#don’t you guys like words and stories enough to parse all your human needs through them?

[orchidego]

My parents are not fiction readers at all but I will say that they made it a point to heavily populate my bookshelf with Newbery nominees and I think that’s the reason I gravitate towards lit fic when I want a comfort read. Newbery child to Booker adult pipeline

[bogkeep]

hmmmmmmmmmm maybe i’ll write an Introspective Musing Post about my relationship to religion and their depiction in stories because i’ve pondering about this topic lately

so for those who are reading this and DON’T know what’s been going on...  there’s this webcomic i fell in love with some years ago, about six years actually, that depicts a post-apocalyptic fantasy/horror adventure set in the nordic countries. it had, and has still, some very uncomfortable flaws regarding racial representation, and the creator has historically not dealt very well with criticism towards it. it’s a whole Thing. my relationship with this comic has fluctuated a lot, since there are a lot of elements in it i DO love and i still feel very nostalgic about, and like idk i felt like i trust my skills in critical thinking enough to keep reading. aaand then the creator went a teensy bit off the deep end created a whole minicomic which is like... a lukewarm social media dystopia where christians are oppressed (and also everyone is a cute bunny, including our lord and saviour jesus christ). which is already tonedeaf enough considering there are religious people who DO get prosecuted for their faith, like, that’s an actual reality for a lot of people - but as far as i can tell, usually not christians. and then there’s an afterword that’s like, “anyway i got recently converted and realized i’m a disgusting human being full of sin who doesn’t deserve redemption but jesus loves me so i’ll be fine!! remember to repent for your sins xoxo” and a bunch of other stuff and IT’S KIND OF REALLY CONCERNING i have, uh, been habitually looking at the reactions to and discussions around this, maybe it’s not very self care of me but there’s a lot of overwhelming things rn and it’s fantastically distracting, yknow? like, overall this situation is fairly reminiscent of the whole jkr thing. creator of a series that is Fairly Beloved, does something hurtful, handles backlash in a weird way, a lot of people start taking distance from Beloved Series or find ways to enjoy it on their own terms, creator later reveals to have been fully radicalized and releases a whole manifesto, and any and all criticism gets framed as harassment and proving them right. of course, one of them is a super rich person with a LOT of media power and a topic that is a lot more destructive in our current zeitgeist, and the other is an independent webcomic creator, so it’s  not the same situation. just similar vibez ya feel as a result of this, i have been Thinking. and just this feels like some sort of defeat like god dammit she got me i AM thinking about the topic she wrote about!!! i should dismiss the whole thing!!! but thinking about topics is probably a good thing so hey lets go. me, i’m agnostic. i understand that this is a ‘lazy’ position to take, but it’s what works for me. i simply do not vibe with organized religion, personally. (i had the wikipedia page for ‘chaos magic’ open in a tab for several weeks, if that helps.) i was raised by atheists in a majorly atheist culture. christian atheist, i should specify. norway has been mostly and historically lutheran, and religion has usually been a private and personal thing. it turns out the teacher i had in 7th grade was mormon, but i ONLY found out because he showed up in a tv series discussing religious groups in norway later, and he was honestly one of the best teachers i have ever had - he reignited the whole class’ interest in science, math, and dungeons and dragons. it was a real “wait WHAT” moment for my teenage self. i think i was briefly converted to christianity by my friend when i was like 7, who grew up in a christian family (i visited them a couple times and always forgot they do prayers before dinner. oops!), but like, she ALSO made me believe she was the guardian of a secret magic orb that controls the entire world and if i told anybody the world would burn down in 3 seconds. i only suspected something was off when one day the Orb ran on batteries, and another day the Orb had to be plugged in to charge. in my defense i really wanted to be part of a cool fantasy plot. i had no idea how to be a christian beyond “uuuuh believe in god i guess” so it just faded away on its own. when i met this friend several years later, she was no longer christian. i think every childhood friend of mine who grew up in a christian family, was no longer christian when they grew up. most notably my closest internet friend whose family was catholic - she had several siblings, and each of them took a wildly different path, from hippie treehugger to laveyan satanist or something in that area. (i joined them for a sermon in a church when they visited my town. my phone went off during it because i had forgotten to silence it. oops!) ((i also really liked their mother’s interpretation of purgatory. she explained it as a bath, not fire. i like that.)) i have never had any personal negative experiences with christianity, despite being openly queer/gay/trans. the only time someone has directly told me i’m going to hell was some guy who saw me wearing a hoodie on norway’s constitution day. yeah i still remember that you bastard i’ve sworn to be spiteful about it till the day i die!! i’ve actually had much more insufferable interactions with the obnoxious kind of atheists - like yes yes i agree with you on a lot but that doesn’t diminish your ability to be an absolute hypocrite, it turns out? i remember going to see the movie ‘noah’ with a friend who had recently discovered reddit atheism and it was just really exhausting to discuss it with her. one of these Obnoxious Atheists is my Own Mother. which is a little strange, honestly, because she LOVES visiting churches for the Aesthetic and Architecture. we cannot go anywhere without having to stop by a pretty church to Admire and Explore. I’VE BEEN IN SO MANY CHURCHES FOR AN ATHEIST RAISED NON-CHRISTIAN. i’ve been to the vatican TWICE (i genuinely don’t even know how much of my extended family is christian. up north in the tiny village i come from, i believe my uncle is the churchkeeper, and it’s the only building in the area that did not get burnt down by the the nazis during ww2 - mostly because soldiers needed a place to sleep. still don’t know whether or not said uncle believes or not, because hey, it’s Personal) i think my biggest personal relationship to religion, and christianity specifically, has been academic. yeah, we learned a brief synopsis of world religions at school (and i remember the class used to be called ‘christianity, religion, and ethics’ and got changed to ‘religion, beliefs, and ethics’ which is cool. it was probably a big discourse but i was a teen who didnt care), but also my bachelor degree is in art history, specifically western art history because