#but i pulled out my volumes and it seems like the head of ‘black’ chainsaw man might be a slightly darker gray??? but idk it’s hard to tell

[lesbianpegbar]

CHAINSAW MAN CRAZY GOOD a little lost on the red chainsaw devil/black chainsaw devil part BUT OTHER THAN THAT WOOOOO ASA!! and denji wearing chainsaw man merch LOL

asa mitaka nation stays winning !!!! also denji not beating the loser allegations wearing his own merch. neither of them ever beating the loser allegations tbh

[murderslugs]

Slasher Bf/Gf Scenarios/Imagines! || Meeting Them

Jason Voorhees (Friday The 13th)

You were out with friends, and it was getting awfully late. But still, there you were, with a flashlight and a backpack with a first-aid kit, some snacks, and water in it, just in case, walking through the abandoned camping trail with your friends. You guys had grown up in a town not too far away from the little old camp, and you’d heard all the stories that surrounded the place. For years you had just dismissed it, you all had passed it off as a local legend or rumor, but still there was a little spark of curiosity. Of course, this is what led you to where you reside now, exploring the camp in search of something peculiar, maybe a story to tell.

“Maybe we should go home...It’s late and I’m not feeling well..” your friend, Ruby, said wearily. It was true, you could see the illness in her dark, drooping eyelids. “Oh, bullshit! You’re fine, just drink some water and go throw up on a tree or something!” another friend yelled out. You just rolled your eyes. “Shut up! She doesn’t look too good, Otis! I think I should bring her back to the car to sit down.” You said with concern. To the dismay and groaning of the group, they let you and Ruby on your way back down the trail and to the car while they continued down the path. 

As you made your way to the car, Ruby fell close behind in your steps. Your flashlight flickered continually, and then suddenly gave out; leaving you two in the dark, and the pale moon barely illuminating through the trees above you. “Shit,” you muttered to yourself, hitting the battery pack to the light repeatedly. “Stop, quiet,” Ruby whisper-shouted. That’s when you heard the rustling of the branches getting closer. Closer. Closer. “Maybe we shou…” You turn around, to see Ruby gone. 

“Ruby? Ruby?!” You shouted out, to no response. You turned frantically, searching for any sign of her presence. A large man in a ski mask and an old, ruined jacket stood before you, silent. Before you could turn to run or get around him, you felt a sudden pressure on the side of your head, and then you saw black.

Michael Myers (Halloween)

It was Halloween night, and you were home from college for fall break. Your mom insisted that you took your younger sister trick-or-treating, even though you refuted that she was 12 years old, and could handle herself. So, you just took her block to block instead and sat on the corner of the street for her to walk down to the other end and get to all the houses. It was a small town, so there were never really concerns about kidnapping and such. It was just never a problem, you guess. 

“Go, Riley. You’re a big kid, you can go down the street.” You groaned, tired of her constant whining. “But (y/nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn), It’s dark down there!! There’s not a street light at the end!!” she whined insistently. You sighed heavily and pulled your phone out of your pocket. “Here. You can use the flashlight on my phone, just don’t snoop through my info.” You told her, handing over the old smartphone, and pulling a pumpkin-shaped sucker from her trick-or-treat bag. “You owe me this.” 

You unwrapped the cheap candy and popped it into your mouth, leaning on the house fence as your sister skipped down the sidewalk. The leaves rustled in the trees, and suddenly you heard footsteps behind you, and whipped around to see who it was. It was on the quieter side of town, and it was getting late. This meant that there shouldn’t be many people out, so there shouldn’t be someone behind you. But still, you came face-to-chest with a tall man in a dark blue jump-suit type outfit, and a white mask. You panicked, and thought quickly about how to fight back. Unfortunately, he seemed to be faster than you, and your mouth was covered as you were picked up and carried off into the darkness, legs kicking uselessly. 

Carrie White (Carrie)

You were at the library when you saw a pale girl browsing through the young adult fantasy section. You observed her actions, as she readjusted her dress and collar. She carefully picked a book from the shelf and flipped it to the back to read the description. You saw a flash of the cover, and realized it was one of your favorite series, Chronicles of Narnia. You hesitated but stepped forward in a bit of excitement.

“That’s a good one, I, um, really recommend checking it out.” You told her with a smile, and she looked up, seemingly a bit taken aback. You realized this, and took a step back to give her space. “Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you...I’m (y/n).” You stuck out your hand, and she just looked down at it, book in hand. “Carrie...Sorry, mama never liked me talking to strangers…” “No, no, it’s okay, I underst-” “No, it’s okay...She’s been gone a while now.” She looked down. 

You stood awkwardly, feeling a bit bad now. “You seem kind enough. I’ve got to go, but we can talk again another time. I come here every Sunday, around noon.” Carrie said quietly, smiling softly and turning, taking Narnia with her. You sat to yourself, a bit confused about the interaction. You shook your head and carried on. “Next Sunday it is,” You thought to yourself.

Jennifer Check (Jennifer's Body)

There was a new girl at school, as you had heard. How could you not have when everyone was talking about it? She had moved here recently after some sort of tragedy occured, or so you’d heard. It was rumored that she had to have surgery cause someone tried to kill her, she was all stabbed up and shit and nearly bled out. You can’t imagine how awful that would be, and you kept thinking about how she probably came here for a new start, and wouldn’t want people asking about it, but you knew it would happen anyways.

It was 3rd period, Anatomy, when a girl you’d never seen before walked into the classroom. This, of course, must have been the new girl. She was absolutely glowing, even from afar. Her hair was voluminous, rich, and dark, her skin was clear and shiny, her eyes were sharp and bright. It took your breath away trying to take in the sight. The girl’s heels clicked as she trailed to the back of the classroom, to where you were. She sat beside you, at the lab table. 

You tried not to look at her, after all, you didn’t want to seem weird. You looked at the floor and over to her shoes. A few drips of a thick, crimson substance were on the floor beneath her, seemingly originating from her shoe. You wondered for a moment if she was hurt. Or, could she have hurt someone else..? It scared you a bit to think about the second option. God knows this school didn’t need another bully, or anything worse than it.

You were tranced, stuck in your own looming dark thoughts, when a velvet voice came to your ears. You snapped your glance up from the floor, to see the girl looking at you, specifically. To your dismay, blood rushed to your face out of embarrassment. “I’m Jennifer. Do you have a pen I can use?”

Billy Loomis (Scream)

You were in your brand new house, you had moved out and into the next town over from your parents. You wanted to be further away, but you knew that your mom would be upset, she was always so protective. She even said that she expected you to come visit her on the weekends. The relationship was a bit exhausting sometimes. But now, you were in your own house, and it was great. You could decorate it however you wanted, you could have whoever you wanted over, you could do basically whatever.

Though, for now, you decided to just make some off-brand pizza rolls and blare some music, maybe even dance around a little bit. Season Of The Witch by Donovan was playing on your stereo when suddenly your phone rang. You paused the music, and quickly answered. Normally, you would check the caller ID, but you were in a good mood and it completely slipped your mind. I mean, who cares if it's a scam caller? You can just hang up. To your surprise, it wasn’t a familiar voice, but didn’t seem to be a scam-caller. Maybe a wrong number? 

“Do you like scary movies?” The other line said. You were suspicious, and for a second you considered that maybe it was a survey. It didn’t seem to be a harmful question, so you replied, “Yeah, duh. If you don't, you're pretty lame.” You turned the music back on, but turned the volume down. He asked a few follow-up questions, and you gave your honest answers. You just strolled around the kitchen, occasionally checking the timer on your food so that it doesn’t burn. 

You had your phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder, and you had on oven mitts as you grabbed your pizza rolls from the oven. “What’s your name?” The caller suddenly asked. You paused for a second as you put the cooking sheet on the counter. “Why do you wanna know..” You asked cautiously. “Well, I wanna know the name of the cutie I’m looking at.” He said, and your heart damn near stopped. “Excuse me..?” You hung up and quickly ran to the doors, double-checking the locks and locking the windows and shutting the curtains. You grabbed a knife from the silverware drawer and locked yourself in your room, where you eventually fell asleep in the dark silence.

Thomas Hewitt (Texas Chainsaw Massacre)

You had just moved out to the country-side to start anew, planning to start a small farm and just live in peace on the quiet little land. Little did you know, you had neighbors across the field that weren’t exactly the type of neighbors that you could ask for a cup of sugar. You were hanging the new drapes for the windows after having taken the old ones down. They were old, dirty, ragged. Honestly, the old farmhouse was sort of let to rot for a while, and you knew it. It was cheap though, and you were up to the challenge. You decided that you would decorate it, clean it up, and make it like brand new, even with the little money that you had. 

As you were hanging the drapes, you kept looking out into the distance of the rolling fields outside the window, littered with patches of wild flowers in the grass. You fantasized about making gardens, maybe even building a little stable for a horse or two. It was a lovely thought; there was a small village a little while away from the farm that you could ride a horse to if you wanted. 

Though, some distance away in the field, you saw the figure of what looked to be a man wandering in the field. You weren’t too worried, as you had all the locks in place, it was the middle of the day, and he looked peaceful. So, you just forgot about it and went on fixing up your house, unpacking, and getting the rest of the things in place. Although you had been there about a week, you still understandably weren’t completely unpacked. 

A few hours later, you were doing a bit of drawing on the couch and taking some time to relax. That’s when you heard a thud on your door. Just a single thud, that’s all. Still, you had reason to be concerned, as you were sort of in the middle of the country and it was starting to set into the evening. You quietly walked to your bedroom and grabbed a shotgun from the closet that you kept for protection, a tradition in your family. You carried it with you as you checked the door. You looked through the thin peephole, but saw nothing. You opened the door to find a paper stuck to the door by a rusty hatchet, buried deep into the oak. Your heart rate spiked as you tore the note from the door and read it. “Welcome to the neighborhood, pretty person” was spelled in crude handwriting.

[notyetneedcoffee]

Can’t Run

Steve Rogers is a wanted man. He broke the Accords, broke the law, and is still trying to do what’s right. . . even if it may get him killed.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Cannon level violence in this chapter, NSFW in future

New series. Others can be found on my Steve Masterlist

 Enough of the cold night air seeped into your old house to prompt you to pull on a heavy sweatshirt and wool socks. It’s not that you couldn’t turn the heater up, you just did see the need. If you could live in a cold tent through an Afghanistan winter, an east Cascade Mountain cold snap wouldn’t kill you.

Gary, your Belgium Malinois, curled up in front of the wood stove on his dog bed. You gave him a quick scratch on your way to the kitchen. The lights were low. All the devices were off. You just needed some quiet time. Maybe a beer would be good, too.

Before you could pull open the refrigerator, your dog moved past you to the rear door. He moved silently, hackles up. Unusual. Your training kicked in and you pushed further back into the shadows. Moving closer to the door, you tried to look through the sliver between your blinds out into the darkness of your carport. Something moved, something man height.

You swore internally as you slipped back to you living room and pulled the P320 from the hidden gun case in your console table by the front entry. Slipping your feet into the muck boots by the door, you quietly stepped out into the cold through the front door. You left Gary in the house, knowing that if you yelled for him he would go through the flimsy dog door. Hopefully, it was just a prowler. No need to be sued for a dog bite by someone who was trying to steal your chainsaw.

Peeking around the corner you saw your car door open and the hood up. ‘Good luck, asshole,’ you thought. ‘That thing isn’t going to turn over until the new starter comes by FedEx tomorrow.’

You stayed back far enough that he couldn’t easily turn on you, but close enough to see well. “Don’t want to shoot you…”

He moved so fast, a blur of dark movement rushed toward your face. You fired twice before a hard hit sent your gun flying. Instinct took over. Your foot made contact. You went low and inside, catching a glancing swing on the shoulder. Your elbow smashed into his gut, knocking him back.

His face came into focus. Holy shit, Steve Rogers.

You jumped back, putting your hands up.

He frowned, hard, before a groan of pain escaped his lips and he slipped to ground.

Blood seeped from his torso, from his thigh, and his shoulder. He was already wounded. You stepped a little closer to the man desperately trying to stay sitting up. “What the hell?”

“Dammit.” He muttered just as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground.

Shit. You looked around. There was nothing but darkness. Where the hell did Captain Frickin’ America come from and why was he bleeding out in your carport? Shit. You couldn’t let that happen. Rushing inside, you went for the medical go-bag you kept in the closet.

“Gary, get back.” The dog had slipped out when you came inside, he was sniffing over Rogers. At your order, he sat. “I wish you could help me with this.” You spoke to the dog as you began to cut the material away from his wounds.

With well-practiced precision, you cleaned the wounds and applied trauma dressings. It took effort, but you rolled him over to look for any through and throughs or rear entry wounds. He had one more on his left shoulder.

After stopping that leak, you pulled out an old green canvas tent. There was no way you could carry him, but you couldn’t leave him where he was either. Folding the single person tent into a quick litter you tucked it under his side before rolling him over onto his back.

“Okay, Cap.” You stood up, panting a little. “What to do with you?”

But you already knew the answer. It took a lot of tugging, a lot of swearing, but you finally got him moved into the spare bedroom. At least, to the floor of the spare room. The hardwood floors made it a little easier, but you were sweating by the time you were done.

Going back to get your bag, you were thankful for the supplies. The Captain looked ashen and extremely hypotensive. Cutting open the right sleeve of his uniform, you opened an IV kit and pulled out a bag of saline. Even bleeding out the man had great veins. You hung the bag off the bedpost over his head. He would do better with plasma, but you could at least help a little to get his volume up while you figured out what to do.

Your dog whined from the door. “What do I do, Gary? I shot Cap. It’s not like I can call 911. He’s a fugitive. I’m not going to be the one to turn him in.”

“N’hospital.” He murmured.

“Captain?” You leaned over him. “Can you hear me?”

“No.” His eye opened but didn’t focus. “N’hospitals.”

“Okay. No hospitals. Got it.”

Suddenly Gary bolted for the front window. Someone was coming down the drive.

Remembering your gun, you shut the guest room door and dashed to the back of the house. Cold rain had started pelting down, practically sideways. At least it began to wash away the blood. You grabbed your Sig from the driveway and the bandage wrappers. Stuffing the paper in the trash, you heard the car pull up.

Tucking the cold weapon in to your jeans, you took a deep breath and looked at yourself. The ratty black sweat shirt hid any blood and you’d wiped your hands clean. A knock came at the door. Gary barked, aggressively. He didn’t like whomever was at the door.

Three men in uniforms stood at the door. They looked military, but had no visible insignia. You only opened the door a few inches, but enough to let them see you holding back the big dog.

“What is it?” You asked, not bothering to be friendly.

“Ma’am,” One tipped his head. “We’re going door to door looking for a suspect. Male, six foot one, blond or possibly brown hair.”

“Haven’t seen anyone, but something set my dog off like crazy about an hour ago. I thought it was elk.” Living in the woods, you saw them all the time. “He took off, barking like mad, but came back a few minutes later.”

“So, you haven’t seen anyone?”

“Nope.” Gary gave a growl and you tugged on his collar. “This guy would let me know if anyone were around. He’s not fond of men, as you can see.”

He stared at you a moment longer, before nodding. “Alright, ma’am. If you see anything, do not approach. Just dial 911.”

“Got it. Goodnight.”

As you shut the door, Gary instantly settled down and trotted off down the hall. You watched the men get in the car and leave down your drive. They didn’t stop even when they turned onto the main road at the end of your long drive.

You went back to check on your patient, opening the door slowly. The Captain had slid himself up against the wall and was half sitting up. Looking panicked, cornered, and dangerous, somehow his strength was coming back frightening fast.

“Hey there, Captain.” You said softly. “You okay? I mean, I know you’re hurt, but you’re not going to try and kill me, are you?”

“Who’s here?” His voice cracked.

“Just me.” You opened the door all the way and your dog laid down in the hall.

“No.” He frowned. “I heard, heard you talking to a man.”

“Some men came to the door. I lied and sent them away. It’s just me here.”

He shook his head. “Earlier.”

“I was just talking to my dog, Gary.”

“What?” He focused on you fully, face incredulous. “Who names a dog Gary?”

“An asshat brother with the intent to torment me for the rest of my life.” You knelt down, to be eye to eye with him. He huffed a half laugh. “Did I add to your wounds?”

“Um, don’t think so.” He swallowed and lifted his right arm. “You patch me up?”

“Yeah. It was either that or have you bleed out on my drive. Shitty job trying to steal my car, by the way.”

“Sorry.” His eye drooped. “Why didn’t you call me in?”

“We’re soldiers. You’re THE soldier. There’s no way in hell I’m going to do that.” You moved a little closer. “Any chance you’ve got enough strength to help me get you on the bed?”

“Soldier, huh?”

“Army medic, was anyway.” You came a little close and rearranged his IV line. “Good thing, too. You were banged up. I can’t believe you’re talking to me, actually.”

“I shake it off pretty quick.” He groaned as he tried to sit up. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” You carefully helped him up an onto the bed. “I’m gonna take your boots off and cut these bloody clothes away. That okay?”

He laid back, panting, and gave a little nod. As you worked on his boots, he got the pain back under control and watched you. “You’re not going to ask what happened?”

“Near as I can figure I’m harboring a wanted man.” You grinned. “Best to have plausible deniability.”

“Fair enough.” Steve stiffened as you cut your way up his pant leg, getting close to his hip.

“Captain,” You paused. “I’m going to do my best to respect your modesty, but I’ve got to get these off.”

He frowned again, but nodded. You figured casual conversation would set him at ease.

“So,” you started. “Gary seems to like you. He doesn’t like most strangers. Are you a dog person?”

“I love dogs.” His lip curved up. “Never had one of my own, but yeah.”

He groaned as you pulled the remnants of his pants from beneath him. He wore black boxer briefs and you did your very best not admire his muscular thighs as you tucked a quilt around him. “It’s pretty amazing you’re even conscious. Is healing part of the whole super soldier thing?”

“Most times,” He ground his teeth together as you got the pieces of his uniform top off. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t painful, though.”

“I can only imagine. I don’t have anything very strong, but I might have one or two painkillers left from rehab after my last surgery. You’re welcome to them. Or a stiff drink?”

“Won’t help,” he huffed a pained laugh. “It would take more than you have, and I could down a bottle and not get drunk. More of that super soldier stuff.”

“Well, that sucks. Did they hide that disclaimer in the fine print or something?”

He laughed, and winced. “Oh, stop that. It hurts to laugh.”

“Sorry.” You grinned and bundled up his ruined clothes. “Any friendlies going to be looking for you?”

“Not for a couple days.”  

You could see him fading fast. “Okay then, you rest. I’m going to get rid of this and bring you something to drink, something to eat too.”

By the time you returned with a large bottle of water, a turkey sandwich, and a pair of pajama bottoms your ex-boyfriend left at your house, the Captain was out cold.

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[atlas-is-falling]

IM SO SICK AND TIRED OF THERE BEING NO CHARLOTTE X READERS ANYWHERE.

So heres my attempt. I haven't written in a good few years so excuse my everything.

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The damp rotting stench of gideon meat plant filled your lungs. 'Great' you thought. This place wasn't exactly fun, but at least it wasn't unfamiliar. The entity had ensnared another survivor and killer, forcing them into its twisted game, witch without a doubt meant that the killers home realm would become yet another killing ground soon.

You knelt at the end of a generator, sparking the wires between your fingers, the pistons slowly creaking to life. It had become almost second nature now, your muscle memory letting you look around whilst working.

A sharp scream off in the distance made you jump. It was meg. She must have been the first found. You steadied yourself waiting for the second scream, signaling she had been incapacitated and as expected it echoed the halls not long after.

Great. You thought. It's not myers or ghostface and it most likely isn't one of the chainsaw weilders. There was a faint nagging in the back of your skull that made you stop. What if it was the new one. The one you had no idea about. Hell, even Elodie didnt know anything about them and she came in with them. It was strange. Normally the killers have something in common with the survivor they're bought in with but no one could place it with Elodie and these Brutish twins.

Your generator roared to life the lights around you flickering on and the door to your left opened with a grinding rusted metal groan.

A sound caught you off guard. A quiet distant growling. It sounded like it was getting nearer. You ducked into a locker not far from the gen. Thank whatever gods there are that meg taught you how to silently jump into a locker.

The small creature rounded the corner almost instantly, almost crawling. It was the new killer. No. Killers.

You had yet to face them. David and jake were horrified after coming back to the campfire post trial with them. "How is it fair that they can be in 2 places at once." The entity didnt care for fairness and you all knew that deep down.

The small creature slowed snapping its gaze around the room. In an instant it jumped full force at the locker you were in gripping the handles with its little talons. It knew you were here. And if what jake said was true that means she wasn't far behind.

