped towards Roman, who slowly backed away. No no no no no–

Then, Patton grabbed the bouquet he was holding.

Roman gasped and looked down. Patton was bleeding red, palms cracked with scars and holes from Remus’ weapon. 

He at least tried to save Thomas, Roman suddenly realized. What did I do? 

Patton’s hand pierced the thorny stems of the carnations and his blood mixed with dripping green venom. 

His tearful eyes met Roman’s.

“...what did you do?”

The air around Roman thinned. He looked over Patton’s shoulders and saw Remus, grinning and holding up his bloodied morning star. 

It was on fire, and it caught onto the white cracks in his hair.

––

“waking with eyes closed from technicolor dreams crystal kaleidoscopes were singing blue and green

realer than real in front of me if only you could see what i could see”

––

Roman was fa(i/l)ling. 

He was stuck in a spinning kaleidoscope; and circling him were shattered fragments of the horrible decision he made– the decisions he could make. 

The memory of Deceit’s blood-soaked smile in the audition room. 

The sight of Remus grinning with fire crackling embers in his hair. 

The thought of Patton, glitching into two with his hands holding his head, being torn apart.

The view from below the towering gate (the lightning shattering the glassy sky)

and Virgil, standing in front of him with white cracks in his eyeshadow, pulling his hand back from Roman

to wrap himself in his old hoodie.  

The violins had stopped and the piano had paused. What did this mean? Roman tried to hold himself around his feeble body — if he even had one right now. 

No. He shuddered if he even could– no he was real. He was here, he was real,  and he was failing. 

Anxiety crawled through the cracks in his vision. He was straining his eyes trying to look at each fragment of his mistake. What did he need to do, what did he want to do, what was right, what was–

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

NO! Anything but this, he wanted to plead. This wasn’t it, he was supposed to be good– he couldn’t fail– what has he done?!

Suddenly, each fragment snapped and cracked in front of him, the kaleidoscope shattering piece by piece. 

And reflected in each broken shard was Roman.

Paranoia’s voice echoed in his ears: 

“Then why did you leave with this?”

––

“i slowly found my body, color began to fade i heard a piano playing a knowing serenade

this world feels backwards to my open eyes ‘cause it's all a figment of my mind.”

––

“–atton, if you touch him, you run the risk of–”

“–ET ME GO! ROMAN! ROMAN, WAKE UP, PLE–”

“–fucking stupid, how could he be so–”

Roman gasped, feeling himself seize up and face darkness. His head suddenly ached and he rubbed the spot he hit as he heard a low grumble from his left.

“Roman!” Patton. Roman shuddered. Patton’s sobs made him want to keep his eyes closed even more. “Roman, open your eyes, you’re home.” 

“Patton, you mustn’t alarm him.” That was Logan. “And Virgil, are you okay? See, this is why I told you not to stand so close...”

A part of him was reassured to hear logic return to him. The nightmare must be over then, right?

He blindly grabbed to his left, as if to apologize to the side he hit, and felt stitches crossing in small x’s on fabric. A sigh of relief; there was Virgil. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Virgil’s voice sounded so distant, yet so clear. “You could’ve gotten hurt, going there alone–”

“Now what did we say about alarming him.”

“Roman.” Patton’s voice stung the most, an echo of the hell he just fell through. “Roman, open your eyes. It’s me– it’s us.”

And so Roman obliged, like he always did with Patton. 

…

When Roman opened his eyes, he saw that he was back in his room, lying on his bed, staring at a blurry, white ceiling. As he sat up, Patton’s sobs grew louder and Logan’s breath hitched. 

Virgil stayed quiet.

“What is it?” he asked groggily. Patton dissolved into more tears. Roman watched as Logan, sliced in half by navy blue and grey shards, held Patton close. 

“Guys?” he asked again. He looked at Virgil and frowned. Some patches were grey, why were they–

Roman gasped, pushing past his family and turning his back on their grief. He made his way to the mirror in the corner of his room, tearing the hair in front of his eyes aside. 

And staring back at him in his cracked mirror were irises split in half. 

Black and amber.

-

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