it’s a vast sprawling topic and they had to distill it as best they could SIGHS. western art history is deeply entangled with the history of the church, and i think the most i’ve ever learnt about christianity is through these classes (one of my professors wrote an article about how jesus can be interpreted as queer which i Deeply Appreciate). i also specifically tried to diversify my academic input by picking classes such as ‘depiction of muslims and jewish people in western medieval art’ and ‘art and religion’ when i was an exchange student in canada, along with 101 classes in anthropology and archaeology. because i think human diversity and culture is very cool and i want to absorb that knowledge as best as i can. i think my exchange semester in canada was the most religiously diverse space have ever been in, to be honest. now as an adult i have more christian friends again, but friends who chose it for themselves, and who practice in ways that sound good and healthy, like a place of solace and community for them. the vast majority of my friends are queer too, yknow?? i’ve known too many people who have seen these identities as fated opposites, but they aren’t, they’re just parts of who people are. it’s like... i genuinely love people having their faiths and beliefs so much. i love people finding that space where they belong and feel safe in. i love people having communities and heritages and connections. i deeply respect and admire opening up that space for faith within any other communities, like... if i’m going to listen to a podcast about scepticism and cults, i am not going to listen to it if it’s just an excuse to bash religion. i think the search for truth needs to be compassionate, always. you can acknowledge that crystals are cool and make people happy AND that multi level marketing schemes are deeply harmful and prey on people in vulnerable situaitons. YOU KNOW???? so now’s when i bring up Apocalypse Comic again. one of the things i really did like about it was, ironically, how it handled religion. in its setting, people have returned to old gods, and their magic drew power from their religion. characters from different regions had different beliefs and sources. in the first arc, they meet the spirit of a lutheran pastor, who ends up helping them with her powers. it was treated as, in the creators own words, ‘just another mythology’. and honestly? i love that. it was one of the nicest depictions i’ve seen of christianity in fiction, and as something that could coexist with other faiths. I Vibe With That. and then, uh, then... bunny dystopia comic. it just... it just straight up tells you christianity is literally the only way to..?? be a good person??? i guess?? i’m still kind of struggling to parse what exactly it wanted to say. the evil social media overlord bird tells you the bible makes you a DANGEROUS FREETHINKER, but the comic also treats rewriting the bible or finding your own way to faith as something,, Bad. The Bible Must Remain Unsullied. Never Criticize The Bible. also, doing good things just for social media clout is bad and selfish. you should do good things so you don’t burn in hell instead. is that the message? it reads a lot like the comic creator already had the idea for the comic, but only got the urge to make it after she was converted and needed to spread the good word. you do you i guess!! i understand that she’s new to this and probably Going Through Something, and this is just a step on her journey. but the absolute self-loathing she described in her afterword... it does not sound good. i’m just some agnostic kid so what do i know, but i do not think that kind of self-flagellating is a kind faith to have for yourself. i might not ever have been properly religious, but you know what i AM familiar with? a brain wired for ocd and intrusive thoughts. for a lot of my life i’ve struggled with my own kind of purity complex. i’ve had this really strange sensitivity for things that felt ‘tainted’. i’ve experienced having to remove more and more words from my vocabulary because they were Bad and i did not want to sully my sentences. it stacked, too - if a word turned out to be an euphemism for something, i could never feel comfortable saying it again. i still struggle a bit with these things, but i have confronted these things within myself. i’ve had to make myself comfortable with imperfection and ‘tainted’ things and accept that these are just, arbitrary categories my mind made up. maybe that’s the reason i can’t do organized religion even if i found one that fit for me - just like diets can trigger disordered eating, i think it would carve some bad brainpaths for me. so yeah i’m worried i guess! i’m worried when people think it’s so good that she finally found the correct faith even if it’s causing all this self-hate. is there really not a better way? or are they just trusting she’ll find it? and yeah it’s none of my concern, it’s like, i worry for jkr too but i do not want her within miles of my trans self thANKS. so like, i DO enjoy media that explores faith and what it means for you. my favourite band is the oh hellos, which DOES draw on faith and the songwriter’s experience with it. because of my religious iliteracy most of it has flown over my head for years and i’m like “oh hey this is gay” and then only later realize it was about god all along Probably. i like what they’ve done with the place. also, stormlight archive - i had NO idea sanderson was mormon, the way he writes his characters, many of whom actively discuss religion and their relationship to it. i love that about the books, honestly. Media That Explores Religion In A Complex And Compassionate Way... we like that i’ve been thinking about my own stories too, and how i might want to explore faith in them. most of my settings are based on magic and it’s like, what role does religion have in a world where gods are real and makes u magic. in sparrow spellcaster’s story, xe creates? summons? an old god - brings them to life out of the idea of them. it’s a story about hubris, mostly. then there’s iphimery, the story where i am actively fleshing out a pantheon. there’s no doubt the gods are real in the fantasy version of iphimery, they are the source of magic and sustain themselves on slivers of humanity in exchange. but in the modern version, where they are mostly forgotten? that’s some room for me to explore, i think. especially the character of timian, who comes from a smaller town and moves to a large and diverse city. in the fantasy story, the guardian deity chooses his sister as a vessel. in the modern setting, that does not happen, and i don’t yet know what does, but i really want timian to be someone who struggles with his identity - his faith, his sexuality, the expectations cast upon him by his hometown... i’m sure it’s a cliché story retold through a million gay characters but i want to do it too okay. i want to see him carve out his own way of existing within the world because i care him and want to see him thrive!!! alrighty i THINK that’s all i wanted to write. thanks if you read all of this, and if you didn’t that’s super cool have a nice day !