You struggled violently against the locker door. Finaly breaking through. Right. Up the stairs and down the pig silo. Try and loose them. Just as you grasped the hand rail the larger of the creatures turned the corner. You locked eyes with her. She wasn't much older than you. Scars adorned every inch of flesh you could see,her hair matted down by dirt and blood.

You made the vault without taking a hit and landed heavily at the bottom. You crept behind some blue waste tanks hoping she'd assume youd ran.

The loud clank of pans and a loud grunt of pain filled the room. There she was. The sound of 2 generators going off in the distance caught her atention. She gazed around the room one last time, her eyes faded clearly used to the dark, before leaving for the complete generators.

You stood rooted to the ground. She looked like shed been through hell, no doubt because of the little gremlin growing on her chest.

A scream and the sound of a gong, shook you from your thoughts. She might look like she needs a hug but right now shes trying to kill you and your friends. You edged your way through the meat plant, through the freezer, to the bathroom. The entity always placed a gen in there. It was like a sick challenge, 'do the gen in the most inescapable location and I'll reward you.'

A soft heartbeat rang out through your ears. She was coming. The soft screech of that small creature echoed off of the concrete walls from the other side of the building. The heartbeat rose in speed and volume she was coming and she was mad.

Locker. Again. Shed probably expect it but it's a little more safe than running straight to her. She trudged into the bathroom in a fit of rage. She hit the generator with her rusted bloody sickle, the gen sparking and crackling dead as she did so.

She turned slowly to the locker you were in. Eyes darting between the 3 red safe havens the entity so graciously placed in the room. She took a step forward scanning the grating on the front. Your eyes locking with hers yet again. That icy gaze making your body feel like stone.

She swung open the doors, her weapon landing in the splintering wood next to you. You stood unmoved, staring in awe at her frostbitten scarred face.

She seemed uncomfortable. Like she expected you to scream, flail or try to run.

A worn hand locked around your throat as she hurled you onto her shoulder.

You panicked the situation setting in. She walked carelessly to the basement next to the bathroom. The rusted metal hook sliding into the meat of your shoulder without any struggle. She stood back, looking you up and down.

You dont know where the confidence came from but you forced words from your throat.

"You.. have pretty- eyes.." you sputtered a small amount of blood dribbling from your mouth as you did.

She stood rigid, as if shed never received a compliment before. You could see the cogs in her head turning as she attempted to process your words. She settled for an appreciative grunt and a half smile as she dragged her feet out of the basement.

Everything went black for a few moments after that. The entities claws slowly descending to claim you. Yui must have snuck down because the next thing you knew she was angrily grumbling about you knowing better than hiding in a locker in bathroom and healing the deep hole in your shoulder. The last gen popped, the sound of meg being hooked rattling the plant, the entity claiming her. This wasn't over yet.

Yui suggested splitting up and heading to opposite sides of the building to get both doors that way at least one of them would get out.

You were halfway up the stairs before you saw her. It was the larger twin. She stood lifeless staring at the ground, hair falling gently over her face. Your curiosity must have gotten the best of you, legs moving on their own.

You stood beneath her. Hand mere centimetres from her face. This was crazy. You were deluded. But there you were, hand on the brutalised flesh of someone ordered to kill you.

Yui's screech shook the plant. The smaller one must have got her..

The slight rattle in the killers chest caught you off guard. She was looking at you. Those same frosted eyes as before, quizzical but not annoyed. She raised a hand to yours, the loud thudding in your chest back with a vengeance. She took it in her own motioning towards the door with her weapon. Yui must have tore the thing from her back the loud crack of the other door opening making you jump and the killer let out a harsh sigh.

"écume maléfique." She murmured.

Yui had gotten away.

She turned to you, the door now open. She tilted her head, didnt you realise she was letting you go? Leave before she changes her mind.

You smiled softly to her before turning away to leave. 'She seemed nice.' You thought, forgetting she had murdered meg and some other poor survivor you didnt even see.

The campfire came into view and you colapsed next to yui who was cheering to nea about how heroically she saved me and got out against those horrific twins.

It didnt sit right with you. She was around your age. Clearly just as emotionally ruined as some of the survivors who surrounded you. It felt wrong.

Yui's jab to your side broke your train of thought.

"And this lazy fuck was in a locker in bathroom." She announced, "I expect that crap from dwight, not you!"

You snorted. Smiling at her lighthearted insult.

"A bit quiet arent ya, (Y/N)?" Bill interrupted, "everything alright? Well. Aside from the usual."

You panicked, still processing the fact the killer let you go.

"Yeah.. it's just.. she was chasing me," you lied, "and then she let me go.. like, she let me open the door."

The campfire fell silent.

"That's odd.." felix added. The whole campfire quieting down to hone in on this conversation.

"Try not to think about it." Bill reassured you. "Chances are you wont see that monster again for a while."

You nodded, still unsure of your feelings. Sliding down off of the log and pulling your knees into your chest. The fire offered little warmth but it was welcomed. You gazed into the flames. It was calming.

Not quite as calming as those eyes, though.

[zmediaoutlet]

(read on AO3)

Sam’s cast comes off in Youngstown, Ohio. Dean offers to buzz it off with a chainsaw and Sam rolls his eyes. They go to an Urgent Care instead. Dean sends Sam inside with a fake insurance card that says Scott Smalls and idles in the lot for a while, watching the sliding glass doors. It’s cold and he doesn’t want to be here. There’s nowhere else to be. He wants to be sitting in there with Sam making fun of him for getting his arm fucked up by some co-eds ghost. He wants—

A motel. Two beds because—two beds. He orders pizza, extra mushrooms and sausage, and walks to the liquor store next door, and the clerk is one of those guys who looks at Dean’s mouth before he meets Dean’s eyes. Dean adds a bag of chips from the impulse rack to his pile and smiles with lots of teeth.

He has a drink. He refills his flask. He sits on the bed with his bags on it and looks at the other bed, and then he gets out his shotgun and cleans it, trying to focus: there’s the barrel in his hands and the smooth sweep of the brush, and the oil that needs applying here, and there. The heavy action of the trigger. He points the barrel at the purple carpet between his boots and pulls the trigger, feeling it, and makes the pew gun sound to the empty room. He lets the barrel sink down to the floor and lets his head sink, too, his shoulders tight and his spine feeling like it’s slotted wrong into his back, somehow, like from the base of his skull all the way down to his tailbone it’s an inch off. How long since he slept well? He can’t remember. That haunted hotel—

The pizza arrives. He tips the kid a ten and asks for extra parmesan. First slice hot enough that he burns the roof of his mouth like always. He eats it fast, anyway, and then sits back in the weird vinyl bucket chair at the table, tipping his head back. He’s tired. Tired, tired. The ceiling has a stain like a coffee spill, a pale brown lake spread on the popcorn, and he looks at it. Imagines a lake of coffee to swim in. Imagines adding creamer, sweet’n’low. How it’d swirl through the seaweed. Caffeinated fish. Fuck, he’s tired. He’s tonguing the blister forming behind his front teeth when his phone beeps. Out in two minutes. Dean presses his tonguetip up into the tender spot where it aches, sits there and looks at the phone screen for a while, and then goes to get his brother.

Sam takes a shower when they get back, ignoring the pizza. “Getting cold,” Dean says, but Sam’s throwing off his big brown coat onto the same bed that Dean’s bags are on and he says, “I know, but—ugh, I forgot how weird this feels, I need to—” and he’s pulling off his shirts over his head so Dean doesn’t quite hear what he needs but there’s Sam smooth tanned back and his hair all ruffled up around his head before he finally makes it into the bathroom, and the water crashes on, and Dean turns his face away from Sam stripping all the way down and thinks, screw it, and has his share of the pizza while he’s waiting.

Sam smiled when he saw the car, even if Dean left him standing out there by the entrance for ten minutes. He waved so Dean could see his freed hand, and he'd blown into the passenger seat in a billow of cold air and the smell of antiseptic, and he'd sighed like it was a relief. "Doctor didn't cut my arm off," he said, with a smile like he was sharing a joke, and Dean found his mouth tugging up, like it hadn't done in, what. Six hundred miles. Since Massachusetts. It still worked. Imagine that.

Sam’s always fast in the shower, because he doesn’t appreciate the finer things in life. The water shuts off when Dean's uncapping a beer to wash down his half-a-pizza and so Dean uncaps a second and sets it on the other side of the table. Rattle of the shower rings, and then through the open rectangle of the doorway Sam's arm appears, weird pale flash as he yanks the purple towel off the rack above the crapper. Dean swivels his chair around to face the doorway and drinks his beer, stretching out in hopes that somehow his spine will align right if he gets long enough, and so he's watching when Sam reappears—same old boxers tugged on, white undershirt, rubbing his hair dry uncareful and fast. Dean swallows a too-big gulp of beer and coughs. Sam, hunched over the toilet, white shirt and sweat in his hair. A secret clanging in Dean's throat. But—no—Sam walks out into the room bringing the smell of pine-fresh and damp and he says, "Man, I needed that," and he says, "I'm starving, did you get—" and Dean pushes the extra parm packets toward him, and Sam drops down easy into the other stupid bucket chair like he hasn't got a care in the world, like everything's hunky-dory because he asked Dean please to kill him, if it weren't any trouble, if things got too bad. Cast off and hair clean and food in front of him and his world seems to be spinning right. He slept, all the way through Pennsylvania. There aren't any dark circles under his eyes.

Plenty of cold pizza in their past. Sam eats and makes a surprised sound at the second, third bite. "Actually pretty good," he says, through a half-full mouth, and Dean nods. Feels too hard to form a sentence. He tongues the blister, watches Sam. "You check the news?" Sam says, and the remote's right there on Dean's side of the open pizza box so he finds a channel. The volume's so low he can't make out the words as the anchor-lady's mouth shapes them. The caption below says Robberies Continue. Sam squints at the television and shrugs a shoulder, and sips his beer, and they sit there quiet while Sam finishes his dinner and watches the news, and Dean sits and watches Sam.

He's been bulking up. Dean doesn't see his shoulders bared like this, not enough. Not nearly enough. His shoulders, and his arms swelling out of the short sleeves of that undershirt. Tan, still, somehow, even when it's been so cold and half the time they're both bundled up under coats—except for his healed-up arm, skinny and pale, the hair on it dark enough to look black. Sam's wrist is white, so that the veins stand out thick blue when he lifts the beer bottle, and Dean's thinking, blueblood. Blood. Blood of my blood, bone of my bone. Where did he read that? Somewhere. A romance novel, maybe, or maybe somewhere else, but now that he's thought it it's stuck in his head. Sam finishes his beer and Dean's just sitting there, tired, and his back still hurts, and Sam's shoulders are beautiful, and those bones, they're Dean's, aren't they? The bones that make his shoulders that broad and that make him that tall, the ones in his wrist that healed up finally, the long solid bones of his thighs and his shin and his sharp knees that get Dean, sometimes, in the night, if they fall asleep somehow together. How could he ever think that Dean would. How could he make Dean make that promise. When it'd be like breaking his own arm. His spine.

He's had—a gulp of whiskey, a beer. Two beers. Not enough booze to be thinking about this. Sam pushes his better hand through his hair, settling messy and half-dry around his head, and holds his beer with the pale hand, and flexes his fingers around the brown glass, closing them again. Dean pushes his tongue hard around the hard ridge of the roof of his mouth and says, "Hey, Sammy," and it comes out brittle, weird. Sam looks at him. Mild furrow, mouth soft. The TV-light on his cheek. Dean licks his lips and Sam's eyes drop, like they do, when Dean licks his lips, when Sam sees his mouth and isn't thinking about other things. Dean wants not to think. It'll do.

The move to his knees isn't graceful. He sort of slumps out of his chair. Sam's already spun away from the table to watch the newscast and Dean can get right up inside the spread of his legs, and he grips Sam's shins and drags his hands up and Sam says, "What," startled, but just at the speed Dean thinks rather than at the action. He slides his hands up over Sam's knees and gets his thighs, ropy muscle rather than thick, and he squeezes up there where Sam's boxers end and Sam says, quiet, "Dean?" but Dean doesn't—he just doesn't want to talk about it, at all.

"You're killing me, Smalls," he says, a joke that's barely a joke so Sam'll just let him do it. And Sam huffs, and touches the back of his hand with the fingers of the hand that was hurt, and Dean ignores that and slides up and up inside the leg of Sam's boxer shorts until he finds—the warm heavy weight of his nuts, and his dick, soft now but warm, warm. Sam pulls in air above him and Dean kneels up higher, ass up on his bootheels, sliding his other hand around to Sam's hip, to his ass. Leaning in, over Sam's lap, and Sam's up above him and touches the back of his neck instead, inside the leather collar of his coat, his finger sliding underneath the cord of Dean's amulet, his nail scratching a little while Dean squeezes, feels. Warm—the surge of blood—and Dean knows how to do this, always has, and he switches his grip to underhand and pulls, feeling Sam lengthen, thicken up, the head bumping the inside of his wrist. A squeeze at his shoulder and he shifts, grips the sloped arm of the chair with his free hand instead. Sam's legs spread wider and Dean pushes up the leg of the shorts to see—Sam's dick, full and flushed, the rosy-red head and the weight of it, the ropy vein along the underside that Dean runs his fingers along, feeling. The heavy shape of his sack still caught up in the thin cotton, warm and full, and Sam's fingers curl against the back of his neck, his hips tipping flat in the chair, his breath—against the back of Dean's ear—and Dean dips, licks his mouth wet and sucks the head in, and Sam says, "Fuck," soft but meaning it, meaning it. His hand slides from Dean's shoulder to his back, between his shoulderblades, and Dean tips his head and bolsters Sam's dick up and slides down, filling his mouth. Tasting. Clean, but still that bite of salt that makes it—Sam. That familiar taste, curling up under his tongue, making his mouth water. Making it right.

Sam's quiet, mostly. Lets Dean work. Dean sucks slow, doesn't use the tricks he knows. Slicks his tongue fat against the sweet soft ridge there at the head and feels Sam's thighs clench, and sits with his lips broken-open and lets Sam pulse thick and needing up against his soft palate. He slides his hands back down Sam's thighs and grips under Sam's knee, feels it tip in and dig into his side. He hums and Sam says, "Jesus," quietly, and then he laughs a little and says, "You're killing me, man," and Dean pulls off and looks at him, holding the fat pole of his dick warm in one hand, and Sam's looking at him—dark red pooled in the hollows of his cheeks and streaked down his throat, and his hair all fluffed and dry, and his eyes dark, bright. Lips red. Dean reaches up, drags his thumb over them, and Sam lets him—lets Dean's thumb drag his lower lip down, so Dean can see the white of his teeth—and Dean pumps Sam's dick wet in his fist and then ducks back down and sucks it in, meaning to finish the job this time, and it's not long really before Sam's clenching and gripping at him and lifting his hips helpless and pumping into him, his thighs shaking, his hands greedily tight at the back of Dean's neck and then soft, apologizing. When the bruise is already there. Dean swallows, keeps his mouth there. Sam's thighs jerk and close around his shoulders and Dean holds his balls through the thin barrier of the boxers and sucks, steady, making Sam shudder and say, "Too—too much, jesus—Dean—" but he doesn't shove Dean off and so Dean doesn't stop, taking everything he can until Sam's soft, heavy and sore inside his mouth, and only then does Dean pull back, and tuck his forehead down against Sam's leg, and breathe, slow.

His lips feel fat, tender. He's got his hands curled around Sam's hips but they're loose, and his legs have gone to sleep from kneeling so long but—he doesn't feel like moving, so they can just stay that way. He lets his head tip and Sam's fingers touch the little hollowish spot right at the very top of his spine. "Can I…?" says Sam, but Dean shakes his head as much as he can caught there in Sam's lap. He's hard, sort of, but it feels distant. Sam's thumb slides behind his ear. Dean sighs. He realizes, after a while, that his back doesn't hurt.

"You going to stay there all night?" Sam says, later.

Dean lifts his head. The room feels bright although he knows it isn't. Sam's dick has gone small, curled against his thigh, and Dean tugs his boxer-leg down so it's hidden again. A snort, above. Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and his lips smear, tacky. He needs water. Sam's taste—bitter, but not as bitter as he could be—caught up in his mouth. He sits back and Sam sits forward, almost too fast, and he catches Dean's head between his hands and kisses him, shocky-quick, so Dean's still blinking and surprised when Sam lifts up, and looks him in the eyes. Dean licks his lips and it still tastes like Sam.

Sam thumb drags along his cheek. "C'mon," he says, and stands up, and pulls Dean along. Oh—rush of blood, pins and needles. Dean staggers and Sam catches him, steadies him. Even the thin arm with its fresh-healed bones, strong and sturdy. How does he manage it, Dean wonders. He's dizzy from the change in elevation, from being so tired. From taking Sam and yet never, ever being able to—to make Sam see—

"When did you sleep last?" Sam says, and drops Dean on the empty bed. Sam's bed. There's a glass of water, then, and Sam says, "Dude, take your boots off at least," so Dean drinks the water and takes off his boots, and his leather coat too, and lays down off-kilter. The mattress is softer than he thought it'd be. Sam sits next to him, backlit by the lamp, and Dean looks at the ends of his hair caught almost bronze, and the way the hairs on his arm gild the line of it, and how his body—his bones—

"Sorry," Sam says, but he doesn't sound sorry. Dean turns his head the other way on the pillow and squeezes his eyes closed. "I'll get you back in the morning. Will you even remember?"

I'll remember, Dean says, or maybe he only thinks it. Sam's weight sinks the bed at Dean's side, and he's just about to fall asleep when there's a shift and it's gone. He dreams of lakes, dark, and a cast on his arm dragging him down into the deep water.

[monochromemedic]