[winkette]

Little ficlet that’s been bouncing in my brain lately.  TW for thoughts of murder?

Dust had been left out of the mission for the day, his allotted ‘rest’ time. A thing that only came into play when everyone was on rotated guard shifts watching over the human. Spying for signs of espionage or prying for details of who could have sent her to Nightmare’s castle of all places. A search that was fruitless after she was released from the dungeons to begin with. 

The pale skeleton lifted a shoulder high, rolled it and followed the roll through his neck to the other shoulder. Whatever the boss’s reasons, an extra day off was certainly relaxing. With the Star Squad bringing their Council members to the fights over the worlds, Error and Nightmare had to adapt their individual plans; often opting for shorter, faster techniques. An unfortunate side effect to the adjustments was the increase of small missions. Tactics of get-in-get-out drilled into each of the darker Sans’ skulls. 

Even on his ‘rest’ day, Dust could still hear the plans and drills and tactics running through his head like a bad mantra. Tilting his head to the side and pausing; he heard something else too.

His goal had been the kitchen for a glass of sweet tea the human had made yesterday and Dust knew the human liked to help prep food for Axe’s larger meals, so it wasn’t a surprise to hear you in there. The beat of some low song was only a small surprise considering the fact that you usually kept it low to avoid attention.

Rounding the corner of the dining area, he caught sight of you sliding from one side of the kitchen area to another, the music beginning to thump from the top two cat ear-shaped speakers on top of your head. He had caught you at the end of one song just as another began. Something with a high, echoing background tone followed by a gravelly woman’s voice saying something about what her mother and father said. 

Music never caught Dust’s attention unless he was on a mission in one of the Multiverses many Dancetale variants, where the song could broadcast a Monster’s fighting style. Monster’s Soul Songs rarely had words to them though, and those that did usually spoke in some form of lyric that wasn’t worth parsing through. Humans, however, could adapt a song to their Souls or their Souls to a song. 

Changing the meaning, or ‘feel’, of a song to suit their needs.

Your Soul was always audible to the Monsters in the castle. It was quite annoying, but Dust is learning that it ‘sings’ louder when you’re focused on music. Easy to ignore when he’s not in the same room as you, but now he’s noticing that that ‘singing’ gets louder if you sing.

“I was told I was nothing; I was told that I was pure.” Your voice doesn’t match the vocalist’s gravelly tone but your Soul certainly does. As you sing the lyrics, your Soul sings it’s own story that you feel when you connect to this song in particular. 

Your voice sings the lyrics, harmonizing rather well if Dust were ever asked. The story your Soul sang was more interesting than the words though. A pain? A trust? A dependency you relied on that wasn’t healthy. A weak and fragile state, susceptible to outside influences and those meant to protect you failed. Failed in glorious fashion if Dust heard your Soul’s pained wail right. Bitterness and hate. Mistrust and caution sown into your Core from these failures. From continued failures. 

His breath caught in his non-existent throat when the song reached its peak. Your voice and Soul started screaming in anger and right there, on the chorus, your Soul gave a little wobble. A little unstable noise Dust had heard many times since his arrival at this dark castle. 

Mania. 

The song drew out an unstable moment in your Soul? What was your life like before appearing here, of all places, to have destabilized your mental state enough to affect your Soul? Why had he not heard it before? You had the potential to fall apart; to become as unstable as Dust or Killer or Axe on his worst days. The potential. Hidden behind all that useless...sweet...kindness and patience. 

If Dust pulled you into an encounter to see your Soul directly, would it be broken like his? Or misshapen like Axe’s and Killer’s? Scarred. Cracked. Weak. Hollow. Fragile…

‘Yes Brother! Imagine How Easy It Would Be. You Could Break It In Your Hands!’

He had broken Souls with his bare hands before.

‘But A Human’s Soul, Brother? Certainly Not One So Loud? I Wonder If It Is Already Broken. A Delightful Crack To Dig Your Claws Into And Pull Apart Slowly. Imagine It, Sans!’

He could see it. Human Souls were always interesting to shatter. The restricted magic, the stronger intent, the way they would settle into his claws so nicely and you would S C R E A M. 

….Oh. You did scream. 

Dust raised his LV flaring eyelights from your chest to see you looking at him from the center of the kitchen. Eyes wide (fear?), mouth agape (shock?), hands clasped at your chest (begging?) He felt his grin twitch in manic glee. Would you beg him? Beg him to spare you? To-

“When did you get here? Is everyone back already?” A worried furrow settles into your brow as you place the cutting board you had washed back on the counter. “How long were you standing there?” 

The embarrassed flush to your face and disgruntled pout threw Dust’s roaring LoVe for a loop. What were you pouting about?

“Dust?”

He only hummed back, face neutral as if his own Soul wasn’t roaring in his skull. Eyelights steady and half-lidded as if his sight wasn’t tinged in red. 

Sparing a glance at the oven timer, you drop the drying rag and close the distance between the two of you. As you entered the dining room, a sense of warning started to flare up in the back of your mind and you gave pause five feet from the skeleton. 

The palest monster of the castle seemed to have appeared from nowhere while you cleaned the kitchen. Not a surprise given that everyone but you could teleport, but the guys were supposed to be on a few missions today. Axe had left you a list of vegetables to chop and a broth to put together while he was away and Cross pat your head as he usually did on his way out. So why was Dust here?

A quick look over his faded clothing didn’t show evidence of battles or exertion. Not a mark or excess wrinkle aside from his slouched posture stood out to you. His face looked...mostly fine. Were his eyes brighter? Or was the dining room dim?

A glance at the room told you the lights were off aside from the kitchen. Not even the hall held lights brighter than the dim candles mimicking the outside sunlight. 

“Are you alright? You don’t seem so good.” Dust was making you feel weary. It reminded you of the time Killer had a LV flare and tricked you into a spar-turned-attempted-murder. Only..quieter somehow. 

The memory pulled you into a more defensive mindset. Was Dust having a LV flare of his own? Would he challenge you to a Fight too? The thought made you strangely sad. “Dusty?” you coo. “Did you need a snack or something? Should I call one of the others?” If he was having a flare, offering food probably wouldn’t save you from being a target, but you still wanted to offer a way to help.

There was no use putting yourself in danger and pretending to be able to offer yourself as a spar partner. You weren’t near his level, let alone anyone else’s. The only thing you had was food and cuddles, but Cross and Axe both said not to get too close to someone if they have a LV flare or some other traumatic episode. So food was your only offer.

Gently you offer, “How about I get you some sweet tea and lemon cookies?” To motion to your offer, you pull out one of the dining room chairs and wave a hand over it. Dust’s eyelights look to the chair then back at you. All you offer is a soft smile, despite how worried for him you felt, then turn to the kitchen for the promised snacks. 

For a brief moment, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and a wave of goosebumps travels your skin, but you only realize them once they clear. Did Dusty..?

You make it to the fridge, pull the tea and get to work plating a serving of honey lemon cookies. When you turn to bring his snack, you’re surprised to see him actually sitting at the table. Usually he would have run off somewhere else and you wouldn’t see him again until some meeting or group meal. 

He’s silent when you place the cup and plate. To keep close for a moment longer, you grab two napkins from the pile nearby and set them beside his plate. “There we are. I hope you like the tea.” You give a smile and turn away again.

Not a step later, there are four sharp claws and a thumb at your wrist. The pointed finger tips were poised to tear into the flesh and separate the tendons just above your carpals. When you stop at the touch, still light but just as threatening, and turn to face Dust, the claws twitch as if they yearn to pierce your skin before softening into a lighter grip. 

“Dusty?” You look for any signs that he might need some help. 

He is still quiet and when he gives a gentle tug to your arm, it’s almost like a quiet plea. His fingers aren’t fully wrapped around your wrist, leaving you enough capability to simply walk out of his grip, but affection and patience twist in your gut and reach out to the monster before you.

“What’s wrong, hun?” It’s a whisper laced with more concern than you wanted but when you turn to face him, the light grip guides you closer. It’s when he releases your wrist to gently hover his hand over your back that you realize he wants you to sit in his lap. He’s still staring straight ahead without looking at you, but you get the feeling he’s stuck in some type of emotional limbo. Between thoughts. 

You turn and carefully lower yourself to his lap. He’s left more than enough room between himself and the table that it should have clued you in to what he may have wanted sooner. Once settled, you look to him, trying to catch his gaze but fail. He doesn’t move more than curling one arm around your hips and sliding two fingers into your pants pocket; a light lock to keep you close. 

The silence reigns and you want to say something but Dusty is one of the quieter skeletons, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that he wouldn’t talk when he was fighting some internal battle. Raising one hand to rest on his right cheek, you gently rub under his eye and settle your head to his shoulder. After a moment you lower your hand to rest on his other shoulder and simply give him the comfort he silently asked for. 

You close your eyes to Dust’s silent shock as he slowly takes the first of the lemon cookies and takes a bite. Enjoying the way the love in them echoes the undeserved affection you presented to Dust like a tidal wave smoothing stone. His Soul shivers against your intent and emotions but soon lets it soothe him like no LV grinding ever could. 

Tears pebble his sockets, but he enjoys his snack and your company with their weight blurring his vision.

[dorksndisasters]

Session 3

[[<PREV]] | [[NEXT>]]

Ok no I did totally forget about this, my bad

episode 5 has just gone up on patreon.com/scmalarky if you want to get ahead! That’s the first one I ever wrote!

This is where Marask joined! They entered the underground market area! It quickly became their favourite place to go!

players involved: Carric, Marask, Ophibwynn, Uriel

##

The market is busy as ever; there doesn’t seem to be one specific market day here, thought the stalls do change from day to day.

Ophibwynn (still nursing a slight headache from the night before) meets Carric and Uriel, squinting slightly. “No Siana?”

“Don’t know where she is,” Carric says, and offers her a mushroom.

Ophibwynn takes it, dubious, and offers it to Gordon to sniff at.

“To help with your headache,” Carric says. “Promise.”

Ophibwynn shrugs and eats it. “Alright, so-”

She’s interrupted by two crows that come careening out of the sky and circle the group, cawing.

“Hey!” Uriel unsheathes her sword, pointing it at them. “Be warned, crows.”

One of the crows lands and shifts form, becoming a scruffy looking man in his mid-thirties. “Hey, hey, easy!” He holds up his hands as the other crow lands on his shoulder. “Just me.”

“Marask.” Carric smiles. “Been a while.”

Uriel sheathes her sword, still giving his crow a narrow Look.

“Yeah. What are you doing here?”

“Meeting someone,” Ophi replies. “Well, meeting someone that’ll take us to meet someone else.”

Marask tilts his head, like he’s trying to parse that. “Alright. Mind if I tag along?”

Uriel whips her head around, staring into the throng of people. Her hand rests lightly on the hilt of her sword.

“Hey, Uriel, buddy...? What have you seen there?”

“Thieves,” she says, and stalks into the crowd.

“Well don’t - don’t murder them!” Carric hurries after her. “You don’t have to-”

"Good to see you again," Ophi says to Marask, as they follow. "Seen anything interesting?"

"Oh, you know, this and that."

Uriel is stalking a lizardfolk and a kenku that seem to be working together; the lizardfolk, being bigger, is drawing attention simply by walking past and being intentional about brushing past people, bumping into them, drawing their ire. The kenku, when their mark turns to challenge him, lifts whatever she can from their pockets and melting back into the crowd.

"Hello," Uriel says, almost pleasantly, and holds her sword against the kenku's back.

"Wait." Carric grabs Uriel's arm. "Think about this."

"Is there something you want?" the lizardfolk asks, a growl underlining his words.

"Nope, nu-uh, not at all," Ophi says, smiling. "Sorry."

Marask grins and shifts to his half-form; taller, his arms becoming wings, feet becoming talons, feathers weaving in amongst his hair. He looks almost like a kenku, although much larger. "I come," he says, voice deeper and slightly clipped, "To bring you with me out of this citadel, and what do I find?" He fixes his gaze on the kenku.

The kenku freezes, one hand extended towards Ophi's satchel, and gazes up at him with something like awe in her eyes. "Herald?" she croaks out.

"Don't be stupid," the lizardfolk growls. "That isn't anything to do with-"

The crow on Marask's shoulder cuts him off with a series of harsh caws, spreading its wings wide.

"What are you bringing me?" Marask asks.

The kenku lifts up her satchel and opens it, holding it for Marask to peer inside.

His eyes light up as he stares at the contents. There are four whistles, two stones marked with painted glyphs, and two eggs that are mismatched in size.

"Acceptible." Marask takes it.

The kenku almost starts to protest; "I need to take egg - all - to Spires! You-"

"I am not asking," Marask says, sorting everything into his own bag. "It is a paltry tribute."

"But-"

Marask holds up a wing. "Hush."

The kenku claps her beak shut so fast that everyone can hear it click.

Marask turns away to hide the grin growing on his face, and the other three follow him.

"So - what, you con kenku into believing you're their god?" Ophi asks.

"How well does that normally work out for you?"

"It gets me some fun things." Marask sorts through his spoils. "What can you tell me about these?"

"Well," Carric says, poking at the whistles. "One of these is magic. Not sure what it does, though."

"And these?" Marask touches the eggs. "This one's gotta be something good, right?" He strokes the bigger one.

It's cooling, to the touch, and a deep black, spattered with white specks that, in the darkness of his bag, seem to glow slightly.

"Not sure." Carric frowns at it. "Ophi?"

"It looks like... like something out of a story," Ophi starts to say, before she is interrupted.

There's a commotion not far off, and the group collectively looks over to see two lizardfolk sweeping a stall clear of what looks like votive statues as the stall owner protests.