Ashy Slashy

“What is that Ash?” “A long story, look for some reason that damn sky spider took all my hands and left me with this. Luckily it works... somehow.” He huffed raising the felt puppet on his hand and moving it’s mouth open and closed. “Listen if it starts saying shit, it ain’t me and you gotta cut this thing off pronto, you got me?” I stared into the black button eyes of the muppet, noticing how it was modeled directly after the man holding it. “So... it’s alive?” “Deadite, but I don’t know if those things are ‘alive’. Frankly I don’t give a shit, they all should be dead but the world ain’t perfect.” He grumbled twisting his hand towards himself to look the creature in the eyes. “You hear me? You should be dead buddy.” Silence. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I tried to picture what exactly this thing could do that was dangerous.  With all the stories Ash told, even the most mundane things could become dangerous when possessed by Evil. But those things usually transformed or had a dangerous quality to them already, some supernatural strength or claws and fangs. Unless this thing would suddenly grown bones, it’d have to be a rather weak demon wouldn’t it? Then again, that’s usually how these things work, they’d prey on your naive nature, your fears, every weakness you had, that was the deadites strength.  The night seemed to carry on without much trouble. Not a single sound from the puppet’s mouth despite the glares, insults and abuse from Ash to try to get it to talk. It was obvious he was paranoid, then again why wouldn’t he be. A deadite on your hand that you had to have or else be left without a limb. Sure he could have taken it off but having to be ready to run off into the fog at a moments notice to fight for your life was probably a good reason to take a risk, that or he couldn’t.... A few times I saw him walk off to the darkness, out of the light of the campfire to pull and yank at the puppet to no avail. He’d eventually sigh and go to the bathroom or return to the soft bustle of activity, acting like nothing had happened. As the ‘night’ carried on people began to settle in, grabbing their sleeping bags, ripped up mattresses or walking off into wherever the campfire had put us to find a place to sleep. Usually it was somewhere with enough stray objects to entertain ourselves, or something we could call our own private area at least until the campfire moved us to another campfire in another realm. I grabbed my blankets and pillows, settling down besides Ash’s stained mattress for the night. Ash’s chest rose and fell in monotonous motions, his face caught in a strange scene of peace. I smiled, beginning to close my eyes only to catch the shape of the puppet staring directly at me. A wave of discomfort flooded my senses and my brows knitted anxiously. He couldn’t be alive. Ash was trying all day to get him to speak, and deadites usually break a few minutes in. I just had to relax, I was just getting paranoid. “You got a staring problem toots?” My eyes shot back towards the puppet, it’s head now tilted at an angle it wasn’t at before.  Oh god Ash wasn’t crazy... “Well? I know I’m the most handsome guy around but unfortunately I’m not into fatties. But if I turn my head now maybe I can make it work...” He spoke, his pacman mouth opening and closing with every word. I’d feel insulted, well I did, but if what Ash said as true and he was a Deadite they preyed on the weakness of others.  “Why are you speaking now? You didn’t seem to speak to Ash all day.” I hissed, remembering Ash’s words to kill it as soon as it talked. As much as I’d love to tak his word, if what I saw was true Ash couldn’t get him off, and so I’d have to make a bit of a scene to try. And what to pry him off with was another question I didn’t have the answers to at the moment. “Like I could speak to him, not since what happened last time. It was like a bad break up, real messy.” The puppet smacked his chainsaw hand against Ash’s nose, moving the real Ash’s arm in the process. How the hell did he do that? How much control did he have over Ash? “So you gonna take me up on the deal? I’ve had to hold this guy’s dick in my mouth when he pissed, a guy could use a little stress relief. A motorboat would really get my motor running~” The puppet shook his head, making a loud motor boating sound as it lurched forward. I quickly grabbed it’s head and pushed it back, alarmed by how fast this thing could move. “Get the hell away from me you creep, you should be lucky I haven’t killed you by now.” “You really gonna listen to Ash’s tall tales. He’s probably going through dementia, he can’t remember what he had for breakfast. However, I know alot.” I raised a brow, sitting up from my collections of blankets and pillows. “What are you on about?” “I got a direct line to Ash’s twisted mind. Every and any dark secret you ever wanted to know from the man, I could give you for a low price.”  “...Any secret?” “Any. Secret. And oh boy does this guy keep em. First kiss, most embarrassing moment, what he’s packing... it’s all yours. All we gotta do is make a deal.” I turned away from the deadite, reaching for my glasses to hopefully find something to pry this guy off. “Sorry but I don’t make deals with demons. Those are Ash’s secrets. If he wants to tell me them, he can of his own free will. Also you could just lie or kill me before telling me anything so.” I moved towards the fire, picking up a nearby stick and lightening the end in fire before returning to the deadite, my hand wrapping around it’s neck tightly. The puppet began to squirm, arms wiggling in panic as the burning wood approached Ash’s arm. “Okay, Okay no deal, I’ll tell you straight up just let me stay on his nub! Don’t you wanna know how he feels about you?” Ashy Slashy squealed, desperation in every movement he could muster. I felt my hand pause, eyes shifting over to the sleeping figure just a few inches away. “He thinks you’re a pathetic little BITCH!” The muppet roared, it’s eyes now white, mouth full of razor sharp teeth. The creature managed to move it’s head in just the right position to sink it’s fangs into my hand causing me to yelp and jerk my hand away in pain. It didn’t let go, and pulled the still sleeping Ash along with him. Was he just a heavy sleeper or was it something unnatural, a forced sleeping state that Ashy Slashy put on him? My eyes darted around the area, at the lack of survivors around us except for Jeff a few feet away. Damn it why was he a heavy sleeper? “Ash wake up! Ash!”  “Too late babycakes, his body is all mine. Been working my way to his noggin all day~” The body jerked and with a sudden jolting movement  Ash sat up, his head slowly turning to face me despite his closed eyes. No way, was Ash really gone? No... no that couldn’t be, Ash survived hell and back, no way a stupid felt puppet was the one to do him in. The real Ash’s other arm shot out, gripping my shirt to pull me closer to his body. Ash could easy over power me, one hand or not. I still had a chance, I still had the stick. But where to aim? If the puppet really did have full control over Ash, would trying to jolt him awake by burning him do anything? I gripped the stick hard, using all my strength to pierce the puppet’s eye with the burning wood. A spurt of blood erupted from the socket, staining the felt and earning a scream from the bastard. A scream that lasting just long enough for it’s teeth to dislodge from my hand. I yanked the stick from the creature and began to scramble for Jeff, managing to grab the edge of his sleeping bag just as Ash’s arm wrapped around my leg, yanking me towards the fire pit. “You dumb whore, I was gonna go easy on you!” Ashy hissed, pushing my bare foot into the embers of the pit, causing a scream to rip from my chest. “Mmm, flame broiled bitch. My favorite!” The pain was intense and every second longer my foot stayed in the fire, the more I could feel the nerve endings begin to die, the smell of burning flesh filling the air around us. I gasped and pushed down the bile that began to form the more I thought about what was happening, trying to focus on the situation. I could do this, I just needed to wake Jeff up. I jabbed the stick into Jeff’s leg, twisting and digging the wood until it splintered under my strength. Jeff may have been a heavy sleeper, but even he wasn’t immune to being stabbed awake. His head rose sharply, nose scrunched in anger, ready to angrily bark at whoever caused him to wake, only to catch sight of the scene unfolding in front of him. “Jeff! Get the puppet off of Ash!” His eyes darted to Slashy, it’s head tilting at the new player in the game. “You really think homeless Jesus is gonna help you? You just made this one course meal a buffet! Jeff didn’t question me for a second, lurching forward and yanking with all his might at the creatures base. A loud, wet, ripping sound filled the air, one that seemed to grow in volume before being silenced by a clothesline strike from Ash, knocking Jeff to the ground. We laid in awe of the sight before us, crawling away from the lumbering figure that stood before us. Ash’s arm was soaked in rotten blood, blood not from himself but from the creature sitting atop his mutilated wrist. Where a clean cut should have been was instead tendons, ripped and torn connecting fabric to flesh. The muscles began to stretch, as Ashy rose, a mess of muscles raising it further from Ash’s arm like a cobra ready to strike.  The small chainsaw began to rev, before Slashy lurched towards Jeff, the umbilical cord snapping with such force a splatter of crimson painted the grass around us. Jeff’s raised hand was no protection from the saw, cutting into his palm with ease. If it wasn’t so tiny, it could have easily cut straight though the shield and into the skull of the survivor. Jeff cried in pain but tried his best to latch on to the puppet, following the only instructions he was given. I knew I had to help, despite the numbing pain in my foot, despite the horror pounding in my chest. We were getting somewhere, we could save Ash. I pushed myself upwards, rushing and slamming my weight against the slumbering chosen one. I felt his body follow through, our body’s falling against the mattress in a spray of blood and stray tendons. I heard the deadite scream in agony, screaming expletives before increasing in volume as Jeff threw it into the firepit, a surge of light erupting from the pit for the new kindling it had received. For a moment all was quiet. No screams, no sounds of movement. Only the sounds of ragged breaths and the roar of a well fed fire. My fingers clawed at Ash’s shirt, my nose brushing against his jawline as I begged for him to wake up. “Ash... Ashley? Ash, please wake up, come on...” I gritted my teeth, tears beginning to prick the edges of my eyes as I began to fear for the worse. “Wake up you old bastard!” I slapped his cheek, fingers leaving fresh lines of blood along his skin. The shock of pain seemed to do the trick as he groaned in pain, eyes snapping open. “Hng! Huh? What? What are you doing...on me...” His voice trailed off as he saw the gore in front of him, the man nursing his wound a few feet away, the bloodied clothes of the people around him. He cautiously raised his hand, seeing the puppet was no longer in his place but instead was place in the fire, the only trail of it was the strange muscly appendage that decorated the ground, leading it’s way back to Ash. “I knew that creep was up to something... I shouldn’t have gone to sleep.” Ash muttered, a tinge of regret lingering with every word. True regret for what had happened as if he had some control over the situation. I felt his arms wrap around me, his big hand beginning to rub circles to try to give some comfort to the horrifying situation. “He had you move... You weren’t waking up, I thought you... “ “Shh, hey... I wouldn’t go out like that are you kidding me? I ain’t going out to a muppet rip off.”  I shuttered against him, burying my face into his chest to hide the hot wet tears that began to fall with every shaky breath. He didn’t seem to judge, knowing the fear of losing loved ones all too well.

[bearhatarmy]

I really really miss photography. 

Photography feels like an old friend I’ve lost touch with. It pains me greatly that I just don’t have the energy or stamina to do it anymore. It really filled a creative void after I was unable to create my original comedy posts any longer. My illness keeps taking and taking from me and it is a challenge to find ways to adapt and cope.

The saddest part is that I felt like I was just starting to master photography as an art form. I was at that point where I could instinctively do all of the technical things and concentrate purely on the art. Lighting was becoming intuitive to me instead of a complicated puzzle I had to solve each time.

Yes, I took a lot of photos that I am really proud of. (Which I am spreading throughout this post).

But sometimes I mourn the photos I could have taken if my chronic illness hadn’t worsened.

It’s also hard seeing the new cameras and lights that have been released since I had to stop. I *just* missed a technological revolution. New features that would have allowed me to do more with less energy. To push the boundaries of my creativity. To get shots I could only dream of back then.

Full frame mirrorless cameras have opened up so many creative possibilities. The low light performance, the detail, the dynamic range--it has all been improved greatly in just a few years. But there are also many automated usability features that allow the camera to offload work and concentration from the brain. These new digital wonders can even be used as cinematic quality video cameras--something I would have liked to have explored.

I had to take these match photos in a pitch-black room, with a reversed lens, with no control over my aperture, and a manual flash. It took forever to time it properly because I had a whopping 3 frames per second. It would have been a cinch with a mirrorless camera, with super fast burst modes and an electronic viewfinder. You can see exactly what your image will look like before snapping it. But you can also “see in the dark” using a high ISO preview. Before you had to use a live view mode on the back screen. But on older cameras that mode was clunky and slow and... it just sucked.

Enlarge!

MOAR BIGGER!

Weirdly, one of the biggest advances is due to a shortened “flange distance” where the lens connects to the camera body. It seems like a small thing. Literally only a centimeter or so. But because of the lack of mirror, camera designers are able to move the lens closer to the sensor and design more advanced lenses with incredible sharpness. Combined with increased megapixel counts, that would have been amazing for my macro photos.

Electronic viewfinders take the guesswork out of exposure--even in bright sunlight where screens get washed out from glare. And being able to compose portraits with highly accurate eye-tracking autofocus would have been a tremendous advantage. 

No more “focus and recompose.” 

No more “Did I get the eye? Let me zoom to 100% on this tiny screen.” 

I could have spent more of my concentration getting natural expressions from my subjects and composing my photos without distraction.

And IBIS! 

I missed out on motherhecking IBIS!

This photo of my wonderful friend Erin was taken handheld at sunset. The original RAW version was extremely dark--even though I was using a high ISO. I had to do a ton of work to get this to not look like noisy garbage. But there just wasn’t any other way to capture it... UNTIL NOW.

IBIS (eye-bus/👀-🚌) or “in-body image stabilization,” allows the camera sensor to kind of... float. You can eliminate camera shake caused by the subtle micro-movements when handholding. 

How do I explain it? Ummmm...

It turns the sensor into a chicken head.

So instead of increasing the ISO (which is like a volume knob for light which gets grainier as you crank it), you can lower your shutter speed. In the past, depending on the lens, 1/60th of a second was about as slow as you could set it. With IBIS, as long as the scene you are capturing is relatively still, you can take photos in very low light without a tripod. This is great because tripods are a pain in the ass and you can’t always have one handy. Plus, you can combine an IBIS camera with a stabilized lens to get a de-blurrification multiplier. Then you can get sharp handheld photos that are technically considered long exposure. I’ve heard people say they got sharp photos exposing at several seconds. Literally going from a fraction of a second to 2 goddamn Missisisppi. I can’t even quantify how many fantastic photos are being taken right now that would have been unusable blurry messes a few years ago. We get to enjoy these photos all because they installed a chicken head inside cameras.

AND DARN IT ALL TO HECK I HECKING MISSED IT, GOSH HECKING DANG IT!. 

Sorry... didn’t mean to curse like a sailor that stubbed his toe while stepping on a Lego. 

I think I’ll have a cool refreshing root beer to calm my IBIS envy.

(Those water droplets are a total fraud, by the way. It’s fake blood without the red added.) 

And with the progress in battery and wireless technology, artificial lighting has become lighter and more portable while still being powerful enough to compete with the sun. I could have used strobe lights in my little studio, packed them up into a small case, and gone to the middle of the field to use them there.

Yes, I was able to convert my old studio lights to be “portable-ish” but we had to lug so much equipment to accomplish this photo of Brittany in the red dress. The battery pack alone weighed as much as one modern light. I was stuck in bed for a week afterward from all of the carrying of heavy gear.

Before that, this was my hacked together “outdoor” light. The Flash-O-Tron 3000. It looks cool but it was delicate and hard to get through doorways.

After charging 12 AA batteries overnight, I had to drag this contraption outside at the buttcrack of dawn to get my favorite photo of Otis. 

I had to use a handheld mirror to reflect my popup flash in the direction of the Flash-O-Tron 3000 to trigger it. It worked about 25% of the time. Oh, and I was laying on cold wet grass, manually tracking Otis--who refused to sit still. I had to line up a single autofocus point on his head for every snap. The concentration required felt like my brain was juggling chainsaws.

But guess what they invented last year?

PET. EYE. AUTOFOCUS. 

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? 

A little robot inside the camera is all, “Hey, that’s your dog’s eye!” and just follows it no matter where your pup moves.

I NEEDED THAT SO BAD!

This shot took 10 minutes of me trying to lock onto his eye with a macro lens. The depth of field at that distance was the width of his eye and, again, he does not sit still. 

I want a time machine so I can go back and retake every blurry Otis photo. 

Also, many of the modern strobes have NO WIRES. You just stick a thing on top of your camera and you can set off lights several football fields away. My photo studio has tons of wires routed in the ceiling and coming out of the walls. 

[Hi-Res Version]

And then those wires all go into a weird analog remote with old school sliders that controlled the power of the flashes. But the sliders were difficult to finely adjust.

Now you can load an app on your phone and adjust the flash power digitally and adjust the brightness in 10% increments. You can save lighting ratios and recall them instantly. And you can preview your work with high powered LED modeling lights so you don’t have to take 50 test shots. 

No more nudging a light and taking a picture. Raising the power and taking a picture. Swapping out a modifier and taking a picture. Back and forth, back and forth. 

Essentially, what you see is what you get, so setting up lighting takes a fraction of the time and effort with these new lights and cameras. That would have been so helpful with my disability.

Oh... the lights are less expensive too.

The future of camera tech looks exciting as well. I think the computational photography that is in the latest smartphones will soon be added to more professional cameras. That is going to make high-end photography so much more accessible to anyone who wants to try it as a hobby. The learning curve will flatten further, and as long as you are creative, you will be able to take beautiful, high-quality photos.

Some might say that not having all of the new tech helped me gain important experience, expertise, and problem-solving skills. Some believe the inconveniences are a photographer’s trial by fire. The struggle makes the art more authentic. And since I learned how to do it the hard way, my journey is more valid than some photography influencer on Instagram with an iPhone.

To that I say... BULLLLLSHEEIIIT.

Those inconveniences just made me SUPER DUPER TIRED.

And some of those influencers take really kickass photos. Not all of them are butts either.

I love photography but there is a reason I had to stop. Like anything, doing it well was a lot of work. I always ended up having to quit taking photos much sooner than I wanted. I had to scale back my ambition to fit my energy requirements. I could only do photography on days when my body was cooperating fully. I had to cancel many photoshoots because the preparation was just too much to handle. And after my bigger projects it took me forever to recover.

GIVE ME ALL THE CONVENIENCES PLEASE.

That “you have to struggle” attitude is no-good-gatekeepy-ableist crap. 

Old photographer grumps are upset because they spent years learning how to focus manually on horseback and use the sunny 16 rule and develop film in a converted shed they built by hand and now “those darn kids” can use an iPhone on a skateboard while doing a kickflip with their eyes closed and still pull focus.

However, despite there being a lower barrier for entry, the technological improvements add new complications to the advanced side of things. So you can make photography as difficult as you desire if you are willing to learn new stuff. Which old school photo grumps are notoriously averse to.

This new tech has all kinds of novel things to discover and figure out. There is drone photography. There is advanced macro photography using robotic focusing rails and ever-improving focus stacking software. You can now network more lights together than ever before. Karl Taylor did a photoshoot with 12 lights! (Captain Picard would totally lose his shit.) Long lasting batteries and computerized sliders have created new timelapse possibilities. Stabilization software allows complex hyperlapse videos. Better low light performance and sharper lenses with big apertures combined with stacking or star trail software has improved astrophotography. Advances in material science have allowed darker and darker high quality neutral density filters for extreme long exposure photos. New focus tracking algorithms have allowed for wildlife photography that was never possible before. You can capture fast-moving birds in the sky from farther away and still get amazing detail. Faster burst modes allow people to capture split-second action. Never miss a good header at your kid's soccer games. (Is that a thing? I have no kids and don’t remember how to soccer.) IBIS allows photography without a tripod. So now people can trek to harder to reach areas, AT NIGHT, and take sharp photos with little noise. Increased dynamic range and new HDR displays will allow photographers to take images of lights and capture their actual intensity. What if the lights in photos could glow like they do in real life? Think about a neon sign at night in the rain reflecting in a puddle. That would look so neat. 

Not to mention learning how to process photos in editing software is an entirely separate and challenging skillset you can master. There are thousands of techniques you can learn to elevate your images. Dodging & burning, frequency seperation, and compositing, oh my! Programs like Lightroom and Photoshop are constantly updated with new features that expand possibilities.  

None of that is easy. It will all require diligent study and practice to master. Technical skills will always be an aspect of photography that anyone can pursue. But not everyone will need as much technical skill to start having fun and create art. 

And much to the chagrin of those grumps... phones are perfectly viable to create that art and they will keep getting better.

You might find it odd that this love letter and goodbye to photography has so much talk of technical gadgetry. But, for me, it isn’t out of place in this sentimental essay. Technology was my first love. My parents bought me a 66mhz Packard Bell computer when I was 12 and technology was the first thing I was ever good at. I learned every function of that machine. I would sometimes break it just so I could learn how to fix it. I took it apart and put it back together. It was my first true obsessive hobby. I found my creativity soon after, and I immediately used that technology to help me create art. I wrote comedy. I learned how to digitally paint. I recorded music. And eventually I found photography. It was the perfect marriage of technology and art. I could nerd out as much as I want while still getting my creative fix. 

So yeah... I miss it all. 

I miss all of the technical nerdery. I miss trying out new gadgets. I miss editing the photos I’ve taken. I miss taking pictures of my beautiful friends. I miss taking pictures of weird products. I miss asking Delling to call apiaries to find me freshly dead bees so I can take macro shots of their fuzzy little torsos.

I really hope some day I find a treatment that gives me enough energy to take photos again.  

Thankfully my writing helps me feel creative and productive and fulfilled. And it’s something I can do even if I’m not able to get out of bed. And I am grateful I have so many awesome people that actually want to read what I have to say.

So thanks to everyone for that. 

I always find a way to move forward. That’s just the nature of surviving chronic illness. But glancing back at what I lost is a pain I never quite get used to. 

Though, writing this has helped. 

Looking back at all that I accomplished has helped. 

And I do feel lucky I was able to accomplish what I did--even if missing it makes me sad sometimes.  

[heartofsnark]

Black Market Wonderland (Chapter Seven): There’s a dog in your heart

Notes:  Okay, I hate to do this, but I think following this chapter there will be a hiatus for this fic. This chapter took a lot out of me and left me drained, I’ve fallen behind on writing chapters. So, I think I’m going to take a break, get some motivation back, and get some more chapters done in advanced. Thank you all for the support and I hope it won’t be too long before I’m coming back to you with some more chapters. 

Word Count: 13,273

Warnings:  POV Switches, Panic Attacks, Angry Outbursts, Drinking, Drunk Kisses, Masturbation, Wasted Pastries

Missed the last chapter? Link Here!

Tsuneko sighs as she takes a seat on the bus, mostly empty at this early hour. She checks her texts; two from Chisato and one from Sakiko. No messages from Shinobu, this is the longest he’s ever ignored her. She shakes off the thought, bigger problems. 

2:25am

Chisato: Np I’ll take care of kiyo, is something wrong tho? Are you working this late???

7:35am

Chisato: Is something up, you’re never been this late.

7:29am

Sakiko: where r u? erika is pissed u ok?

They must have been working or in a meeting when they messaged her, they didn’t have to check on her. She made Chisato take care of Kiyohito in the middle of the night and made them both worry. She sighs and sends them both quick messages. 

Tsuneko: Thanks so much, sorry for the trouble. I’m fine. I’ll be there soon. 

She searches for a moment before choosing an animated Cinnamoroll sticker that says sorry with the little mascot looking down in shame. 

Tsuneko: I’m headed that way, I’ll deal with Erika, don’t stress.

Sakiko gets another animated Cinnamoroll sticker of him flying that says on my way. It’s something small but the little stickers make her happy, kill her in micro-transactions, but it’s worth it to make her conversations that much cuter. 

Her stomach growls and she slumps further into her seat when a few people stare. Once she’s back she needs to check on Kiyo again for the morning and then hurry her ass into work before Ichinomiya can call her out on being late. 

She opens up Monster Lovers, romancing her favorite snake boy as she waits for the bus to reach the stop nearest the Tres Spades. He’s still acting cold towards her, he’s a kuudere brat and she’d hit him if she didn’t want to kiss him. 

The bus reaches the stop just as she’s reaching a rare soft moment with Tatsumi in his story. She tucks the phone away and gets off, her movements are slow and groggy. Lately, her life just seems to be just one panic attack after another and it’s taking a toll. 