Marask hands his bag off to Ophi and leaps into full crow, circling around the lizardfolk for a better angle. He dives, shifting forms at almost the last moment to crash into one of them, sending them stumbling away from the stall. The statues fall from their grip as they yell out.

Uriel dashes in, almost unsheathing her sword.

"Hey!" Carric calls out a warning after her.

Uriel reverses her grip on her sword and smacks the other lizardfolk so hard that he falls unconscious.

The lizardfolk that Marask hit turns and lashes out at him with their claws, snarling.

Marask, unable to dodge back in time, is hit across his arm, the claws tearing through his skin.

Ophi leaps, using some magic to boost herself high enough to get the drop, kicking the lizardfolk in the head.

In the commotion, Uriel sweeps the statues into her own bag.

"Here's your stuff," Ophi says, holding out his bag to Marask.

"Thanks." He resumes his human form, rubs the faded claw marks, and turns to the nearest stall. "Can I interest you in some whistles?" He lays out three of them on the stall.

"Aren't they from-" the stallholder starts to say.

"Only the finest, hand-carved," Marask speaks over him, "A perfectly tuned toy for any young, budding musician."

The stallowner is doubtful, but they name a price and Marask takes it.

"And these statues-"

"Those are mine," the stallowner says. "I won't - hey!"

Marask is leaving, three statues sticking out of his bag. "Consider it payment!" he calls back.

"You're as bad as Uriel."

"Hey!" Uriel and Marask speak in tandem, both sounding just as shocked.

"I don't try to murder everyone," Marask says.

"I don't try to sell people their own wares," Uriel says.

Ophi laughs. "Maybe you should both stop."

"Maybe," says Marask, and his eyes glitter as he sees another trio.

This one is a kenku and two humans; Marask shifts to his half form again and stalks over.

"Paltry tribute," says Marask, right in the kenku's ear.

The kenku jumps, turns, catches sight of Marask and instantly prostrates himself.

"Fuck." One of the humans bursts into motion, running through the crowd.

"Gordon-" Ophi lets her familiar down. "Follow!"

The rabbit disappears after the man.

Carric squares up to the other human. "I'm going to need you to stop doing this." She tries to stare him down.

He laughs in her face. "Or what?"

Carric appears to think for a minute, then shrugs and twists her hand to release magic. He's encased in a gelatinous cube that starts to eat away at his skin.

He's screaming, but Carric adds another layer of spell that silences him, and the cube makes short work of him until all that remains is his clothes, his bag, and the ring that had been on his finger.

She crouches to pick it up, and finds a further two rings in his bag. "Sweet."

The marketgoers are giving them as wide a space as they can, seemingly unwilling to linger long

"You see what we do to rulebreakers?" Marask says, still standing above the kenku.

"No more," he croaks. "No crime."

"I need you to leave this city a new kenku," Marask says. "With nothing to your name."

The kenku wriggles out of his robe and places it on the ground before Marask.

"I don't think he meant-" Ophi starts to say.

"No, I did," Marask cuts her off, holding up his hand.

The kenku lays a leather pouch on top of his robe, and dares to look up. "Everything."

"Good." Marask nods. "Now, never return to this city. Live a virtuous life."

Carric laughs, quietly.

The kenku gets slowly to his feet, still hunched in a bow, and backs away until he's out of sight.

"So," Marask says, turning to the others. "Where now?"

"Well," Ophi says, and her eyes glow faintly as she focus on the link between her and Gordon. "I think we've got something."

They follow Gordon’s trail to a deserted alley. He’s waiting before a stack of cracks, sniffing at its base.

“He was following someone, right?” Carric asks. “I don’t see anyone.”

Ophi tugs at the crates, and they swing as one, pulling open the door behind them. “He went down here,” she says, gesturing down the dark stairs.

“Huh.” Carric peers in.

“Well-” Marask starts to say.

Uriel plunges straight in.

“Woah, wait-”

“We have to find this guy, yes?” She doesn’t look back. “And maybe I can kill him.”

“You don’t have to kill him,” Carric hisses, hurrying down the steps after her.

Marask and Ophi trade a glance and follow after them, Ophi tugging the door shut in their wake.

The stairs wind down into the depths below the city, twisting back on themselves a couple of times before they reach a rotting wooden door.

Beyond the door is a lively buzz of voices and clatter.

“They went through here?” Carric asks.

“Did you see any other places they could have gone?” Marask asks. “Open it, open it.”

Uriel pushes open the door to reveal a cavernous room filled with people of all races, more stalls, and a constant thrum of chatter and yells.

“Is this – is this another market?” Ophi asks, taking tentative steps into the room. “Below the ground?”

“It’s the blackmarket,” Marask says, his eyes gleaming. “Holy fuck.”

Carric grabs hold of Uriel as she starts to drift into the crowd. “So where now?”

Uriel is grinning in delight, eyes wide and flickering over the gathering.

“We should... we should find that person,” Ophi says, but she’s sounding less convinced as she walks further in. “Come on.”

They’re attracting a few stares as they wander in, and the nearest few conversations die.

The group don’t seem to notice the changing attitudes as they look around.

“Staffs!” Ophi rushes to a stall. “Ooh, I want that one!” She points at a staff with a lantern attached to the top of it. “Can I – uh, I can trade... my flute?” She pulls out a carrot that’s been carved into an instrument.

The stallowner raises her eyebrows, sceptical. “A carrot. For a staff.”

“Not just any carrot!” Ophi shakes her head. “It’s a musical carrot, listen.” She plays a quick jig that sets people’s feet tapping, bright and tricky.

The stallowner whistles, partway impressed. “Alright, I guess.” She hands over the staff Ophi wants, taking the carrot. “Quite a tune you can get out of this.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Ophi nods. “And - and it won’t rot! It’ll keep like that as long as you need it to.”

“Hey, you’re a sorceror as well, right?” Marask asks Carric. “Can you like... make my daggers fancy?”

“Uh-” Carric blinks at the dagger he shoves in her face. “Maybe?” She takes it.

Her wren hops onto her hand, beside the dagger, and taps its beak against the blade.

Carric blinks, and her eyes gleam slightly. The blade glows, too, just for a moment.

“There.” She passes it back. “It... should paralyse people now. For a while.”

“Sweet.”

Carric blinks and shakes her head. “Alright.” She sells off her non-magical rings to a nearby jeweller.