She’s exhausted, it’s like she’s trudging through tar with leaden limbs. Everything is just a half-hearted slow drag of movement. 

A heavy yawn escapes her as she makes it into her dorm to check on Kiyo. He’s sleeping and has plenty of food to last him, Chisato made sure he’d be taken care of just in case. 

She’s content to head back to the hotel when something catches her eye, a bright pink sticky note on her counter. It’s not one of hers, it’s the basic kind found at dollar stores over the cutesy stuff she keeps around. The little note is stuck on top of a large pack of raspberry Kit-Kats. 

Sweets to keep your energy up!~

-Chisato

Chisato thinks Tsuneko is just working extremely late shifts for the penthouse guests, she was texted randomly in the middle of the night and not only took care of Kiyo, but wanted to watch out for Tsuneko too. She didn’t have to do that. Neither of them had to check in on her or worry. Tsuneko isn’t sure what they see in her and it’s only a matter of time only they realize she’s not worth the energy, but for now she’ll enjoy it. 

She’s not sure when she started crying, but her face is wet as she devours the food. The taste soothing and sweet, she swallows down what’s left and guzzles down a soda. 

Tsuneko grabs a quick shower, tears washing down the drain with the water, and throws on some clothes before rushing back to the hotel. The candy seems to have done the trick, if only for a moment she’s able to run and bustle. 

The locker room is vacant, Ichinomiya didn’t schedule or mention any events, so at the very least it’s a normal workday. She throws on a uniform and pulls her hair back. She’ll go to the penthouse first, make sure Ichinomiya doesn’t think she skipped out on work. 

She closes her locker with a harder slam than needed and jerks back when she nearly runs into Erika. The head maid is alone at the moment, not a twin in sight, eyebrows furrowed and hands on her hips. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

Tsuneko’s nerves are already frayed and Erika’s shrill voice is only making matters worse. 

“Look-”

“Do you think just because Mr. Ichinomiya likes you that you can just start slacking off?!” 

“I’m sorry, I’m late, but I’m not in the mood for this shit right now.” 

“You’re not in the mood for this!?” 

“I said I’m sorry, can you just let go, right now.” 

“You just got a major promotion, you can’t afford to stop pulling your weight around here!” 

“If you’re that fuckin’ worried, stop bitching at me and go do your own work!”

“Excuse you!?” 

“Oh my god, would you get off my dick!? I’ve literally never been this late before! I’ve never taken sick days, I’ve never taken a vacation day, and I work over time and cover everyone else’s shifts when they need it! I had one bad day out of a year, excuse the fuck out of me.”

Erika chews her lip and the tension in her face seems to ease for a moment, her eyes soft but her voice stays sharp. 

“What the hell is in your tongue?” 

Tsuneko narrows her eyes, confused for a second, then she feels the metal of her tongue piercing click against the roof of her mouth. Shit, shit, she forgot to take that out. 

“Uhhhh…that would be my tongue ring, which will be removed right stat now.” 

“Don’t be so careless, what if a guest had seen that,” Erika grumbles, her face turning red with irritation as Tsuneko removes the piercing. 

“So, we’re good now?” Tsuneko sticks her tongue out after dropping the piercing in her pocket. 

“Whatever, just get to work.” Erika turns, her cheeks turning a slightly deeper red, and starts to rush out. 

“Would have gotten to work ten minutes ago if someone wasn’t yelling at me,” Tsuneko taunts as she trails after the head maid.

“Yeah and someone would have saw that ring in your tongue.” 

“Still would have been working.” Tsuneko shrugs as they leave the locker room, going their separate ways to work. 

She grabs her work schedule and a cleaning cart. The penthouse is notably vacant when she arrives, Kishi is the only person she sees and he’s sleeping on a couch. She’s able to quickly clean the lounge, the only noise is the old man’s chainsaw volume snoring. While irritating, it’s still preferable to the teasing and threats of the bidders. 

The lounge and suites are clean, she manages to escape the place unscathed for the day. Just a small comfort in the hell of her life. She leans her weight against the back of the elevator as it descends downward, fiddling with the good luck charm still in her pocket. She’ll have worn a hole in the fabric by the time she gets it back to its owner, if she ever manages to do that. 

She needs to apologize to Chisato and Sakiko properly, she made them worry. Maybe she’ll treat them to that bakery at lunch. She’ll need to apologize to the Hatter too, for running out in the morning without any notice. He still hasn’t shown her anything to do with the auctions either, other than rambling about a few items. 

Her throat tightens for the millionth time it seems. Her gaze lingers to her hand, she didn’t bother to bandage it this morning, the skin has closed and she was in a hurry after all. The small cuts across her fingers are just a faint pink mark away, almost nothing than but a memory. As expected there still a large angry red scar across the middle of her palm. The bruises on her face are mostly gone as well, having turned to a faint yellowing color. She doesn’t bother paying special attention to it with makeup anymore. 

A lot of the physical reminders of that night are fading, but just the thought of the auctions puts her right back there. It’s cruel of them, to make her go back to the place and event that ruined her life. But, she can’t expect anything less than cruelty from them, now can she. 

She has to see this as just another part of work; compartmentalizing and burying her feelings are key points in her limited skill set. Maybe if she tried walking the stage without the auctions going on it would help? Just having a memory of it not attached to that night, or at least get the initial panic attacks out of being there again. 

The elevator comes to a stop and she gets back to work. It’s the usual monotony of her job, that lets her just focus on doing things without those dangerous hurtful thoughts creeping in. Making beds, cleaning bathrooms, restocking amenities, delivering brochures and answering guest questions. It’s all muscle memory at this point, allowing her to block out every intrusive thought and operate on autopilot. 

She gets through to lunch break; Chisato and Sakiko are getting in line to buy food. Tsuneko tentatively walks up behind them, poking them both in the sides, snickering when they both jump. 

“Tsuneko, you made it in!” Sakiko is the first to talk, as usual. 

“Yeah, sorry for the worries, and,” she looks to Chisato, “thanks for taking care of you know who.” 

“It’s no problem, but were they making you work that late?” 

“Uh, not quite don’t worry about it.” 

“Tsuneko, you already work a lot, even V.I.P’s can’t expect you to work that late. You’ll run yourself ragged.” 

“I’m fine really.” 

“Hmmm,” a smug grin pulls at Sakiko’s lips, “Mr. Ichinomiya wants you working late into the night, hmm.”

“You want me to treat you for lunch Chisato?”  

“Wait, what?” 

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

“Hey, I’m invited too, right?” 

“You hear something, Chisato?” 

“The A.C must have kicked on.” 

“Don’t ignore me!” 

“C’mon there’s a bakery I wanna go to.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

Tsuneko and Chisato start the walk out of the lunchroom, not paying mind to the flustered Sakiko. 

“Hey! I want free food too,” Sakiko whines before following after them, knowing despite their jokes she’s more than welcomed to come along. 

Tsuneko leads the two of them to Parolee, there’s a cute girl at the register. She doesn’t see the cute boy from last time, but there are worse things in life. They each pick out a treat and a drink before tucking themselves away at a table. 

She’ll finish up her shift, walk the stage, and then take a visit to Wonderland. She’s memorized most of the items; she figures the Hatter will be taking over most of the descriptions given that’s more of his expertise than hers. She doesn’t want to go near that stage, but there’s no way to fight it. She’s been getting bold enough as is given that Oh is more than willing to end her life. 

She’d rather die on her own terms. A silly distinction it might seem, death is death after all.  But it’s important to her. That’s the one thing she’s sticking to, no matter what. If she wins the bet….she knows making a genuine attempt to get her life back on track is the best choice, logically. But, even when she was in University, even when her life was on track she wasn’t happy. She hasn’t been happy since she was nine, a few bright spots now and again, but she can’t say she’s ever been a happy person.  If she’s going to be miserable no matter what, is there any point? She always thought if she graduated top of her class, passed the bar, became a lawyer, and finally made something of herself she’d be happy. But, now she’s not so sure. Every setback and time her goals get crushed, she feels like it’s all for nothing. 

Maybe the gloomy situation is just getting to her, she’s been like this before, and she thinks she’s been like this since the expulsion.  The bet and kidnapping just cranked it up to eleven. It was during that time between university and the Tres Spades that she first bought the rope. 

If she does make that decision, she’ll take care of everything she needs to first, make sure everything will be taken care of before she goes. She doesn’t want to leave a mess behind her. She’d have to find Kiyo a new home and have some uncomfortable talks with her family. There a lot of things her dad deserves to know, from her directly and not from some posthumous investigation. Some final words to those she cares about, lots of apologies for being who she is. 

Once that’s taken care of it shouldn’t be too hard on anyone, most people will probably be thank-

“Tsuneko!” 

Sakiko’s yell makes her jolt in her seat, knee banging against the table. Sakiko and Chisato are looking at her like she’s a wounded puppy and her stomach knots. They’re both half way through their desserts, Tsuneko’s tiramisu is mostly gone and the taste of espresso in her mouth tells her that she’s been mindlessly eating with every depressive thought. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? You haven’t said a word; you’ve just been zoned out and jittery.” 

“Seriously, your leg has been bouncing nonstop. You were making the table shake so much I thought my drink was gonna spill.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tsuneko rubs a hand over her face, “I’m fine, just thinking.” 

“Maybe you should consider taking tomorrow off,” Chisao offers as Tsuneko downs her water, when did her throat get so dry?

“No can do. Big promotion, can’t slack, all of that jazz.” 

“Tsuneko, I’m saying this as your friend,” Sakiko’s voice is soft, “you look like shit.” 

“Thanks asshole.” 

“She’s right Tsuneko, you’re getting bags under your eyes and, I mean, you look like you’re a second away from a breakdown.” 

“Pffft, I’ve been a mess since day one, it’s nothing new.” 

“You need to take care of yourself Tsuneko, I know the penthouse guests must expect a lot from you, but running yourself ragged isn’t going to help anyone.” 

“I’m fine, I promise.” 

“Hey, Yayoi still owes you for taking over the day you got hurt right?”  

“I guess,” Tsuneko grumbles, she wasn’t even meant to be working the day she was sold. How she has such shit luck is a mystery. 

“She’s on night shift tomorrow, why don’t you switch with her. You can relax tonight and sleep in tomorrow, but you’ll still be working.” 

Night shift in general is easier, given most guests are sleeping. It’s mainly cleaning the lobby, halls, etc. It’s quieter and minimal customer interactions. Would Ichinomiya call that avoiding work? As long as she cleans the penthouse suites when she first arrives in the late evening, it should be fine. 

“If I say yes, will you shut up?” 

“For now,” Sakiko offers before taking another bite of her cake. 

She ordered the strawberry shortcake the same kind Ichinomya and Tsuneko had to share last time they were here.  The red strawberry on top has been put off to the side, before Tsuneko realizes what she’s doing she’s grabbed it and takes a bite. 

“Hey! I was saving that!” 

“Snooze you lose.” 

“I didn’t even say anything stupid!” 

“Everything you say is stupid by default.” 

“That’s not even fair.” 

“That’s life.” Tsuneko shrugs, eating the last of her dessert. 

“You two ready to head back?” 

“I wanna buy some stuff to go, you wanna get something for Itsuki? I’ll buy.” 

“Sounds good.” Chisato’s smile brightens at the mention of treating her girlfriend. Tsuneko has only met Itsuki a few times, but each time her and Chisato are together they’re nauseatingly in love. 

Tsuneko looks at the display of treats, she prattles off the name of everything that catches her eye. If she’s going to be forced to take a break, possibly earn the ire of Ichinomiya, then she’s going to spend the night stuffing her face and drinking. 

She’s still looking, about to just settle on what she’s picked, when fresh cupcakes are being placed into the display. Soft yellow cake with white meringue frosting, the little placard says lemon chiffon cupcakes. The Hatter would probably like those, given his like of the pie, maybe if she bought a few he’d forgive her for just bailing this morning. 

She starts to look up, meeting soft brown gray eyes. It’s the boy from last time, tucking sweets away into the case. A smile pulls at her lips, seeing a cute familiar face. His face flushes up to the tip of his ears and he jolts to stand up. 

“Do you know her, Rin?” The cashier asks him, smiling as he tries to cover his ears. 

“She’s just the girl who came in here fighting with her boyfriend over cake.”

“Hey,” her face twists in disgust, “he is not-“ 

“Tsuneko, we’re gonna be late, hurry up!” 

“Okay, that’ll be all then.” 

Tsuneko gets out her card as her order is all boxed up, pays, and they head back to the hotel in a hurry. She’s a little upset she couldn’t clear up the misunderstanding about Ichinomiya or grab the cupcakes for the Hatter. 

They make it back to the hotel, Tsuneko hands Chisato the box of macaroons she picked out for Itsuki, tucking the rest into her locker to take home later before heading back to work. The rest of the work day passes by easily enough; a few guests point out she looks sick, but nothing else of note. 

She’s finished the last room on her schedule and takes a deep breath, calming her nerves before she ventures to the auction stage. Her hands wring together, her heart is already racing. 

She counts off seconds to track her breathing as she takes the stairs to the lower level. Tsuneko focuses on her senses, the only way to push through the panic, to stay off those trains of thought. 

The in and out of her breaths, the click of her heels against each step, her uniform clenched under her fists, and her eyes fixed straight ahead. 

Her chest grows tight when the scenery gets more familiar, the path she was pushed along that night. 

Gilded bars, yelling out at strangers who don’t care, fresh blood seeping through her palm and being trapped; memories and phantom sensations flood her brain. 

She digs her nails into the scar on her palm, pain grounding her to reality as she pushes forward towards that stage.  

Her heart beat is like a pounding drum beat in her ears, drowning out every other bit of noise. She can’t even hear herself counting seconds. 

The backstage is a ghost town, not the same bustle of activity. A quick glance up shows her the hook and suspension system that was used to hang her over the stage and bile rises in the back of her throat. 

There’s no gilded birdcage and she wonders if it’s back in storage, is it still stained with her blood or did it get washed off? It must have been someone’s job to mop up her blood and remove all traces of what was done to her. 

Another deep breath and a stab of her nails into her hand, a burst of pain to lead the way onto the actual stage. 

No lights or audience now, just rows upon rows of empty red velvet seats. There’s well over a hundred, maybe closer to five-hundred or so, she’s not sure. It would take her too long to count. 

All of those seats that night were filled, hundreds of people watching her torment with pride. Hundreds of possible buyers, each watching and thinking of just how they could use her if the money was right. 

What if someone else would have bought her? That creepy man from that auction night or god knows who else. She could have ended up in someone’s basement, dead or worse and those people would have just moved on like she’d never been there.  

And for what fucking reason? 

It’s all so fucking senseless. It’s just rich pieces of shit getting together to waste money on things they’re not supposed to have, because it makes them feel special. 

She’s a mess, suffering, struggling, hurt and looking for any escape because a hoard of rich people wanted a thrill. 

She was already fucking up her own life, but apparently not fast enough, because the rich assholes came in to speed the process up. 

Fuck, she can still feel them all looking at her, staring and gawking. Hundreds of people waiting and eager for the chance to hurt her, own her. Her greatest value has been just how much someone’s willing to pay to break her. 

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Hatter hums, the sound soft and cheerful in his throat. He’s ventured outside of Wonderland, in search of Cheshire. She’s gone for one of her walks and he’d like to have her back in time for the tea party. The floor where the auctions are held are the furthest he’s willing to stray from his safe haven of Wonderland. That is when they’re not being used for other events. 

He likes the storeroom, looking over every potential item and finding the perfect description. Connecting to the items, letting them tell him their stories. It’s like magic, bringing every little thing to life with nothing but his words. 

He likes being on stage for auctions, performing and everyone’s eyes on him. Seeing their intrigue, how they hang on his every word. He can feel every emotional shift, the impact of his words on every person in the crowd. The stage is his second home after Wonderland. 

But, he can’t say he likes people in any other context, not really. He knows he’s odd, strange and unwanted by everyone’s standards. 

Except Alice’s. 

There’s an extra bounce in his step and his humming gets louder, just the thought of her makes his entire being lights up. 

He waited so long for his Alice, someone who’d accept him. 

He was sad to see her gone this morning, but he knows she has other responsibilities. He’s found his Alice, but she’s not his alone. A part of him, the majority of him, wants her to stay in Wonderland with him forever.  Wonderland is always beautiful, filled with only the best of things, but it seems to brighten up even more when Alice is there. 

For that fact alone, he’ll accept sharing her. He’d rather have her some of the time than none of it. Despite her responsibilities, she always returns and as long as that continues, he can be happy. 

He’s always preferred and sought out eternal joys. Painted roses never wilt, in Wonderland he can have the best parts of life with none of the pain or hurt regular life comes with. But, perhaps he can learn to appreciate more temporary forms of happiness. Maybe cloudy days make the sun shine brighter? 

Maybe going without her just means he’s that much happier when she comes back? 

He’d still prefer to have her forever, the sun, the roses, and everything else beautiful forever. But, some compromises must be made he supposes. 

He finds himself wandering near the auction room, perhaps Cheshire got curious about where he goes for those nights and wanted to investigate it, she’s a curious girl after all. 

The Hatter nearly avoids tripping over the steps to the back stage when the sobs echo from the main stage. He freezes, his entire existence seized in an ice cold grip. Someone else is here. Who else would be here? Should he leave? 

The wails and whimpering cries sound like a mix between a banshee and wounded animal. Pure pain echoing through every noise as he inches close to the curtains, to see who it could be. 

Sitting curled up with knees to her is a woman in a maid uniform, from behind he can see a tied up mess of chocolate brown hair but not a face, despite this he knows who it is. 

“Alice….?” 

She doesn’t respond, just sniveling and whimpering against her own knees. Her body trembles with the force of her cries. He walks closer, her hands are clutched tight to her temples, leaving angry red lines across the skin and knotting her hair. 

Why is she so upset? They had so much fun in Wonderland last night; she should be happy, right? It must be something else; she left Wonderland and got hurt. His heart twists painfully in his chest. If she stayed in Wonderland with him, this wouldn’t happen. 

He gently brings himself down on one knee in front of her and brushes his fingers over one of her hands. That forces a response, Alice jolting like he’s burnt her and the pain in his chest doubles. Why would she not want him to touch her?

She looks up at him, the pain in her heart triples, no quadruples. He can’t keep track, he just knows it hurts. Her face is red and splotchy; her eyes swollen, her nose is running, her lip is quivering, and a waterfall of tears run down her face. 

Wet amaranth eyes stare up at him; she blinks a few more tears join the downpour. He doesn’t like this, seeing her like this, it hurts. There’s a vice grip around his heart. He stares back for a moment, just taking in the pain on her face. He touches her again, placing his hand against her cheek. The warmth of her skin seeps through his gloves and she leans into the touch this time, like she’s desperate for the contact. 

“What’s wrong Alice? Why are you crying?” He asks, a pout on his lips and his head tilting just so. 

“I-uh…” 

Her voice cracks and she breaks eye contact. His Alice isn’t beautiful, not right now, her brightness dimmed by pain. Bile churns in his stomach, he doesn’t like this. Everything is supposed to be happy. Wonderland is meant to be happy, even happier with Alice, but she’s suffering and he doesn’t know why. 

“Your tears are not beautiful.” 

Her entire body tenses, her knees curling closer to her chest, like she’s trying to be smaller.

“What….?” 

Her voice has never sounded so fragile, as if the softest of touches could shatter her very being. 

“They’re like fake diamonds, cheap pearls. I...can’t bear to look at them.”  He looks away from her, grimacing as bile builds in the back of his throat. 

“I-“ 

“Tears do not belong in Wonderland.”

He doesn’t have time to take another breath before she pushes him back onto his butt. Alice rises to her feet and stands over him. He swallows hard staring up at her; her eyes aren’t soft or sad anymore. They’re harsh and angry, his skin feels hot, like the fury and hatred in her is burning through him. 

“Is that what you care about?!” 

He tries scooting further away as she steps closer, feeling like prey about to be devoured. It’s been so long, he almost forgot what it felt like to be looked at with so much hate and disgust.  He can’t speak, every word caught in his throat. Even if he could speak, she has no intention of listening. 

“Well, I’m so fucking sorry, that I can’t be pretty while my life is falling apart. Do you even get that? Or are you so deep in your own bullshit that you can’t even understand that you helped destroy my life!” 

Tears start falling again. She rubs them off, forceful enough to leave red marks across her eyes. She crouches down, hovering over his sprawled out body, so she can look him in the eyes again. There’s a shift, hot rage becoming cold fury. She’s a viper about to strike. 

“You were so excited, weren’t you? That night, when you finally met me, your Alice, the chance to complete your little fantasy, right?” 

Her tone is saccharine and she pauses like she’s waiting for an answer. He nods, softly, unable to speak. 