Uriel, meanwhile, has stalked further into the room, casting her eyes about for the person that they’d been following.

“Ooh, you have pies!” Marask all but runs to a nearby stall, slapping his hands down on the edge of it.

The stallowner doesn’t quite flinch, but his hand tightens reflexively about a knife at his side. “Yes. 25 silver.”

Marask whistles. “Ooh, they must be good then, right?” He buys two and turns into the crowd, grinning. “Hey!” he yells out. “Food fight!” He throws one of his pies into the crowd and waits, raising himself onto his toes.

Behind him, the stallowner rolls his eyes and shrugs.

No one takes the bait, and Marask pouts.

“Hey, where did Uriel go?” Carric asks, looking around.

“This way,” Uriel says, reappearing. “I’ve found your guy.” “Is he dead?” Ophi asks, following.

“No. Why, did you want him dead?”

“No!” Marask hisses, following. “Not everyone has to die!”

Uriel shrugs carelessly and leads them across the room to an offshoot corridor. “There, see?” She drops her voice to a whisper and points around the corner.

There’s an orc standing outside one of the doors, and the human they’d been chasing slightly further along the corridor.

Marask launches into action, wielding both of his daggers. He cuts the orc across the leg and spins about to try and get the human, who’s just out of his reach.

Ophibwynn runs after him, and manages to hit the human with her new staff, sending him stumbling backwards.

Uriel all but cackles as she too launches into the fight.

Carric, meanwhile, uses the distraction to sneak into the room the orc is guarding. It’s well appointed, with drapes and a desk and a few shelves of books. There’s a wardrobe against one wall, the door cracked slightly open, and a glass fronted cabinet with bottles displayed in it. The desk is big and heavy, and on one side of it stands Annan, almost to attention, in front of a pair of chairs. On the other side someone else sits, invisible from Carric’s position.

“... anyway, they weren’t there, so they can’t be that big a threat,” Annan is saying to someone else. “If they can’t keep an appointment, I don’t know if they're worth it.”

“Don’t underestimate them,” someone else replies, and Carric sees the man from the Knave and Cauldron, Aelfswild. “They found the camp, after all.”

“Uh. Hi.” Carric stands. “You’re Aelfswild, right?”

He looks up and across the desk at her. “However did you find your way in here?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t find you at the market like we agreed,” Annan says, not quite glaring at Carric.

“We followed a thief.” Carric gestures back across her shoulder.

Aelfswild gets to his feet and walks around the desk. “I see.”

“Can I – can the rest of my friends come in?” Carric asks.

“But of course,” Aelfswild says, and opens the door.

The fight stalls when he steps out.

Ophi and Marask pull back, Ophi hiding her staff behind her back.

“You.” Aelfswild snaps his fingers at the thief. “Get lost.”

The thief disentangles himself from Uriel’s hold and dashes back down the corridor.

“Come in, please.” Aelfswild gestures to the open door.

They follow him inside, and the orc stands stiffly against the wall to the side of the door, not quite leaning on its axe.

“We found this note,” Ophi says, as Aelfswild closes the door and steps back around the desk. “Here.” She pulls it from her pocket and places it on the desk.

“Thank you.” He gives it a cursory glance as he sweeps it to the side, into a pile of papers.

“What is it about?” Ophi asks.

“A venture,” Aelfswild replies. “I was trying to branch out, to set up a caravan trail to take goods between settlements. Alas, it appears to have fallen through with that particular partner.”

“Oh. I’m... sorry?”

Aelfswild shrugs. “We all must fail sometimes. Now, is there anything I can do for you?” He turns to his cabinet and pulls out a bottle and several tankards, pouring drinks for the group.

“Well... not really?” Ophi glances around the group. “We just... wanted to get that back to you, I guess.”

They take the drinks as he passes them over.

Annan snorts, and Aelfswild shoots her a pointed glance. “In that case, may I interest you in a job?” He sits down at his desk again and lifts his own tankard in a toast.

“What sort of job?” Marask asks, taking a slug of the beer.

“Collection,” Aelfswild replies. “I have several items that have been paid for, but they need picking up and brought back to me before I can send them out.”

“Seems dumb to sell them before you have them.”

“It’s something of a second-hand service.” Aelfswild replies. “I connect buyers with sellers.”

“And you need more people to help?”

“We are a small... start up.” Aelfswild smiles. “Especially now that my main backer has pulled out, for the time being. You understand that I would like to get set up so that when they do need my services, I am in a position to... to help further.”

“... Sure,” Carric says slowly. “I guess we can pick some stuff up for you.”

Aelfswild smiles. “Excellent. I don’t have one lined up right at this moment, but I trust I can find you at the Knave and Cauldron when I do?”

The group collectively nods.

“Excellent!” Aelfswild repeats. “Until the next time.”

Annan gets to her feet, strides to the door, and opens it for them.

They file out, and she all but slams the door in their faces.

“Uh-” Ophi raises a hand.

“Hm.” Carric frowns.

Marask shrugs. “Hey, buddy.” He waves at the orc, who has slid to sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall. “Here’s for later.” He balances his tankard, still mostly full, on the orc’s head. “I would like more pies.”

“I... I would also like a pie,” Ophi says, turning away. “I guess there’s nothing else to do.”

Carric glances at the orc. “I guess that paralytic worked, then.”

“Oh?” Marask glances back, grins, and waves. “Guess it did. No hard feelings, right?”

The orc glares at him, but is unable to so much as growl after him.

[iveryafterdark]

Day 128

Part 11, Nameless werewolves. [semi-Long]

Last Part. Next Part.

Ever since the little hunting disaster with Relis and Vaitelin, Time had been doing his best to avoid being recruited to go on another hunt... not that it was difficult. The second they stepped back into camp Relis made sure everyone knew about his broken ribs, so no one had been expecting much of him of late. It had only been about a week, though, so, eventually, that would change.

"I don't think you should be going around patrolling yet, you still have a broken rib." Bear cautioned, though he was starting to sound more like whining with the amount of times he had said something similar. While the dark-toned man wasn't wrong about the rib situation that didn't mean that he wasn't capable of keeping their borders safe. Even with a broken rib, he was still more powerful than any mortal was.

"You worry too much, stop being such a mother-hen." he responded dismissively to the guard, who frowned deeply in response... or Time assumed he did. He wasn't really bothering with throwing the shadow-man a look to check. It had been a little under a week, and for the most part his lungs felt fine again. Gods heal faster than mortals, another week and it would be like it never happened.

"Last time I was careless you got hurt." Bear responded, voice low but pointed. Time pretended he didn't hear him, it was a reasonable thing to do with how quiet he was now speaking, as much as he liked Bear he might have to do something about his penchant for seeing him as needing protection. Despite the, occasional, complaint from the brown-haired man the walk existed mostly in silence. It Seemed Bear wasn't so eager to talk anymore... maybe thinking too much. Time would leave him to it, which meant less of Bear worrying a hole through his ears.

The young-god's attention only snapped back to reality when the werewolf stepped in front of him, arm out to stop him, growling at.. someone. Time rolled his eyes at the bristling guard, clearing his throat and pushing Bear to the side as gently, but firmly, as he could manage. Another stranger stood several yards away, hands raised to show innocence, dark brown eyes watching Bear warily.

"You! Finally worked up the courage to show your face, little stalker?" Bear spat, crossly, Time couldn't help but think that he was just taking his frustration out on the guy. This 'stalker' dipped his head deeply, eyes lowered to the ground, posture poor as if to make himself look smaller. If he stood up straight he would probably be about Time's height... which, yeah, he supposed that would make him 'little' to Bear but he had been named that for a reason.

"Lashing out needlessly, Bear? Let's, at least, see what he wants before you verbally abuse the man." he chided with a light tone, he had been disapproving of the guard enough today no need to put him in a further bad mood. The lack of response told him that he was willing enough to allow the man to speak. This 'stalker' was a fair-tanned man with hair almost as dark as Bear's in brown, short and messy. The most interesting thing about him, however, was the excessive amount of body-paint he was using. White-ash mask over the majority of his face, as well as his hands, wrists, throat, and chest, bright yellow and black stripes cutting around the back of his hair, and arms, that reminded Time a bit of a Bumblebee. This guy didn't look very threatening to him.

"What can I do for you, little bee?" he asked in an amused tone, ignoring the disgusted snort from Bear behind him, the stranger's dark brown eyes went wide at this and he dipped his head further down. As if to apologize for the momentary eye contact.

"Your defender is right to look down on me, to call me such things, I have been following you for some time now." his voice sounded uncertain, but Time didn't focus as much on that as he did the words themselves.

"You've been following me?" his voice harder now, a slight threat.

"Yes." another dip of his head like a duck bobbing in a lake.

"For how long?"

".... Since you first stepped foot into the meadows.. when you met the Robin." Time's blood went cold in his veins at that, the almost constant sensation of being watched that he had attributed to the new territory? It had been this guy following him around like a ghost. How had he went this entire time and not noticed that he was being followed? The young-god turned his gaze to Bear for an explanation.

"I noticed a few nights ago, he's really very good at being a rat."

"Why didn't you let me know we were being tailed when you found out?"

"I... didn't want you to worry about something like that right now?" A question, that same almost guilty look he had worn when Time first met him. The implication in Bear's words were, also, not lost on him. He didn't say anything because of his broken ribs... they'd discuss that later, right now they had a mouse to deal with. Time turned his sharp, orange, eyes back to the strange man. As soon as the attention was back on him he seemed to scramble to say something before Time could.

"I meant no harm, I merely followed you because being near your group makes it safer for me to travel."

"If you wanted safety you should have returned home." his harsh tone caused the striped man to wince. "Why reveal yourself now? You've been in hiding for several months, why change something that's been working for you?"

"Because..." the stalker glanced between him and Bear, before carefully approaching only to stop in his tracks a few feet away when Bear began growling defensively. The man kneeled on the ground, not unlike Robin would when she prayed, and raised both of his hands up to Time like one would in offering. It was a strange thing, he could feel the power connection with even just this gesture, something he had seen but had never been involved.

"Because I am a man with no name, no family to speak of, but I have worth." ah, one of the unfortunate, untrustworthy, people forced to walk the world alone due to the nature of their existence. Not a single soul to vouch for them. Often treated as criminals and chased from cities both human and otherwise... and it was strictly forbidden to give one's self a name. A hangable offense.

"I am an honest man, I am loyal, I will give you everything I have to offer. I just need a chance." His plea was soft, heartfelt, full of pain, and loneliness, and desperation.

"You say this but by the very nature of your existence there is no way to prove any of your claims. You could be a criminal, a madman-" Bear responded, distrust on his voice, Time held out a hand to quiet him. The striped man's eyes seemed only honest, a small amount of hope in them at the gesture.

"You ask for a chance, the opportunity to prove yourself?"

"Please-" he sounded on the verge of tears. "-that is all I ask. Just one." a long moment of silence followed, Time sizing the nameless man up, before nodding shortly. He had never seen such a look of pure gratitude and relief before than the one that followed.

"You already know the way back to camp, but you should walk with us this time." the striped man rubbed his hands across his face, looking at Time like he was as important as the sun, before getting to his uneven feet. Hm, the white marks on his hands and face hadn't budged despite that, maybe they were actually tattoos and not body-paint. The yellow stripes that went through the back of his hair was definitely painted, though.

"What are we going to tell them when everyone expects him to be introduced? He has no name, and I'm sure some of the others won't be like being around an unclaimed." Bear, again, voice unusually hard.

"Leave that for me to worry about, Bear." the man opened his mouth, but at the warning look he was thrown just sighed.

-

While there had been some raised eyebrows when Time offered no introduction for the new member no one made a particular fuss about it, going about things as usual as the sky began to darken into night. The bee-colored man was following him closely, like a lost pup, seeming to be afraid of being left alone with the rest of the group. Understandable, considering the past experiences that he had probably had with other large groups of people. Due to the constant following, and looks of sheer gratitude he was getting from him, Time noticed rather quickly when the nameless man went missing while the rest of the group was sitting around the fire to eat before bed.

Like usual, Astaria, Felis, and Surie were sitting in a half-circle talking, telling bad stories, worse jokes, and laughing loudly together. The three were nearly inseparable at this point. Near them was Vaitelin, who would briefly exchange insults with Astaria throughout the night. A weird relationship those two had, Time wasn't going to even try to parse out if they loved or hated each other. Sitting close to himself was Robin; who was acting stranger and stranger as more time passed, Relis; who was sitting on the ground instead of on the log like everyone else, and Bear. In the beginning, the nameless man had been sitting next to him as well but, at some point, he had dipped out. A sense of doubt stabbed through his rib, had it been a mistake to trust him? A man with no one willing to claim him or vouch for his goodwill? Was he really dangerous like Bear had believed?