 “That was one of the worst days of my life,” she snarls at him, “Everyone involved, including you, ruined my life…and no one cares… “ 

Her voice breaks and a fresh outburst of tears make their way down her face. She sniffles and stands up straight before rubbing the heel of her hand to her eyes. 

“Fuck, you’re no better than those penthouse assholes. The only thing you people care about is yourselves; I’m just another person to use. You don’t give a damn about me, the only thing you wanted was someone to play Alice. Someone to feed into your bullshit and look pretty while they do it. That’s all you fuckin’ wanted…and I actually thought- I’m an idiot.”

A heavy sigh escapes her  and with it all the emotion seems to drain, a tired shell standing where Alice once was.  Her heels click against the stage as she turns to leave, heading back off the stage. 

She’s leaving. 

She’s leaving him. 

She’s leaving him and he doesn’t know how to stop her. 

“Ali-!” 

“Tsuneko! For fucks sake, my name is Tsuneko! This is exactly the shit I’m talking about; you can’t just rename me and expect me to fall in line with your fantasy crap! You just do whatever you want, expect everyone to play along, then pout if you don’t get what you want!  There’s a reason you’re alone, dumbass.” 

She disappears back behind the curtain to the backstage, her steps echoing as she leaves. His eyes sting, tears streak down his face and fade his makeup. He tucks his knees under his chin, hugging himself tight. 

He finally found his Alice and he’s already driven her away.  Maybe he was stupid to think anyone would want to stay with him. 

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door to Tsuneko’s dorm slams shut behind her and she throws the box of desserts down on her counter, which shakes when her foot collides with it. She screams out and kicks it again, her hands knot and pull at her hair. Her body feels like it’s on fire, tears and anxiety replaced with rage. She knocks her fists against her own skull, the pain and feeling of hurting something even herself is cathartic in the moment. So, she does it again and again. 

She’s an idiot, a fucking idiot. Clinging to the idea that some stranger in makeup gave a damn about her, how could she be so pathetic? The second she was vulnerable, the second she wasn’t pretty enough, the second she wasn’t what he wanted he insulted her. Her tears don’t belong in Wonderland.  She rips open her fridge, she needs alcohol, something to shut her down. 

Tsuneko isn’t supposed to cry when everything is crashing down around her because god forbid she’s ugly for second. She cracks open a bottle of honey flavored vodka, what right does he even have to criticize her appearance? He runs around dressed up in some harlequin Tim Burton costume, but her tears are ugly. 

She takes a heavy swig of her drink; it’s sweet on her tongue and burns down her throat, before putting it aside to get Kiyo out of his cage. It’s best to take care of him before she’s completely out of her mind drunk. She makes sure to keep her movement gentle and steady, coddling him before putting him down. He scurries out, finding a stuffed animal to play with. She cleans up his cage, restocks his food, and water. 

He bounces after her as she walks back to the kitchenette area, bottle in hand. Another gulp and swallow, before she unboxes the goodies. She opens the top of the box with her fruit sponge cake roll and her eyes widen, just next to it in the corner is a little lemon chiffon cupcake. It’s nowhere on her receipts and she knows she didn’t buy it, Rin from the shop must have thrown it in because she was eyeing it. 

She runs a hand back through her hair, tugging out the knots she finds. The cupcakes she wanted to give to the Hatter.  A huff of hair escapes her lips, it’s a sweet gesture on Rin’s part, but it pisses her off.  She swallows down vodka until she needs a breath then puts the desserts away. 

Tsuneko crams the bonus cupcake in her mouth; her feelings keep it from tasting as sweet as it should. But, as long as the Hatter doesn’t have it, she’s fine with it.  Eating a cupcake out of spite, that’s what she’s become. 

She sits down on her little living room floor and washes the cake down with another gulp of vodka. Kiyo plops down in her lap and she idly scratches him as she drinks. 

“Uhhh,” she groans out as the burn of it settles in her stomach, “I’m fuckin’ stupid, you know that Kiyo.” 

He makes a soft dooking noise and chews on her sleeve, she takes another drink. 

“I let him see me like that and I actually thought he’d comfort me, fuckin’ stupid. No one likes a crybaby…Not allowed to cry, can’t break down, can’t be ugly, can’t be pathetic.” 

She takes another drink, her face is starting to flush and she’s nearing the bottom of the bottle. Her head lolls back against the seat of her couch, a soft sigh escapes her lips. 

“I just wanted someone I could be comfortable with even just a little bit, but no. No one wants a crybaby, no one wants a burden.” 

Kiyo nuzzles against her hand and she thinks about the Hatter, alone with only Cheshire as a friend. It’s been just him and Cheshire for four years. It’s just been her and Kiyo for almost one year. He hid himself away in Wonderland away from everyone and he’s desperate to keep his little fantasy world intact, hurting her for it. She thought she could be safe with him…because he’s so disconnected from reality, barely human.

But, that’s wrong to think, isn’t it? 

Of course he’s human and just like every other human; he doesn’t want to deal with her bullshit. To have expected any different, isn’t really fair is it. 

She thinks to this morning. The second there was a chance of seeing him underneath the costume she ran…she didn’t want her part of the fantasy world ruined….

Is she any better than him? 

He doesn’t want to see her ugly; he wants pristine pretty Alice who suits his Wonderland fantasy. She didn’t want to see the real him, she wanted her fake Hatter who couldn’t hurt her. 

And that went to shit real fast. 

But, she never made him behave differently and she never insulted him for not being what she wanted, so she’s not as bad is she? 

Her bottle is empty; she tosses it and grabs a different bottle, marshmallow vodka this time. She takes a few more bottles with her as she gets back to her seat, so she won’t have to move again. 

He didn’t have to insult her, tell her she didn’t belong in Wonderland. But, it’s her fault too. Expecting people to comfort her is ridiculous, she’s an adult and she should know better. Should have just wiped her eyes and moved on.  She needs to be stronger. 

Of course, he’d be disgusted by her. Anyone would be, seeing her sniveling and pathetic.  Expecting him to act any different isn’t fair.  There’s a reason she keeps her guard up, she let it drop and she got hurt, that’s just life. 

There’s a reason she’s alone, too.  

Keeping everyone at arm’s length suits her best; hurts less when they decide they don’t want her anymore. 

People only want someone for as long as they serve a purpose, what that purpose is of course varies from person to person. No one wants to deal with the gross, emotional garbage crap.

The next bottle of vodka is drained before she realizes it and she starts her third soon after. Her thoughts are getting hazier, lighter, the beauty of alcohol.  Only for the night, or however long her vodka fueled stupor lasts, the deep pain in her heart is forgotten. 

Kiyo nudges his hand against her hand, after she’s taken another gulp of chocolate vodka. He’s so sweet, a precious good boy trying to be here for her. She scoops him up in clumsy drunk hands nuzzling her cheek against his head. 

“Ah, you’re suuuuch a good boy,” she kisses his nose, “good boys get kisses.” 

He makes soft noises and she snuggles, giving him more kisses. Her body relaxes against the couch, it’s a shame Kiyo is the only good boy or girl she has around. She doesn’t have anyone else to give- 

Rapid knocks against her dorm door catch her attention, making her glassy eyes go wide.  

“Tsuneko, are you home?”  Sakiko asks from the other side of the door. 

“We came to check on you.” Chisato adds. 

“I’m right here! ~” Tsuneko waves at the door as if they could see her. 

“Uhh, we’re coming in.” 

“Ohhhhhh kaaaaay~” 

Sakiko and Chisato push open the door. They’re both in casual clothes, they look so cute, as they step into her dorm sort of apartment deal. Both of them go wide eyed when they see Tsuneko in her little vodka bottle nest. 

“Hullo, Sakay and Chisaw! ~” Words slosh and slur in her mouth. 

“Tsuneko, how much have you had to drink?” 

“Uhhhhh,” she looks down at the bottles around her, “one….two….threee…five…two…eight, a lot.” 

“This isn’t exactly what we imagined when we told you to take care of yourself,” Sakiko comments as they throw away the empty bottles. 

“Why are you here?”  

“We were worried about you, obviously.” 

Chisato sits down beside her once they’ve cleared away the bottles. Her body is warm and comforting, Tsuneko leans her head against Chisato’s shoulder. The soft scent of fabric softener tickles her nose. 

“Ahhhhhh,” she whines, “you’re toooo nice.” 

“You weren’t even this drunk at your welcome party,” Sakiko says as she takes a seat. 

“Well, Erika got her out of there before she got too bad, why are you nuzzling me?” 

“Mmmm, warm and nice,” Tsuneko mumbles before looking up at Chisato. Tsuneko’s face is completely red, eyes glassy, and her hair a mess. But, Chisato is so pretty, short and tidy blue black hair with warm doe brown eyes. She’s beautiful and nice.   

“Okay, it’s time for-AHHHH!” 

Chisato yells and scrambles backwards when Tsuneko leans over to kiss her. The two of them fall back, Tsuneko still trying to steal a kiss.  Chisato presses her palms against the shorter woman’s shoulders, keeping her and her lips at bay. 

“What are you doing?!” 

“You deserve a kiss! ~” Tsuneko beams, big smile and dimples showing. Why is Chisato so confused? It makes perfect sense. Kisses feel good, Chisato is a good person, and good people deserve good things. 

“I’ll get some from Itsuki, okay?” 

“Buuuuut, I wanna giiiiive kisses?”  

Why doesn’t Chisato want her kisses? Aren’t her kisses good?

“I think that’s enough of that,” Sakiko hooks her hands over Tsuneko’s shoulder and pulls her back toward her chest, away from Chisato. 

Tsuneko cranes her neck to look up at Sakiko, her chest is soft and warm against Tsuneko’s back. Sakiko is pretty too, long brown hair and bright honey brown eyes. She’s nice too, always sweet and bubbly no matter how much Tsuneko picks on her. 

“Why are yo-MMMPH!” 

Tsuneko’s lips muffle Sakiko’s question, she’s managed to twist around and throw her arms around Sakiko’s neck.  Her tongue slides in easily, rubbing against Sakiko’s as she deepens it. Tsuneko shifts and pushes against the sober woman’s lips, they’re soft and her mouth still tastes faintly of sweets. A small noise, a cute soft moan, escapes the back of Sakiko’s throat and she grabs at Tsuneko’s shirt. Whether the gesture is meant to dissuade Tsuneko or anchor herself, is unclear. 

The drunk half of the pair isn’t deterred, she’s intent on tasting every part of Sakiko’s mouth, delivering her reward. She tastes sweet, she’s soft, and it all feels so nice. That’s all Tsuneko wants, to feel good and make someone else feel good. She tilts and moves her lips against Sakiko’s, finding new angles to work her tongue in deeper and find any little spot she hasn’t run her tongue over yet. 

A different pair of hands grab Tsuneko’s shoulders and yanks her back, disconnecting her and Sakiko’s lips. Tsuneko’s eyes open at the loss of contact, Sakiko is still on the floor, seemingly frozen. Her face is a vivid red, honey brown eyes glazed over, and her lips are spit slick. She looks so pretty and needs more kisses, Tsuneko decides in her drunken haze. But, she’s being held back by Chisato.  

“Uhhh, Sakiko, you okay?” Chisato asks, voice soft and close to Tsuneko’s ear in this position. It’s pleasant, but it would probably sound even nicer if she was moaning like Sakiko did. When Tsuneko goes to twist around in order to steal a kiss from her other friend, she finds Chisato’s hands are gripping too tight for her to maneuver. 

“Um, uh,” Sakiko stutters and blinks, touching her slightly swollen lips, “fuck.” 

“Earth to Sakiko? You okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, um, I’m just shocked,” her voice cracks. 

“Okay…?” Chisato grins, “Are you still straight?” 

“Um, uh, I’ll get back to you on that one.” 

“Ahhhhh, I want more kisses,” Tsuneko whines as Chisato drags her towards her bed. 

“No more kisses, Tsuneko, you’re confusing the straights.” 

“Buuuuut, I wanna kiss pretty girls! ~” 

“I get that, but no more kisses tonight.” Chisato clumsily puts Tsuneko into her bed, pulling a blanket over her. 

Her bed is warm and soft, nice, it feels so nice. Tsuneko pulls her pillow close to her face nuzzling against it.  Her eyelids and limbs feel heavy, Chisato’s voice becomes a murmur of white noise before fading away into silence. 

Warm light on her face and a dull pain in her head is what wakes Tsuneko up.  She yawns and swallows, her mouth is dry. A few blinks help clear her vision and she sees a glass of water on her side table with aspirin next to it. That’s right, she groans into her pillow, Chisato and Sakiko came in while she was drunk last night. 

She swallows the pills and gulps down the water, before she falls back onto her bed. It’s her warm and snuggly safe haven at the moment.   Physically, she feels better after getting some decent sleep. Long easy sleeps are few and far between for her, alcohol is the easiest way to kill any dreams. But, the entire situation still makes her sick mentally and emotionally. 

She knows she was too cruel with the Hatter, lashing out like a wounded animal. But, that doesn’t change the fact that any semblance of a friendship she thought could be built with him is gone. Any hopes she had of letting her guard down around him have been shot to shit. He was still an asshole and no matter how she looks at it, he saw her tragedy as a chance to benefit. 

But, she was using his little fantasy character to make herself feel better, to give herself a safe place. Isn’t that kind of taking advantage of his mental illness, or problems at the very least, for her benefit? 

Ugh, she doesn’t want to think, that’s the whole reason she was drinking. Her memories of last night are fuzzy, as always. She knows Chisato and Sakiko showed up, already an awful thing. Tsuneko is a messy drunk and doesn’t like other people seeing her like that. She closes her eyes and thinks on it for a bit, foggy memories of Sakiko’s lips and the sweet taste of her mouth, the warmth of her body. 

“Ahhh!” 

Heat shoots up Tsuneko’s face and she burrows into her pillow. She kissed Sakiko, on top of all of this bullshit, she kissed Sakiko. She must be furious. Tsuneko not only acted like a pathetic loser, she was super gross and forced a kiss a Sakiko.  

She grabs her phone off the charger, bringing it under the blankets with her, back into warm safety. Sakiko and Chisato would be at work, she sends quick apologies. She seems to be apologizing a lot lately, a heavy sigh escapes her. Additionally, Shinobu still hasn’t texted her back. He’s never gone this long without talking to her, maybe he’s finally sick of her. 

“Ugh.” 

She tosses her phone until the floor, sick of looking at it, and looks into Kiyo’s cage from her bed.  He’s sleeping, food and water still filled. At this point it feels like Chisato and Sakiko take better care of him than her. She’s beyond fucking useless. 

Another groan and sigh slip out as she burrows back into her nest of comfort. This is supposed to be a self-care day, or some shit. 

Tsuneko only knows a couple coping mechanisms for when she's desperately trying to shut off her brain. It's too early for more alcohol, plus she has to work tonight. Eating her emotions is nice, but she'd have to get up out of bed to raid her fridge, which sounds like a fate worse than death at the moment. Same thing with going for a run or going to a nearby gym. Her other favorite coping mechanism keeps coming to mind. 

Drowning her brain in pleasure sounds a lot better than driving herself insane for the rest of her down time. Her body already feels primed for, alcohol turns her on enough to demand make out sessions, but she always wakes up feeling like her body wanted more.

She pulls her favorite soft pink body pillow under her, wrapping herself around it. Her sleep clothes are thin. The seam of the pillow case is thicker and presses against her sex through the fabric of her shorts. She's already a little wet and the first grind of her hips against the pillow sends a jolt of pleasure through her body. 

Her fingers tighten around the pillowcase and she buries her face into the plush of it. She can almost imagine she's grinding against someone, hot friction against her swollen clit. 

A little imagination is all it takes to feel like there's someone underneath her. Her mind turns the plush of a pillow into the firmness of a body, the thick seam into the grind of someone's hardening cock. Her hips hump harder, a steady pleasure building between her thighs and tension winding tight in her stomach. 

She can envision her nails digging into someone's back, firm muscle instead of soft give. Pants and whines of pleasure muffle against her pillow. Her entire body feels hot, sweat beading across her skin, the heat amplified by the blanket covering her.

Her nipples rub against the pillow, her tank falling off her shoulders and revealing more of her. She can almost convince herself her chest is rubbing against someone else's, firmer than her own. 

The fantasy partner in her head grows clearer and clearer with every frantic grind of her hips. Someone much taller, hard muscle where she's soft squish. She can just picture, a man beneath her, letting out low groans, as she grinds her slick cunt against him. 

Dark hair falling into his face as sweat makes a mess of it, a flush over his handsome face, dark stormy blue eyes shut tight as she-

"Ahh!"

She kicks her pillow away like it's burned her, realization of who her fantasy man was hits her like ice water. 

Oh, the man who threatened her with a gun.

She was actually fantasizing about grinding on the cock of a sexist asshole who was going to shoot her over candy. 

No, no, no. 

Tsuneko scrambles from the bed, she's not that fucked in the head. She can't help he's attractive and if anything it's his fault for taking his shirt off in front of her that first night. He’s confused her damn brain; it's getting it's fear and lust wires crossed.

She needs an ice cold shower, something to clear her mind and cool her libido. The sound of an engine, closer to the dormitories than usual catches her attention before she can reach the bathroom. She pushes up her window and peeks out, what’s going on? From her window she can look down at the backlot of the Tres Spades. 

There’s a truck just outside the back entrance, parked but the engine running. The back trailer is open with a ramp. Two men loading items onto it, she can’t clearly see everything from her vantage point.  Something glints, catching the sunlight and her heart drops. A bronze goddess statue that she’d recognize anywhere, the one with a nice rack that he showed her. Why are they loading up his stuff?

She barely has enough sense to grab her phone and shove on sneakers before she’s out the door. The elevator is too slow, she runs down the stairs jumping over several steps at a time desperate to reach the lot as soon as possible. She narrowly avoids tripping as she leaves the dormitory. 

The truck trailer is closed and it’s pulls out with wheels squealing just as she reaches the lot. She tries to take a picture of the license plate. It drives off too fast for her eyes to catch it and when she checks the photo it’s too blurry. She curses under her breath as she darts into the hotel. 

The Mad Hatter rarely leaves Wonderland, which means he must have run into those people. Did they hurt him? Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

She cuts a path to the stairs and sprints down towards Wonderland. Her foot catches on the second to final step and she goes tumbling forward, she manages to break her fall with her hands. An ache goes through her hand, but she rushes back to her feet and keeps running.

Her heart rabbits in her chest as she throws open the door to Wonderland. It’s a whiplash of relief than pain when she sees the Hatter is safe then sees the look of pain on his face. He’s sitting curled up in his chair with his knees to his chest, completely despondent, the tea room is now practically barren aside from the table and chairs. Cheshire is standing near him, mewling softly. 

“Hey,” Tsuneko calls out as she rushes near him, “hey, talk to me.” 

She crouches down in front of him, trying to make contact and get him to talk to her. His eyes are sad and there’s a pang in her heart. 

“Are you okay? Did anyone hurt you?” 

He slowly shakes his head no, at least some sort of response. She chews her lip, they need to try and get this figured out. There are security cameras near the backlot, around the majority of the hotel. It might have gotten a clearer look at the truck. 

She dials up Kenzaki’s phone number, her phone has a few more scuffs from her fall, at this rate it won’t be long until she needs a new one. It takes a few rings, but finally Kenzaki answers her. 

“Tomori, is something wrong?” His calm complacent voice greets her. 

“Yeah, um, the guest in the tea room,” Tsuneko chooses her words carefully,  “he was just robbed, I saw them leaving the backlot. We have security camera there, right?” 

“Hmm, that is concerning. Yes, we do, but I’ll have to contact Mr. Ichinomiya about this.” 

“Uh, oh, I don’t think-“ 

The phone clicks as Kenzaki hangs up on her, great, now she has to deal with Ichinomiya. She lets out a heavy sigh, the Hatter’s artificially blue eyes are looking at her. There’s a mixture of pain and curiosity in her eyes. Just yesterday, she was tearing him down and now she’s trying to help him.  She has to be giving the poor man whiplash from hell. 

She’s still not quite ready to apologize for her outburst yesterday, especially considering he hasn’t apologized for his own comment.  But, that’s not the most important thing right now. Regardless of how she feels about the Hatter, this is wrong; no one has a right to just take his things. Even if she truly hated him, she wouldn’t want him to suffer through this alone. As recent a development as it might be, she does have some empathy. She grabs a chair and pulls it up to sit next to him. 

“Okay, sweetie,” she talks low and calmly, like she’s speaking to a child, “do you know who the people were that took your stuff?” 

“The Dormouse and March Hare…” 

Heat simmers under her skin, she’s not sure how long those two had been here, but they were here before her. They must have just been waiting for a good chance to take everything from him. The Hatter saw them as friends too, despite their despondent nature, he saw them as crucial characters in his Wonderland. He must have. And then the assholes go and rob him. 

“This is why you never trust a furry,” she tries to joke, not even earning a smile from the Hatter, “or at least not the half-assed ones. I mean if you’re gonna be a furry commit, right?” 

He looks up at her from his curled up position and she gives him a little smile, hoping to get him to crack up even a little bit. He’s usually so jovial, but between her verbal assaults yesterday and this, it feels like he does nothing but frown lately. After a moment, a soft smile pulls at his painted lips. 

‘That’s better, now, do you know what the Dormouse and March Hare’s real names are, outside of Wonderland?” 

He shakes his head no and her breath catches in her throat, he doesn’t know who those people really are? At all? This entire time he’s allowed strangers into Wonderland and just trusted them not to hurt him… He really is like a child, who puts that kind of blind trust in strangers?

“Sweetie, how exactly did you meet them?” 

“They were selling dropping off items meant to sell at the auction, I offered them roles in Wonderland.” 

“And they just accepted…?” 

“I offered them payment.” 

“You were paying them to be here?”  

She bites her lip, that’s so fucking reckless. The fuckers must have gotten greedy and decided they wanted more, so they robbed him blind. They saw someone vulnerable and they jumped to take advantage. She runs a hand through her tangled mess of hair. 

“Look, you can’t ju-“ 

“What’s going on here?” 

Tsuneko’s nose wrinkles, her face contorting in disgust at that familiar voice. She managed to be free of him for a whole day and she wishes nothing more than to have stretched that time out longer. 

She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of how thin her pajama shirt is. Ichinomiya strides into the room and the other penthouse guests trail after, why are they all there? She avoids looking at Oh, given recent…events. 

“He was robbed, I saw the truck leave with his stuff, but I couldn’t get a look at the license plate.” 

“And you were here, dressed like that?” Kisaki is the one to pipe up, staring at Tsuneko’s outfit. 

She wishes she would have had the foresight to at least grab a jacket. Her white top is cropped, white, low-cut, and her lack of a bra isn’t doing her much favors. The pajama shorts are embarrassing in a whole different way, pink gingham and little strawberries decorating them. Her face burns hot with shame, but there's something far more important to worry about. 

“I have the later shift; I was at home when I saw them taking his stuff from my window. Somehow trying to stop a robbery was more important than throwing on jeans.” 

“And we’re all blessed for it,” Baba says with a wink and her stomach churns. 

“If we could shift our focus from my tits to the crime that’s been committed, that’d be great.” 

“Who would have been able to rob him?” Oh asks, his disdain for all things feminine working in her favor at the moment. 

“Guys who were part of the whole Wonderland spiel. He doesn’t know their names, though.” 

“What did they even take?” 

Kisaki is poking around looking into rooms, his face contorted into disgust, over what she’s not sure. His face is particularly punchable at the moment. 

“They took the decoration for the tea party and the stuff from my room…” 

“Is that all?” 

Ichinomiya’s voice is harsh and cuts like a knife, what little bit of happiness had returned to the Hatter’s eyes leaves. Her nails dig into her arms. 

“Seriously, he’s just been robbed and you wanna be an asshole?” 

Ichinomiya meets her glare, neither breaking eye contact. 

“And what would you suggest I do?” His condescending tone makes her nails dig harder into her skin. 

“Literally anything, you have security cameras for a fucking reason. Figure out who took his shit, get it back. Be nice for half a second, something.” 

“If it was serious enough, he knows how to contact me.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re just so easy to talk to.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“What would have happened if I didn’t see them taking his stuff away? Would you have ever found out?” 

“I’m not his babysitter.” 

“Really, that’s what you’re going with?!” She stands from her chair, nearly knocking it over and clenching her fist tight as she glares at him, “What if he got hurt? Just gonna find him down here dead, next time you needed him?” 

“Pff,” he scoffs, “you’re being dramatic.” 

“Am I? Do you know who those men were, ‘cause he sure as hell doesn’t! All he knows is that they were involved in one of your auctions.  So, you know, real stand up guys. I mean the men who sold me were just so kind when they bashed my skull against the ground and threw me in a cage, I’m sure no one like that would hurt him!” 

Her throat feels raw and Ichinomiya breaks eye contact for a moment. Whether because of annoyance or she’s managed to actually break through his thick skull, she can’t be sure. After a moment his eyes meet hers again and steps forward. She meets his gaze and stands her ground. 

“I have more important things to do than watch him every second.”  

“So, you’re just too damn busy to keep an eye on who’s in your hotel. What if they had gone upstairs, robbed some guests while they were at it! Or, maybe since they know about the auctions, they manage to get into the storeroom and steal some shit from there! How careless can you be?!” 

“You sound like parents arguing over how to raise a child,” Baba teases and bile rises in the back of Tsuneko’s throat.  Kisaki snickers and Kishi chuckles, Oh even looks vaguely amused by the comment. 

“Gross.” 

“Enough of this,” Ichinomiya sneers, “we’re having a dinner meeting with the Buccis, now go make yourself presentable. If you’re capable of that.” 

He starts to stride out of the room and Tsuneko groans, gritting her teeth and clenching her fist tighter. 

“Seriously!? You aren’t going to do anything!?” 

“Don’t waste your time worrying about this, be ready in ten minutes.”  

He leaves the room and Tsuneko pinches the bridge of her nose. Is he serious? His event matters more than the Hatter being robbed? Oh’s gray suit passes by in her peripheral and she focuses her eyes on the ground. 

“What a waste of time.” He scoffs before leaving the room and Tsuneko bites her lip, they don’t even care about one of their own. 

“I’m not staying in this creepy place for another second.” 

Kisaki leaves and Tsuneko flinches as Baba puts a hand on her shoulder;why is he touching her?

“Don’t worry, just go ahead and get ready pretty lady,” he tells her before leaving and Kishi starts to follow after. 

“Aren’t you a cop!?”  

“Not my department.” 

And just like that, the Hatter and her are left alone in Wonderland. She wants to scream, do they seriously not care? He’s a part of their little group, even if only tangentially, then again she’s not sure how much they all even care for each other. Baba and Kisaki are clear friends, same for Oh and Ichinomiya. Kishi and the Hatter are outliers. The Hatter is the weird man in the basement that none of them seem to bother with until they need him to host auctions. Kishi is some boring old guy who sleeps up there and…he has to have contributed something at some point, she assumes. 

“Okay,” she spins on her feels to look at the Hatter, “they’re useless, but I’m going to try and get this sorted.” 

“But…you have to help Eisuke.”

“Unfortunately, yes, as much as I wanna skip out on, that would be breaking our bet. But, I will be finished with that at some point. And in the meantime I need you to do something.” 

His eyes widen and blink a few times. He tilts his head as she rummages around Wonderland, finding pen and paper in his room. 

“While I’m dealing with his bullshit, I want you to write down everything you can think of that you know about the March Hare and Dormouse. The date you met them, what items they were selling that night, anything. Can you do that for me?” 

“Yeah…I can do that.” 

He nods and starts writing stuff down. Tsuneko’s heart feels heavy and she has to resist the temptation to hug him. She needs to get this figured out for him. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.” 

“Promise?” He offers his pinky finger and she hooks her own around it. 

“Promise.” 

She reluctantly leaves the Hatter alone in Wonderland and ventures back to her dorm. Tsuneko showers and throws together an event outfit as quick as possible before heading back to the hotel 

Her brain keeps straying back to the Hatter and the robbery; if she had gotten out of bed sooner maybe she would have caught them? Maybe, if she’s lucky Kenzaki will let her look at security camera footage. But, even if she did what could she do about it? Would filing a police report even be an option? They’d probably question a strange Hatter in the hotel basement and it could lead to them discovering the auctions which are a whole different kind of shit show. Maybe, she can pretend it’s her stuff that was stolen? 

“You’re late.” The curt voice of Ichinomiya makes her stop outside the hotel, in front of his limousine. 

“You’re not wrong.” 

Tsuneko shrugs, her mind still wandering, and Ichinomiya sighs. 

“Ridiculous.” 

Then he’s in her space, the scent of his cologne tickles her nose and his hands are gripping her blazer, pushing it off her shoulders.  His hands are warm where they brush against her skin, heat floods her face. 

“Hey!? What are you doing!?” 

“It’s inside out, do you not even know how to dress yourself?” Ichinomiya sneers as he takes off her jacket, sure enough it’s inside out. Her face flushes a deeper red and she fiddles with her earring.

“I wasn’t paying attention, shut up,” 

She reaches out to grab the blazer back, but he lifts it above her head and she stumbles forward, nearly falling into his chest as she tries to reach it. He smirks at her feeble attempt to get it back. 

“It looks better without it.” 

“Fine, whatever.” 

She rolls her eyes and starts to move away when he places his other hand on her hip, pulling her tighter against him. Tsuneko presses her hand against his ribs, trying to increase the distance. 

“Having fun, you two?” 

Mr. Bucci’s voice rings out and Tsuneko is finally able to squirm away from the smirking Ichinomiya. Mr. Bucci is smiling pleasantly while Carolina is glaring daggers at her. 

“Sorry about that,” Ichinomiya says, not a hint of remorse in his voice. 

He opens the limousine the door, putting her blazer out of the way, before keeping the door open for the rest of them to file in. Ichinomiya slides into his seat, close beside her. She tries to make herself smaller and avoid any contact. He hands her his tablet, fingers stroking over her wrist as he asks her to take notes for the night.

“So, what were you two talking about earlier?” Mr. Bucci asks with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, like he’d caught two lovers flirting. Meanwhile Carolina is glaring at her in disgust, fair enough, the thought disgusts Tsuneko just as much. 

“Nothing much, I had to correct a minor wardrobe issue, it would have been done sooner but she was running a little late.” 

Tsuneko glares at him; he didn’t miss a chance to throw her under the bus, that’s for sure. 

“Can’t dress herself or be on time, you should just fire her already,” Carolina huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“That reminds me,” Ichinomiya reaches into his jacket and produces a neatly wrapped box, “a gift to thank you for all your hard work, Tsuneko.” 

Tsuneko narrows her eyes, he’s laying it on thick and she forces a smile as she takes the box. He watches her with that fake soft look as she opens up the box, the cat shaped watch she was looking at during the shopping trip with Carolina.  The band is a soft pink color and the metal is a rose gold. It’s cute but subtly so. 

“I saw you looking at it the other day; I figured it’d be practical as well.” 

“You’re too nice,” Tsuneko forces a smile but she’s glaring, “I couldn’t possibly-“ 

“It’s the least I can do for all the work you do for me.” 

If she doesn’t accept it, he’ll give her hell, this is all for his business agenda. She murmurs half hearted thanks as Ichinomiya fastens it around her wrist, making a point of skimming his fingers across her skin. Every bit of contact makes her want to lash out. They’re sitting in the back of a limousine with Ichinomiya making fake goo-goo eyes at her while the Hatter is sitting in Wonderland hurt and suffering. 

She’s not sure what the relationship between the Hatter and the other bidders is exactly, but shouldn’t he come before some networking event. Carolina is still glaring as Ichinomiya steers the conversation with Mr. Bucci back to business. 

Tsuneko tries to stay present enough to keep coherent notes, but they’re less detailed than last time. Her mind continually wanders back to the Hatter and what she can do about getting his stuff back. 

She’s sleepwalking through the rest of the evening, she’s just focused enough to do what’s asked of her, but she doesn’t talk or respond unless absolutely needed. She tries not to bristle or avoid Ichinomiya’s fake lovey dovey too much, so not to earn any extra ire. Tsuneko doesn’t properly taste any of the food as they go through the dinner, running completely on autopilot. Mr. Bucci and Ichinomiya prattle on about business while Carolina glares daggers, getting in occasional insults at Tsuneko’s expense. Her brain continuously wanders back to the Hatter. 

What if she can’t get anything back for him? 

What if those robbers come back? What if he gets hurt?

She’s running through every what if and disastrous possibility and before she knows it the dinner is coming to a close and they’re all leaving the restaurant. 

“Oooh,” Carolina’s eyes go wide at the sight of a designer store, “c’mon Eisuke, you can pick me out another dress!”

“I’m afraid that I have work to do back at the hotel, so Tsuneko and I will have to end the evening here. But, I’ll arrange for my driver to come back when you’ve finished your shopping.”

“Understood,” Mr. Bucci says despite Carolina’s pouting. 

They go off into the store and Ichinomiya opens the limousine door for Tsuneko to slide in. He follows suit and the second the door has closed his fake smile falls away. Hazel eyes glare at Tsuneko, she digs her nails into her thighs as the car starts to move. 

“That was pathetic.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“A brick wall had more personality than you tonight.” 

“Are you actually complaining about me being quiet?” 

“Your moping ruined the evening for everyone, are you still worrying about the Hatter?” 

“Yes, obviously! While we’re eating some five star meal, he’s down in the basement scared, hurt, and miserable!”

“He’s an adult, he’ll be fine. I’m not going to stop everything for one incident.” 

“I’m not asking you to stop everything, you dramatic fuck. I asked you do something, anything! I asked for the bare minimum and you still disappointed me!” 

“I disappointed, you? Who do you think you are?” 

“Someone who’s disappointed in you,” he huffs and looks away, “have you even thought about him this entire time? Those people know where he is, what if they come back, what if they hurt him?!” 

“Working yourself up into a panic attack won’t help anything.” 

“I’m well aware of that, so why the fuck, aren’t we there doing something that will help? Oh wait, because all you care about is your own business!” 

“Yes, my business is more important than a few trinkets being stolen from the Hatter.” 

“It’s not just what’s been stolen; did you see how hurt he was? He’s in a bad place and you don’t give a shit. God, I knew you were a jackass, but don’t you have an ounce of empathy?” 

She rakes a hand through her hair and sighs. Ichinomiya doesn’t respond now, but the frustration and anger radiates off of him. Tsuneko understands that he needs to make money and run his company, but he just dismissed the Hatter without another thought. He could have worked something out, done something. But, no, nothing, not a single shred of kindness or empathy. The Hatter was already in a bad place, thanks to her lashing out, she thinks back to the hurt look he had as she tore into him. At the time she didn’t care, but now it’s eating her alive. 

She’s hurt a lot of people in her life. She doesn’t want to do that anymore. What the Hatter said still hurts her, that he saw her vulnerable and decided to tear her down further. But, her reaction wasn’t right either. He called her an ugly crier and she tore apart his entire being. Someone pinched her and she tried to rip their throat out. 

 Tsuneko notices a few familiar buildings passing by the limousine, they’re near Parole and she remembers the lemon chiffon cupcakes, maybe those would lift the Hatter’s mood? 

“Hey, can you stop up here?” Tsuneko asks the driver. 

“What are you doing?” Ichinomiya gives her that all too familiar look of annoyance. 

“I need to go to the bakery.” 

“We just had dinner, are you that much of a glutton?”

“Just stop the fucking car.” Tsuneko’s voice is clipped, he’s such an asshole. 

She swings the door opens and hops out before the car has come to a complete stop, but close enough and rushes to get in before they close. All she wants to do is something nice for the Hatter, even a little thing that might brighten up his garbage day. 

The cute guy, Rin, is behind the counter when she comes in. He raises an eyebrow at her as she rushes over.

“You’re cutting it close again,” he comments.

“I know, I’m sorry. Do you have any more of the lemon chiffon cupcakes?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Great, can I get like a dozen of those?” 

“Sure, you must have really liked them,” he says as he starts packing the sweets away in a box.

“They’re for my…” what exactly is the Hatter? No word she thinks of feels right, friend is too familiar. Acquaintance or someone she knows from work are too distant, “there for someone, he’s had a bad day.” 

“I don’t really care,” he tells her as he rings it up, is everyone an asshole? She thinks for a moment and decides to add an iced frappuccino concoction, extra sweet stuff. Maybe that will lower Ichinomiya’s asshole threshold and he’ll be more likely to help the Hatter, catch more flies with honey and all that. She’s not fond of the idea of extending an olive branch to that man and perhaps it’s more manipulative than peaceful. 

“Well, thanks for putting up with me coming in late all the time.” 

She pays for the order and picks up the large box; these should bring a smile to the Hatter’s face if nothing else. 

“You remind me of someone,” Rin says suddenly, staring at her for a moment. 

“Really, who?” 

“This stray calico cat that’s always here begging for food and is always fighting the bigger cats.” 

Tsuneko’s face falls, Kisaki compares her to a dog and he compares her to a stray cat, what kind of bullshit is this?

“You’re no longer cute.” 

His face flushes red up to his ears again and he tries to cover them, irritation clear. 

“I’ve never been cute, shut up.” 

“Are you done wasting my time?” 

Ichinomiya’s voice makes her jolt, he’s standing in the doorway and glaring at them with his arms crossed over his chest. Everything about his body language makes her blood boil, she’s been here maybe five minutes. 

“Yeah, I’m done, asshole.” 

The insult makes Ichinomiya rolls his eyes and leave the store, she follows after him after waving a bye to Rin. The door nearly hits her in the face where she’s carrying the box and drink. Ichinomiya is walking away to where the car is parked, no concern for her. 

“Do you have to be so impatient?” 

“I don’t have the time or desire to watch you flirt.” He doesn’t bother to turn around, like she’s not even worth the energy to do so. 

“I was trying to buy something for the Hatter, because I want to make him feel better, god why are you such an asshole!?” 

“I don’t owe you any explanation.” 

“Can you at least turn around and talk to me, if you’re gonna be a dick!” 

“Go back to being quiet, you were less annoying.” 

“You know I got this drink for you, right? As a peace offering.”  Her nails dig against the cup. 

“Pfft, are you so stupid you think I can be won over with a drink, pathetic.” 

“My mistake,” she says before throwing it at the back of his head. 

He freezes in place as it bust into a mess; whip cream, chocolate, and iced coffee slush matting in his hair before running down the back of his fancy suit. She’s reaching into the box for a cupcake as he starts to turn around. 

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” 

The dessert splatters against his chest as the question ends. Whip cream from the drink somehow made it into his bangs, threatening to drip into his glaring eyes. 

“I’m sick of your shit,” she tosses another cupcake, smashing against his cheek before he can smack it away, “you’re a condescending rude asshole!”

“Are you done with your tantrum?” 

“Don’t patronize me!” 

"You're a child," he spits back.

"You're a selfish prat, all you care about is your damn self!"

"Maybe so, but I won’t stand for you trying to make me look like an idiot.” 

"Yeah, I'm just humiliating you in front of everyone," she gestures at the empty streets, "you know, maybe it's my fault for actually expecting better from you! I should have known that someone who bought me can't show kindness to anyone, even the people in his little fucked up circle."

"Is that how you see it?"

He steps closer, glaring her down. He'd be intimidating if not for the mess of icing and whip cream smeared over his face.

"Yeah, that's how I fucking see it. You're nothing but a heartless bastard."

"Believe it or not, buying you was a kindness," he's in her space, looming over her, "do you know what kind of people could have purchased you that night?"

"I-"

His hand on her chin cuts off her words, his nails pressing into her skin as he keeps her head in place. He leans his own down, keeping eye contact. A panicky thought he might be trying to kiss her rushes through her brain. But he stops just before their noses touch, his breath hot on her face.

"Would you have been happier in some pervert’s cellar?” he pauses for a moment, “You should be thankful, I found you pitiful enough to help."

"But not pitiful enough to let me go free."

"I'm not stupid enough to throw away things I can find a use for."

"Don't act like you gave a shit about saving me that night. I don't buy it. I could drop dead tomorrow and all you'd care about is your precious little deal."

She smacks his hand away from her face and walks off, she's done with this. He seriously wants to act like he's some fucking savior, he's the reason her life has gone to such shit lately.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm walking back to the hotel."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Fuck off."

She ignores anything else he says and starts heading towards the hotel. There's a hum of an engine and slowly she sees Ichinomiya's limousine driving at a snail’s pace so the back of the car is beside her as she walks. The window rolls down, messy Ichinomiya glaring at her.

"Enough of this, get in the car."

She throws another cupcake, but he rolls up the window before it can hit him, coating the fancy car's door and glass. It rolls back down smearing and streaking the mess.

"Fine, be stubborn."

The window goes back up and the limousine drives off. Such an asshole.

Her feet are aching and she pulling off her heels to walk barefoot when she reaches the back lot. The walk isn't that far but in high heels it takes longer and leaves her with blisters.

She hobbles down the stairs to the sub-basement and knocks on the door to Wonderland.

No answer.

She knocks again, harder and faster. Her throat is tight.

No answer.

Did those people come back? Could he be hurt?

She wrenches the door open and pushes her way in.

"I'm coming in, are you-"

Her yells die in her throat as she lays eyes on a startled man. A towel around his waist, water clinging to the exposed skin. His thick dark hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, but the style is mostly familiar, as is his height, thin figure, and he's around the same age...as the Hatter. His dark eyes are wide as he stares at her.

Then he's gone. 

[andrewmoocow]

Gravity Soul chapter 8: Last of Medusa’s Minions, the Pines vs the Witches? (originally posted on June 15, 2018)

AN: Well after some fun with Excalibur, why don't we follow it up with some of our characters being put in mortal danger by being pitted against Medusa's minions?! Yeah, I won't be very kind to our ragtag group of heroes going forward and trust me, it won't be pretty. 20-8-5 6-18-15-7 9-19 1 3-15-23-1-18-4 20-8-5 23-15-12-6 9-19 1 13-15-18-15-14 20-8-5 13-9-3-5 1-18-5 19-9-14-7-12-5-13-9-14-4-5-4 25-5-20 1-12-12 15-6 20-8-5-13 1-18-5 5-1-19-25 20-15 3-15-14-20-18-15-12

"I usually start off my mornings with a cup of coffee with cream." Excalibur stated as the Mystery Meisters continued on their way to Kishin Cipher's lair, much to their displeasure. "Then in the afternoon, I sit down with a cup of tea. And then in the evening-" "Booze? Seems right for an old guy like you." Stan snarked before he was cut off. "FOOL! For your information, I change into my pajamas and settle down for some well-deserved sleep." Excalibur cried. "Does he ever shut up?" Soos asked Black Star, who simply replied by putting on the Excalibur face and declaring "Unfortunately, no." "So what is Excalibur exactly?" Dipper asked Stein. "He can switch between a sword and some weird looking animal thing, but is he a demon weapon or not?" Stein simply mused for a moment before giving an answer. "Why it's simple Dipper, he actually inspired their creation and modeled after him by the sorcerer Eibon." "Who's Eibon?" Mabel added just as inquisitive. "Another one of the Eight Shinigami Legions and the Great Old One of Knowledge." Maka stated. "He once helped us against Asura but now it seems he's gone MIA." Kid added. "One has to wonder where he's gone now." "Wait guys, be quiet!" Wendy shouted making everyone stop. "Did anyone else hear a frog croaking?" They all scanned the area for any amphibians before the chittering of mice was heard along with a wolf howling. "I don't like the sound of that." Liz stated before she felt Blair's cat form clinging to her leg. "I'd remember that chittering from anywhere!" the Monster Cat cried before a small childlike person with pink hair, black-and-white striped clothing and a hat resembling that of a mouse's head stepped into view, followed by three similar looking ones. "Are those the Mizunes?" Soul wondered. "Then that must mean the others aren't too far behind!" Crona added before two more people came out. One was a girl with silvery hair, a black dress with a white polka dot pattern & an orange hat and the other was a muscular man with fangs, black-and-white striped pants and a red glow in his eye. "Well look who we have here. We've been following you all for quite a while." the girl said. "Yeah, what she said!" the taller man cried. "Don't think you're gonna get away so easily!" "Hey, isn't that the big muscly man from the Skull Fracture?" Mabel asked. "What do you want with us now?" Tsubaki demanded answers as to why they're here. "Simple, after Kishin Cipher fired us we decided to win his favor again by getting rid of you!" Free declared. "Not all of you, but the two kids and the old guys." "Is-is he talking about us?" Mabel fretted clinging as she and her brother clung to one another. "Well if you want us, then no dice big boy!" Stan declared putting up his fists while Ford pulled out a magnet gun. "Don't worry Mr. Pines, we'll stand by you!" Soos added. "We already said we only want the Pines!" Eruka reiterated her comrade's demands. "Now Free!" "You got it!" the werewolf shouted and began to wave his arms around. "Wolf, wolves! Wolf, wolves!" he chanted before clenching his fists and spread them out. "Frigid Jailhouse!" With those two words alone, the very air around everyone sans the Pines turned cold and began forming into some sort of a prison cell. "Well what do you know, trapped behind bars again." Gideon snarked. "This is no time for jokes Gleeful, we have to help Dipper & Mabel before we're put in cold storage!" Kid reprimanded the boy unaware of his own pun. Looking around, the Shinigami spotted Excalibur and picked him up by the torso. "Dipper, catch!" Kid then tossed the Holy Sword over to the young Pines twin before Free's attack completely froze them all solid, only leaving the family and the weapon to face the minions of Medusa. "Wait, Excalibur?" Dipper wondered staring at the annoying sword. "Didn't you say you wanted your own weapon like a sword?" Ford reminded him of Stein's explanation of Demon Weapons. "Besides, we might need him more then ever, regardless of how annoying he is!" "FOOL! You are indeed right Sixer, I might be an valuable asset to your crusade against Bill and Asura!" Excalibur shouted in his usual loud arrogant tone to which everybody in the area, even those frozen in the Frigid Jailhouse, responded by making the Excalibur face. "Well what are you waiting for boy, grab onto me!" the Holy Sword demanded leaping into Dipper's hands. "But don't I need to be worthy to wield you?" "It doesn't matter now, do it!" Dipper finally relented and grabbed Excalibur by the hat and he transformed into his weapon form. The other Pines gazed in awe before turning to face the witches. "Before we begin, why don't we make things more fair?" Eruka offered before looking at the Mizunes. The mice witches started snapping their fingers & chittering in harmony before two of them stacked on top of each other & forming a child-like figure around Mabel's height while the other three took on the form of a girl wearing clothes patterned after the Mizunes' attire and still wearing their mice hats. "Wait, they can do that?" Ford exclaimed scratching his head. "Now then, charge!" Free ordered and the two groups ran at one another ready to fight, Dipper against Eruka, Mabel against Free and the Stans against the Mizunes.

Meanwhile high in the treetops sat Giriko and Mosquito spying on the action. "Didn't Bill already fire those losers? What are they doing here?" the chainsaw wondered. "I suppose this is their attempt at winning the master's favor, especially at how they managed to contain the rest of their party." the former steward of Arachne pointed out staring at the subzero prison of the remaining Mystery Meisters. "Who knew such a fool could be strong enough to contain the son of Death and some of his strongest Meisters?" Giriko commented. "In fact, why did we need to be here? Let's just get outta here and let those guys murder them!" He was then quickly shushed by Mosquito. "Of course you gotta ruin my fun." "It's likely those five will lose anyway, especially when the boy has Excalibur in his hands." Mosquito stated eyeing the sword in particular. "Wait, that's Excalibur?!" Giriko gasped as the battle finally began. "Don't they know that he's too goddamn annoying to fully synchronize with?!" "I suggest we save the conversation for later my boy, but right now we watch." the Bloodsucker declared ending their debate and watching the witch's lackeys face the Pines. Returning to the fight, both groups were evenly matched. Dipper & Excalibur faced Eruka, Mabel against Free and the Stans versus the Mizunes. "Why are you even after us? Do you have something to gain from working with Kishin Cipher?!" the boy cried clashing the sword with the frog witch's tadpole staff. "He promised us freedom from Medusa when we originally met him in exchange for taking you out." Eruka explained smacking her foe in the face with her staff. "But we were wrong. He was just so utterly cruel and petty that he fired us just because Free lost an arm-wrestling contest." "Hey, that ninja kid was tough!" Free exclaimed as he tried to grab Mabel, who dodged him by swinging in the air with her grappling hook. "But how did you meet him anyway?" Ford asked while he and the tall Mizune fusion tried to push each other back while gripping each other's fists. "It all began one day..."

Gravity Falls, May 2013 It has been a few weeks since Maka Albarn had defeated Asura with the power of courage and now with Medusa potentially deceased & nowhere else to go, Eruka Frog, Free and the Mizunes decided to travel the country in search of a new purpose. Their newest destination was a town in Roadkill County, Oregon surrounded by a large forest that proved to be the perfect hiding place. "So glad we're all getting into nature." Free said roasting a kebab made out of acorns, mushrooms and a few dead squirrels over a campfire. "Yeah, the scenery really brings a nice atmosphere, wouldn't you agree Mizunes?" Eruka remarked and the Mizunes chittered in agreement. "But I just don't know what that thing is doing here." She pointed to a nearby statue of a triangle object wearing a top hat and sticking its arm out. "Probably just some dumb tourist attraction." "Why does it have an eye?" Free wondered also looking at the triangle while munching on his dinner. After a while, the group decided to turn in for the night. "So who gets to put on the fire?" the frog witch asked. "Allow me!" the werewolf made the campfire go out with his ice magic before closing his eyes and laying on his back. "Night gang!" And so the former witch's goons all fell asleep as the stars shone brightly over them. But mere hours later, Eruka woke up and glared at the statue of the triangle still with its arm out. "Okay, what is up with you?" she exclaimed trying her best to not awaken the others. She marched over to the triangle and took a knee to face its eye. "Seriously, what's your deal? Are you some kind of ancient relic or just some tacky photo op? Give me an answer!" "I'm sorry, what did you just call me?" a deep voice furiously rung out scaring the witch. Suddenly, a pale-skinned figure with golden hair and three eyes appeared in front of her and she started screaming in fear of this new being. "Hey, you got some nice pipes there girly! Perfect screaming volume!" the stranger complimented her. "And those shrunken pupils are a nice touch too!" "Free, Mizunes, help me!" Eruka ran away & cried out for her comrades but they couldn't hear her and continued resting. "Sorry Kermit, they can't hear you! Wanna know why?!" the monster said. "BECAUSE YOU'RE ON MY TURF NOW!" The entire area turned monochrome and Eruka was pulled back. "I suppose you must be wondering who I am?" "You're Asura, aren't you?" the witch whimpered. "Close but no cigar Slippy, call me Kishin Cipher!" he proclaimed. "While Asura was in some random void after Scythe punched him with courage, he ran into yours truly, Bill Cipher!" Kishin Cipher then transformed into that exact triangle statue only it was yellow and had a bow tie. "You may remember me from when Lord Death and his eight butt buddies beat me up and locked me in the Nightmare Realm or when I unleashed the apocalypse on this little town. But sadly all good things had to come to an end when some old man punched me in his mind." "So you both came back by fusing?" Eruka asked. "Exactly cheeks, and I've got a plan." Cipher stated putting an arm around her neck. "You see, there are these couple of kids that I want dead so that they won't interfere with my schemes. So I want you and your idiot friends to find me one of these three journals and bring them to me." He then spawned a flaming image of a damaged book with the number 3 on it. "So do we have a deal?" "But wait, what do I get out of it?" Eruka wondered contemplating Kishin Cipher's offer as he shifted back into his regular form. "Simple Michigan. Freedom." he declared. "Think of it, no longer will you have to be Medusa's punching bags, I can give you anything you want! Money, fame, riches, infinite power, even your own galaxy!" "Come to think of it, that does sound enticing." the frog mused tapping her chin in deep thought. "Okay, it's a deal." She finally took Kishin Cipher's hand and they shook, sealing the deal. "Welp, that takes care of it! Well what're you waitin' for?! But if you fail me, there will be consequences!" he exclaimed preparing to disappear before stopping to make one final statement. "Okay just a second. Strike that, reverse it. Thank you." He finally disappeared leaving Eruka standing alone in the dark forest before Free appeared from behind, spooking her. "Hey, what're you doing up and out here so late?" he asked. "Was it about the triangle?" His cohort sighed and finally confessed. "I made a deal with the guy that statue was supposed to be. It turns out he was some kind of demon that unleashed some kinda bizarre Hell on Earth last year and fused with Asura." "So wait, you actually shook hands with this thing?" the Immortal Man asked stepping up to the statue and touching it. "Yoohoo, Mr. Statue Man! You awake in there? My name's Free, a friend of the girl you made a deal with!" he cried tapping on the stone shape and accidentally cracking its eye. "Oops, I am so sorry Mr. Statue Man! Let me fix that for you!" He used his own saliva to fix the crack, but to no avail. "Apologies for using that to help you out there." "Can you pay attention Free?!" Eruka shouted. "When I spoke with Kishin Cipher, he told me he had a plan that involved a book he needed to gain more power." she explained. "Oh, you mean the one Doug has?" Free remarked. "Wait, who's Doug?" the witch asked. "He's just some guy I met that got that book from a bake sale. Reviews movies in his spare time." "Well, let's go see this Doug then. C'mon Mizunes, we got a job to do." Eruka woke up the mice and went on their way to perform their mission.

"So you actually made a deal with him?!" Dipper cried continuing to clash Excalibur with the frog's staff. "It was the only way we could finally have freedom!" she responded. "Besides, I wished we could be as tight-knit as you are." "Get back here you!" Free cried trying to catch Mabel, who kept swinging away from him with her grappling hook. "Try and catch me first!" she shouted pulling a candy bar out of her sweater pocket and throwing it in his face. "Oh hey, I was getting' hungry. Thanks kid." "You're welcome, but I'm still gonna have to beat you anyway." Mabel answered walking up to him and delivering a small punch before taking notice of his unique eye. "Hey, why does it say 'No future' above your eye, and why is it a different color from your other eye?" she asked. "Oh yeah, that." he stated sitting down. "This eye actually used to belong to the Grand Witch Mabaa and I stole it because a bunch of my friends dared me to." "So what happened? C'mon, you can tell me." Mabel asked smiling sweetly at him. "Wait, why you being so friendly with me? I mean, I froze your friends solid and I think my co-workers are gonna kill your family." Free said with a surprised expression. "I just want to be a nice person, even if some people are jerks to my friends." the girl stated sitting down next to him. "Now tell me more about that Grand Witch lady." "Okay, so I did succeed in stealing that eye but instead of killing me, since I was an immortal werewolf, Mabaa instead locked me up for the next hundreds of years where I even forgot my own name until Eruka freed me under Medusa's orders." Free explained. "And before that, I tried to escape by digging my way out with spoons like in the movies!" "It didn't work?" Mabel remarked. "It didn't work because they all served chopsticks." Free responded. "Now anyway, after I was bailed I served Medusa for quite a while until she bit the dust. We all thought she was gone for good until she came back in the body of a little girl, long story, and we were all forced to work for her again until she died again." "I know Medusa's a pretty terrible mother from Crona but how terrible of a boss was she?" Mabel wondered. "Just as awful. Makes me wish I was indebted to someone else now, preferably less abusive toward their minions." That was when Mabel got an idea. "I have a suggestion, why don't you hang out with us? I promise we'll be much kinder to you guys." "That sounds like a great idea! But I'm not sure about it since you're friends with the Academy's brats." Free remarked. "Promise me big guy, we can make it work."

"Tiny little bastard, ain't ya?!" Stan cried trying to dodge the two-body merged Mizune while Ford clashed with the three-body merged Mizune. "We need to create a diversion so that one of us can melt our companions' ice prison. Got any ideas Stanley?" Ford asked. "Okay, how about I face these Mousekewitzes while you do the melting part?" the con artist suggested. "But that leaves the question of how." "Simple, I crank my magnet gun up to eleven to meddle with its melting point." Stanford stated. "Did you simply get that off the Internet? That sounds like something out of one of those fact sites that says can openers are good for opening doors!" his brother commented. "Just trust me on this one Stan, our friends might catch hypothermia if they're stuck in there longer!" "Well, if you say so Sixer." Stan gave in before facing the pair of Mizunes. "Hey Speedy, Itchy!" he called distracting the mice witches and beginning to run around in circles. Meanwhile Ford got to work on melting the Frigid Jailhouse by stabbing the bars in the opening into the ice and cranking its power to its highest level. Pulling the trigger, Ford activated the gun's magnet pulse and it began to make quick work of the ice, to the point where he could barely see Waddles wiggle his snout. "Bingo, it's working!" "Wow Ford, guess the web is useful for something after all." Stan commented before he suddenly started screaming in pain, looking down to notice a thin, small laser jutted straight through his chest coming from the Mizune's face. Covering his wound, the great uncle turned to notice that the two fusions were no more and in their place had merged into something taller and dressed more revealing. "One of the old men is down. Now onto the rest of the family." "Stanley no!" Ford cried rushing to his brother's side. "Please speak to me, did that thing shoot you through the heart?" he asked. "No, none of my organs were stabbed." Stan said weakly while his older brother cradled him in his arms. "Just keep melting 'em Sixer and hopefully the kids will come back to save us." He finally passed out just as Dipper rushed to his side as well. "What's happened to him Ford?!" "That mouse thing struck him down while his back was turned and he's bleeding out! But thankfully she missed his vital organs." Ford stated beginning to shed a tear for his brother. "But still, if only it were me that took that laser." Dipper put a comforting hand on his shoulder as Eruka stepped forward. "So you care for each other that much?" "More than anything. What about you guys?" Dipper answered. "We only saw each other as coworkers, barely having enough time to relax especially when working under Medusa." Eruka stated. "Makes me wish we could have someone that we could call a family." She remorsefully looked down at the ground before Dipper took her hand. "How about we be your family?" "You really mean it? But we tried to kill you guys!" Eruka and Mizune were both taken aback by the boy's offer. "You did tell us about how bad of a boss both Medusa and Bill were, but Soos is a much better boss than they ever will." Dipper explained. "Speaking of which, think you can help us unfreeze our friends?" "We'd be happy to help, but we're gonna need to wait for Free to come back, since this is his doing." Eruka answered before suddenly, they heard bushes rustling followed by the Immortal Man stepping out with Mabel on his back. "Hey guys, sorry to keep you waiting!" "Meet my new friend bro-bro!" Mabel exclaimed jumping down to hug her brother. "Let me guess, is it because he's a big muscular wolfman?" Dipper snarked. "Kinda actually, but despite being an evil minion he's actually a total dork." the sweater girl stated. "And he loved that candy bar I threw at him as well!" "Who doesn't love chocolate?" Free added munching on his sweet. "So anyway, think you can help us get our friends out of that ice?" Dipper asked the werewolf. "Sure, just give me some time on this one." Stepping up to the partially melted ice block. Free wound up his fist and shattered it with a single punch, freeing its prisoners who were now shivering as a result. "Oh man, thought we were all gonna become ice sculptures in there!" Wendy exclaimed before spotting Free. "Hey, you look familiar." "Hands, or paws, in the air Free. We have you surrounded now that you've sealed your own doom." Kid coldly stated aiming Liz & Patty at the wolfman while the others took up arms when Dipper & Mabel rushed to defend their new friend. "No wait guys, don't fight them!" Mabel cried. "Are you kidding us Mabel, he tried to freeze us!" Black Star exclaimed before Dipper shushed him by pointing Excalibur at him. "Let us explain."

"So you're saying they all got screwed over by Bill and want to join us for revenge?" Spirit wondered as the crew were gathered around a makeshift campfire to warm themselves. "Yes, I originally made a deal with him to give us freedom in exchange for a journal he wanted but we were fired thanks to a certain someone!" Eruka stated before glaring at Free. "Oh come on! I just wasn't trying that hard!" "Incredible, a witch and a werewolf!" Ford muttered to himself writing down about the two in Journal 4. "One swiped the eye of a being known as the Grand Witch and the other is gifted in some form of mathmatics-based spells." Finishing his entry, he looked forlornly at his brother who was being taken care of by Stein. "Now hold still Stanley, this injury went pretty deep." "Yeah I know Frankenstein. Just be gentle, will ya?" Stan asked. "So sorry, this happened to you Mr. Pines. When I heard about it, I thought you would've died!" Soos cried feeling concerned for his father figure. "Yeah, must've been pretty nasty." Wendy added. "Thanks guys, nice to know you're still sticking by me." the con-artist thanked them with a hug. "I still can't believe it! Have we all gotten weaker or our enemies stronger?" Soul wondered aloud. "It's most likely the latter Soul. Kishin Cipher is not holding back from here on out and we're going to need to try our hardest to stop him." Maka answered. "Which would also explain why that taxidermy monster from the Northwests' home was able to knock me out mid-resonance." "FOOLS! We can't say for sure whether he is getting stronger, but I can assure you his forces definitely are." Excalibur commented. "Besides, have any of you ever seen Free pull off a move like that?" he asked the DWMA students and they replied with a nod. "Excalibur's got a good point everyone, we should watch ourselves." Kid reiterated the Holy Sword's point before grimacing. "I can't believe I just said that about him." "We can only camp here for a few more minutes, then we can get back on track." Tsubaki announced walking over to the fire to put it out. "Tsubaki's right, if we stay out here longer Bill could be invading our minds." Ford agreed. "Now then, let's get moving!" "Not so fast friends!" Mosquito announced with he and Giriko stepping into view. "Well, it seems Medusa's flunkies have finally betrayed them. I'm honestly not surprised given her personality." the Bloodsucker commented before a large golem rose up from behind. "Just when we thought tonight couldn't get any worse, of course more of you guys had to show up!" Stan exclaimed as everyone took up arms. "Now what do you want?" "Simple, to eliminate you all and take the old man & the scythe." Mosquito proclaimed. "We have been watching you all this entire night, particularly your battle earlier." he explained. "Now then, shall we begin?" "We won't back down this time Mosquito, and we aren't going to be detained like last time!" Maka shouted grasping onto her weapon and the Mystery Meisters began charging at the duo, ready for another battle.

Sorry to keep you waiting! Again, writer's block. Hopefully this will keep you tided over while I get back on one of my other stories that I've kept under the bus for a while. Oh yes, we're finally returning to my One Punch Man/Villainous crossover Black Fist! Until we meet again Fanfiction, take it easy.

[clonerightsagenda]

I did approximately 45 seconds of research for this and most of it was looking at pictures of space

tuesjade prompt: space

"Kanaya, are you busy?"

You consider this. You are, at this very moment, considering your artificially miniature tree (bonsai, Dirk called it) trying to decide if it's growing too fast. There is no topiary for you to style with a chainsaw here, so you've channeled your gardening precision in smaller pursuits. Aradia introduced you to the technique, which she says is an East Alternian tradition. She thought you might like it, and the process looks soothing from a distance. Up close, it involves a lot of neuroticism about angles. Or maybe that’s just how you do it.

Although you've been deep in contemplation of which branches might need pruning, to external observers you've been staring at a tree for fifteen minutes. The contemplation might have veered off course a while ago. Your mind is foggy a lot these days.

Speaking of which, Jade is waiting for a response. "Not exactly," you hazard.

The two of you cross paths often in her greenhouse. You and Calliope are its most frequent visitors. Sticking your hands into soil is a good way to ground yourself in a life where you’re still putting down roots. When she’s busy with a project, Jade will only nod as you walk by, but if she’s passing through she likes to chat. You’d only spoken for a few hours while cooperating on creating the genesis frog, but then you’d gotten along. You’d bonded laughing about the Knights assisting you and reminiscing about childhoods spent gazing at the clouds and longing for company. She could be prickly too – demanding passwords or doubting your intentions. A troll on Pesterchum, even a polite one, wasn’t important enough for her to hide those parts of herself from. It’s a quirk of her character that strangers are the ones who knew her best.

Now, she leans in to admire your work. Her hair is growing out, but it doesn't cover the curve of her neck as she reaches out to tap the pot. "It's so cute!"

You readjust the pot's position. "Could you move your carotid artery out of my line of sight? It's distracting."

She hops back and sits on a greenhouse table reserved for equipment. A watering can topples over with a thunk. "Is the vampire thing still a problem?"

"It's a work in progress." What it is is maddening. Your life has been set to half speed - where once you were the fastest of your group on foot (discounting flash stepping), now you lag behind. Your thoughts lag too, making your conversational pauses even more ponderous while you trudge through mental muck. Rose and Roxy have had it as bad with different symptoms. You and Rose spent the morning slumped over the kitchen table pulling grotesque faces at each other. She'd squeezed your hand and said, "I feel terrible" with exhausted pride. At least you're not going through this alone.

"I'm not going to abandon all restraint and attack you,” you reassure Jade, “but it's like dangling a raw haunch in front of a cholerbear."

“Sorry I’m so delicious!” she says with a laugh, and hunches her shoulders up around her neck. "I'll try not to be too tempting. But I do have something else that might distract you. Do you want to come to outer space?"

You look back at some sprigs of new growth questing too far above the tree's canopy and itch for pruning shears. "I know we share an Aspect, but my interests have always been more terrestrial."

"You won't be disappointed, I promise."

 There's a temporary transportalizer plugged into an outlet in Jade's room. They're simple to drop down and activate, thanks to alchemizing them with fenestrated portal technology. Maybe they're too easy to use - Jake left one in the bathroom once, and when Terezi went to take a shower she ended up in an ocean several thousand light years away. She hid a fish in his bed when she got back.

"This seems out of character," you say. Jade usually teleports rather than taking the stairs.

"My range isn't as far these days, and we're going way out."

“Should we tell anyone we’re leaving?”

She shakes her head and steps onto the telepad. Over her shoulder, in the instant before she vanishes, she calls, "It'll only take a few minutes. You'll want to see this. Trust me."

 When you rematerialize, your first breath doesn't come. Jade sees your eyes widen, and she catches your arm before you can step back onto the exit telepad. "There's not much of an atmosphere here. Your game powers will kick in in a moment, don't worry." Sure enough, your next breath comes easier. You focus on respiration until you're reassured that you won’t lose consciousness, and then you look around.

The landscape is nothing but dust and rock. It could be the surface of the Veil laboratory meteor that served as your temporary home, except no structures jut out from the surface. The sky isn't the flat black of the furthest ring, but it isn't the starry expanse of normal space either. Instead, a bright haze of gasses swirls and churns.

"A star formed in the middle of this nebula," Jade tells you. "The rest of the disc around it is still taking shape into planets. Either this chunk wandered in from outside and gotten pulled into the star’s orbit, or otherwise its accretion happened way faster than anything else’s. I haven’t looked closely enough at it yet to tell." She scans the sky. "It looks like we're rotated away from what I brought you here to show you. I can handle a local jump on my own. Are you ready?"

You nod, and your atoms fizzle into green fire. Normally after a First Guardian teleport you blink the flashes out of your eyes, but they remain dazzled. There's a rift in the middle of the haze, where a larger object has pulled surrounding dust and gasses into its mass. It's a shifting, molten sphere that you can only look at from the corners of your vision. "What is it?"

The light reflects off Jade's glasses, making them flash bright yellow when she turns to smile at you. "It's a planet being born."

 After a few more seconds, you drop your gaze to the rock at your feet, blinking away afterimages. Your eyes burn. "Do you recognize it?" she asks.

"Yes, I'd be able to pick this particular glowing orb out of a lineup."

"Pff, don't be sarcastic. Use your spacey powers!"

You close your eyes with relief and try to reach out with a sense that isn't any of the five. Space usually feels uncomfortably vast, a place that could swallow you up and leave nothing behind. There is infinite creative potential in Space, yes, but what it is most of all is empty. Void. Right now, though, it feels vibrant. Alternia was old, lit by a dying star growing too large for the species dependent on its rays. Everything in this place feels fresh with the birth of stars and planets. They have red hot cores and fission reactions that are only beginning to burn. Recognize it? "I'm not as expert at using them as you are."

She purses her lips. "If it helps, this hunk of rock we're on right now is going to be pulled into orbit and become that planet's moon. In a few billion years some of the gasses floating around will form an atmosphere and rain down to the planet’s surface to create oceans. Eventually it'll be able to support life." She raises her eyebrows like this should mean something to you. When you don’t speak, she says, "It's the planet where we'll raise the mothergrub."

You look back at the white-hot giant in the sky. Postponing the revival of your species is the right decision, you’re sure of that. Attempting to properly raise a mothergrub and then batches of wigglers while not even eight sweeps old and lightheaded from rainbow drinker withdrawal would only end in disaster. Few of you were raised well. None of you want to pass that along. Still, after seeing the matriorb shatter and finally getting it back, it’s hard to know your greatest responsibility is so far out of your sight, even if the screens have already shown you it will be fine. "It's not there now?"

"No, of course not. It won't be for another few billion years."

You hadn't checked all the readouts on the lab equipment. All the numbers for date ranges had been too large to grasp. Universes are vast in many dimensions, time and space. It’s something you’re only just coming to appreciate. "That's a long time to wait."

"John can take you there whenever you'd like. We don't have to move in chronological order. It's kind of like how you're not expected to read through an entire encyclopedia set front to back." She sticks out her tongue. "Although you can."

You’re not sure what an encyclopedia is, but this sounds like a sore subject. "Did you?"

"My grandpa only left me with so much to read, and I wanted to know what was going on with the rest of the world! They were very outdated though. I thought the Cold War was still happening. When a plane came by to do a package drop after I finished the C volume, I hid in case it was a bomber."

"Cold War? Was that a war you only fought in cold climates?"

"Noooo, not exactly. I'll explain it some other time, it was kind of messy." She scuffs her foot through the dust, kicking up a cloud that settles quickly in the thin atmosphere. "We can go back now. I just thought you might like to see it all get started out here. And now you know we can flip to the page where the mothergrub is any time you like."

You turn back to glimpse the planet one more time. Someday, civilization will spring up there. You’ve seen it happen. In theory, you’ll be there to help. That’s the responsibility you were given, and it’s one you’re determined to execute – just not today.

Today, you’re watching a world get born. The energy of creation hums around you and thrums deep in your veins. Who needs someone else’s blood when you can have this?

A few nights after the game, you and Rose had climbed up onto the roof to watch the sun set. It was the first time either of you had seen one in sweeps. You half-expected Rose to say something scathing about how cliched it was as a romantic venue, but she stayed quiet until the last traces of light slipped under the horizon. “I know when I was drunk I said everything was beautiful like some roadside hippie peddling dreamcatchers,” she said. “Enough that it must have lost its meaning. But the world is beautiful sometimes.”

“You’ll make that concession?” you’d teased.

“I’m still at war with the fundamental injustices of reality. But…” She leaned against your shoulder. “We can stop and enjoy the highlights.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say now.

“There are a lot of really cool sights to see out here,” Jade says. “A whole universe full of them! But I know you had a tree to chop up. Are you ready to go home?”

“I think I can just about handle one planet at a time.” You wave farewell to the burning sphere in the sky. “I’ll be back.”

“Before you know it,” Jade agrees, and she takes your hand, and you’re gone.

[silvokrent]

Gears in Motion - 1

The seed of an idea is planted.

Part I: The Present

There was a jaunty bounce in his steps as Bluestreak walked down the hall. Upbeat rock music trailed from his speakers, encircling him in his own little bubble of sound. Apart from the electric guitar solo drifting from the gunner the halls were quiet.

The abnormal stillness was courtesy of the recent battle early that morning. Just as the sun crested the horizon an alert had come in from some important politician (Bluestreak couldn't remember his name) of a raid on the North Anna Power Plant in Virginia. Autobots had been dispatched, and by late noon the group had returned aboard Skyfire, thoroughly exhausted but still largely unharmed. Gears and Windcharger were both in the medbay, one for burn damage and the other for shrapnel in his upper torso. Blaster and his cassettes were also holed up there, keeping a close vigil on Ramhorn while one of the rhino's legs was being rebuilt.

With everyone else either on duty or in their quarters resting, Bluestreak found little else to do as he strolled through the halls. At least the quiet gave him the chance to catch up on a demo that Jazz had lent him.

So immersed was the gunner in his music that he was caught by surprise when he rounded a corner and found himself near one of the officer-only conference rooms. By the looks of it, a post-battle meeting had just ended, if the sliding-open doors and mass exodus of mechs were anything to go by. Optimus Prime exited first, Ironhide by his side as the two engaged each other in deep discussion. Jazz sprinted out and jogged after the two much bigger 'bots, doubling his pace to catch up as they turned down the corridor.

At a much more sedate pace emerged Ratchet, with Prowl in tow. Without noticing him they continued down the hall in the opposite direction.

At the sight of the Second-in-Command Bluestreak felt his spark do a happy little jig. It always pleased him to see his mentor return safe and sound, especially from a battle where Bluestreak himself hadn't been present. Suddenly eager to catch up, he hastily muted his speakers and trotted down the hall. Four meters away he'd neared enough to catch the tail-end of their conversation:

"…will have the post-op report on your desk tomorrow," Ratchet was saying. The medic sounded cranky, and he sure as the Pit looked it.

"Another datapad to add to the growing collection," sighed Prowl. At the odd inflection in his tone Bluestreak stilled, refraining from calling out and making his presence known. "Joy."

The medic tipped his helm to the side, enough to capture Prowl in his legendary periphery vision. "And here I thought you'd be throwing enough confetti to shame Mardi Gras."

The Praxian's spinal struts seemed to sink a little―a small gesture that few would have normally picked up on, but Bluestreak, so attuned to his mentor's mannerisms, recognized it for what it was. Exhaustion. "Enjoying one's job is one thing," Prowl explained in a voice that aimed for impassive, and fell a little short. "Unnecessary surplus work, however, is another matter entirely."

"So get someone else to do it for a change," Ratchet scoffed, in his usual blunt way. Sympathy for stupidity and the blatantly obvious was something he had yet to perfect, and probably never would. "Otherwise quit bitching about it."

A sharp look was cast on the medic, quickly morphing back into a look of immense self-control. "The only other mechs who can act as substitutes in my stead are Smokescreen, and Prime. As you are well aware, Smokescreen is still off-base in Vegas"―his tone made his opinion of his brother's choice abundantly clear―"doing 'reconnaissance' on alleged Decepticon activity. And Optimus already has his hands full dealing with the Attorney General. It would be unfair of me to impose."

Despite being able to only see the CMO's backside, Bluestreak had a shrewd suspicion that he was rolling his optics. "Then save it for when he gets back."

"Unfortunately, the paperwork needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later." 

"It's not anything new," Ratchet reasoned with a light shrug of his broad shoulders. "I mean, it's not like it's high clearance slag. You just need a signature saying that the contents have been peer-reviewed, right?"

"Among other things," the tactician muttered.

To Bluestreak's faint amusement Ratchet moved to rib the black-and-white in the side. "Look at it this way," said the medic, the nonchalance in his tone causing Prowl's doorwings to flick in undisguised annoyance. "It could be worse."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

"Oh yes. Because Ultimate Minibot makes everything so much better," Prowl shot right back.

That garnered a true bit of sympathy from the medic. There was the briefest clenching of hands, as if Ratchet were entertaining the thought of a pair of necks choking in his grasp. Probably red and yellow, if Bluestreak knew any better. Which he did.

"Those little glitches are playing that game again?" Ratchet asked, his voice as smooth as a sword being drawn from its scabbard.

"If my sources are accurate, then yes, tomorrow," Prowl confirmed, in an ominous undertone. "As if my schedule weren't tedious enough without having to take the time out my day to issue disciplinary actions."

A sigh eased out of the medic's vents. "At least two of the usual victims are safe in the medbay."

Leaving just Cliffjumper, Huffer, and Brawn, Bluestreak wordlessly supplied. He himself had been invited several times by the twins and Aerialbots to join in on the "fun," yet always declined. Friends or not, the sniper never felt entirely comfortable with the game, even if he privately felt that Cliffjumper deserved being taken down a peg every now and then.

They were nearing a fork in the hall, where the barracks and medbay lay in their respective directions. Still largely unnoticed by the pair, Bluestreak let himself fall back several steps, still within hearing distance without drawing attention to himself. It wasn't really eavesdropping. “Not technically, anyway,” he’d heard Sideswipe say on more than one occasion.

Medic and tactician paused to exchange parting words.

"If you catch any of the little fraggers, make sure to send them my way." The promise of unholy wrath glittered like chips of ice in the medic's optics. Ratchet drew up his chin a fraction, the threat of dire retribution not lost in his posture. "I'll make sure to sort 'em out. They'll be right as rain by the time I'm done."

"If there is anything left of them once I've caught them," Prowl vowed, expression unnaturally vexed. He gave a deep, calming breath, and the ageless tranquility Bluestreak associated with his mentor returned once more. "I will be retiring to my quarters for the evening. Should you require me for anything…"

Ratchet offered a wry smirk. "I'll know where to find you. Good night, Prowl."

The SIC dipped his head. "Good night, Ratchet."

With that said and done, the two 'bots turned and left.

His good mood feeling suddenly unsettled by what he'd overheard, the gunner backtracked in the direction of the rec room. If Prowl was tired enough to retreat to his room, then Bluestreak knew better than to disturb him.

The depressing turn his thoughts had taken was interrupted by the sounds of playful bickering and good-natured laughter. Intrigued, Bluestreak quickened his pace.

Spike, Carly, and Bumblebee were huddled in the center of the rec room. There were several rolls of colorful duct tape around the humans' arms like gaudy bangles. A dozen empty tubes of wrapping paper were strewn about the space at their feet, with another tube in the yellow minibot's hands. He was attempting to, and struggling with, wrapping the sheet over a massive brown box that easily came up to Carly's shoulders. All three of them were adorned in Scotch tape and pieces of discarded paper, and there was a vaguely handprint-shaped glitter patch on Bumblebee's aft.

"You've got to cut it first, 'Bee," Spike was saying to the scout. "If the sheet's not the right size, then it won't sit right or fold correctly."

"I've never wrapped a present before," protested Bumblebee as he tried, and failed, to redo the crease. He stuck his glossa out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. "And the scissors are too big for me to use."

"Maybe we should use a chainsaw," Carly joked, her attention half on the strips of tape she was storing on her left arm for later use. "That should be big enough. And it'll certainly cut through the paper."

"And the box, and the gifts in the box, and maybe our arms, too," Spike snorted. "Besides, we already wrapped the chainsaw. Do you have any idea how long it'll take us to rewrap it?"

The little spy lifted his head, about to reply, only to catch sight of Bluestreak lingering in the entranceway. "Hey, Blue!" he called cheerfully. Carly and Spike turned, and waved the gunner over when they spotted him. Bluestreak strode over, his optics riveted to the half-wrapped carton.

"What are you guys doing up so late? I mean, I know your curfew isn't for another hour so you don't have to drive home just yet, but it's awfully late by human standards, and I know Sparkplug doesn't like it when you're on the roads after dark." He tipped his head to the side. "What's with all the paper and tape? And why do you need a chainsaw?"

It spoke volumes of the kids' familiarity with the Autobots that they could sift through the ceaseless jabber with barely a bat of their eyes. "Dad's still at work. He's pulling a late shift, so I can stay out a bit longer," Spike answered. "And the chainsaw's not for us―it's for Dad."

"For Father's Day," Carly explained, when the sniper merely stared in bemusement. "We got him a new toolkit, too."

"And a fishing rod, since he loves going out to Bull Run Lake," Spike added. He had resumed trying to flatten the stubborn wrapping paper against the surface of the box. He was rewarded with a noise of exasperation when the paper merely sprung back up like a belligerent weed.

"And I'm helping them, since the box is so big." Giddy excitement lit up Bumblebee's optics. He looked beside himself to have been included in this obviously important human tradition.

"But if you're only wrapping a few things, then why do you need a five foot high box? Couldn't you just individually wrap them all?"

At that, the boy gave a rueful laugh. "Well, it's sort of a joke." He scratched his hair. "You see, we sort of wrapped his gifts in one box, and then put that box in another box…"

"Like nesting dolls," Carly said. "Only without the creepy faces painted on them."

"I don’t know if we can call the wrapping paper a trade-off anymore, though." For emphasis Bumblebee flailed his arms, showing off the scraps of paper that had inevitably found their way across his frame.

There was a soft thump as Bluestreak settled in to watch. "I know I’ve heard it before but could you remind me what Father's Day is again?'" Despite having lived on Earth for years he was still encountering new aspects of human culture. He supposed, he consoled himself, that it made sense he didn't remember this one. Christmas overshadowed just about every festivity, with Halloween, Fourth of July, and (oddly enough) Valentine's Day making close runner-ups. The rest of the holidays out there were either too religious in nature or just downright bizarre for most of the Autobots to concern themselves with.

At that Spike tapped his chin. "Well," he began, clearly trying to put it in a way that would make sense to a species that didn't have biological progenitors, "in most societies family is a pretty important concept. If it weren't for our parents, we wouldn't be here right now. Someone had to raise you, even if they weren't necessarily the people that helped make you. Everyone has a mom and a dad, or two moms or two dads. Or any combination of parents, really." He shrugged. "But anyway, we owe it to our parents for taking care of us as kids. Or just my dad, in this case," Spike noted. A shadow of some darker emotion briefly crossed his face.

"And since my dad is dead, Spike's letting me share his," Carly added. She gave her friend a playful swat on the shoulder, snapping Spike out of whatever fog he’d settled into.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Basically, Father's Day is for celebrating dads and doing nice stuff for them, as a way of saying thanks for everything they do for you."

The gunner gave an absent nod, his optics distant as he thought. "And it's tomorrow?"

"Yup.” Bumblebee jumped into the conversation. "That's why we're trying to get this done as fast as we can.” He regarded Spike and Carly with bright optics. “You’ll let me be there when he opens this, right? I am helping with the wrapping, so surely that means I get to watch too.”

Spike shrugged again. “He’s already got a semi-adopted daughter. I don’t see why he’d object to having a giant alien robot for a foster son.”

Bumblebee snorted. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far…”

“Too late,” Carly said.

With a flex of his doorwings Bluestreak hauled himself to his feet. “I just remembered I really need to go take care of something important, so I'll just leave you guys to your wrapping so you can get it done in time." He hesitated, then bent down and picked up a roll. "Can I borrow this?"

"Sure," Spike said. "I think we're almost done, anyway."

Bumblebee huffed as the wrapping paper once again defied him, getting further crinkled in the process. "Not at this rate, we're not."

"That’s the spirit, ’Bee.”

Unbeknownst to the laughing trio, Bluestreak had quit the room. As the gray mech hurried toward the command deck a single image kept popping up in his processor, of black-and-white armor and a resigned expression. Without slowing his pace he strode directly past his quarters, ignoring his own comment about the late hour.

He had a lot of work to do.