Bear seemed to sense the thought process going on in Time's mind and gave him a knowing look, at least he had the decency to not look smug about it.

"Think I made a mistake on that one?" he was expecting a quip, or a snappy response, or an incredulous look, but instead Bear just looked conflicted and shrugged.

"He... seemed genuine to me." uncertainty, a complete reversal of the confident distrust he had shown earlier.

Time decided to wait beside the fire for the rest of the night, the rest of the group retiring to bed one-by-one until it was just him and Bear waiting.

"You should really get some rest-" the yawn was loud enough to cause him to wince and shuffle a bit further away from the werewolf. "-you aren't gonna heal any better sleep-deprived." it was probably more along the lines that Bear was exhausted and didn't want to stay out any later.

"You can lay down whenever you want, Bear. I'm not forcing you to stay up." the guard just blinked at him in an unamused manner, before rubbing his eyes and stretching. Seems he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He was starting to think he should just lay down to allow the poor man some rest when a rustle caught his attention.

Turning towards the sound was a figure, with dully-glowing brown eyes. The oddness of the silhouette caused him to bristle, Bear growling beside him, but the familiar gesture of the being just... kneeling with hands out caused him to pause.

"Do not be alarmed." it sure was the same nameless man from earlier, voice soft.

"What happened to you?" Time narrowed his eyes at the shadow, trying to better decipher what he was seeing.

"I was... hunting?"

"Was that a question?" Bear growled shortly beside him, he didn't seem tired anymore.

"I... took down the buck that tried to attack you." the nameless man added, shifting. Ah, the oddness of the silhouette was him hauling a... full-grown deer on his shoulders. Surprising, for a man that height.... even if he was, obviously, a werewolf.

"You.... managed that all by yourself?" a short nod, in response. Time eyed the unclaimed werewolf warily before gesturing for him to come closer. In the fire's light it became more obvious the situation, by the looks of it the man had field-dressed the buck and skinned it, the cloak draped around his shoulders. Once the striped man stood only, about, a leg-length away from the young-god he kneeled once more and presented a thick bear-leather bag that he had been holding at his side before removing the deer cloak and placing it on top as well. The nameless man closed his eyes, muttered something Time couldn't hear, before pushing the hunt to Time and bowing deeply to the ground. An offering, the first he had ever received personally, the gesture made Time felt like he was breathing ice-cold water in the best way. Like he was drowning in ether. He sat stunned for many seconds, staring blankly at the offering and the nameless man, before blinking the tears out of his eyes.

"I underestimated you." Time said, even his voice felt different. Smoother. It must sound different too because Bear was giving him a look. The striped man sat up, though he was still kneeling, cautiously looking at Time with the reverence that Time had only seen directed at his own father before.

"You've proven yourself in my eyes, I see no reason for you to walk the world nameless and shunned. I will claim you, vouch for you when needed." his brown eyes were shining. "I think the name... Hercules suits you just fine, don't you agree Bear?" the dark man blinked, like he didn't understand what was happening, before nodding.

"Welcome to the pack, Hercules." the guard agreed, dipping his head in greeting. Hercules, as he was now dubbed, looked like he was in sheer disbelief. Like the world had suddenly stopped making sense.

"Unless, you would prefer something different, of course?"

"No!" the reaction was so quick it made Time raise an eyebrow. "No, Hercules is... perfect. Thank you, I will not disappoint you." he was grinning, the first time Time had seen him do so, sheer joy on his face.

"Now, everyone else is asleep so I think you should join them, you'll be no use to us dead on your feet." a deep nod, but Time doubted someone who looked so excited would be falling asleep anytime soon.

[durrzerker]

Taskmaster: The Line. Chapter 8: Submission

Hey everyone, I know it’s been a couple weeks since Chapter 7. There’s a reason for that! Chapter 8, the finale of Taskmaster: The Line, is supposed to reflect a mega-sized comic, so it’s a mega-sized chapter! Chapters 1-7 were between 2000-2500 words. Chapter 8 is over 7000! I hope you enjoy the final entry in this story, and there will be more to come soon! 

--

The submarine was completely unmarked. No flag. No sigil at all revealing its loyalty. Ironically, these were all the details that Taskmaster needed to be sure that this was another one of Thunderbolt Ross's little projects. The old man had always been as secretive as he was brutal, and this reeked of his style. Without hesitation, Taskmaster drew his sword and shield and started towards the looming colossus of steel before him. "Ross! I know that's you, ya overgrown son of a walrus. Come on out of yer big metal cock and face me!"

Tony had to admit, he was a little surprised when the hatch swung open, its silence in doing so a testament to how well-maintained the submersible was. Rivulets of water continued pouring off the sides of the vessel, its hull extending so far that Taskmaster literally couldn't see past it. After a few seconds that felt like much longer, a large older man with an aggressive moustache and round face climbed the ladder out to stand on the hull. That was him -- Thaddeus 'Thunderbolt' Ross, perpetual thorn in the side of the Hulk in the distant past. These days, he seemed to have his fingers in just about every pie that you could imagine, from working alongside Captain America to forming his ridiculous Thunderbolts squads to do his dirty work for him. Briefly, Taskmaster wondered if the Wrecking Crew were supposed to be Thunderbolts; ultimately, he decided it didn't matter. They had hopefully drowned by now, every last one of them.

Tony wasn't in the kindest mood, which made Ross's first words all the more effective.

"Tony Masters," the older man called out coolly. "Amazing to see you walking -towards- a fight for once. I don't see the Scions with you, so I suppose this isn't the apology that you owe me."

"I don't owe you shit, Grandpa Genocide," Taskmaster snapped. "I dunno what all this is about, but those kids're safe and you ain't ever gonna see them again. The hell is wrong with you, Thaddeus? This is low, even for you; and that's sayin' something for a man who works with Zemo for -free-."

Undaunted, Ross took off his glasses and started to wipe them clean. "It's true, then; you really do have amnesia. I thought Fury was just full of shit, trying to get in my way. He still was, of course - but it seems he was at least right about this. Amazing. They try to call you the most dangerous mercenary alive, and you're just - what, a mindless enforcer for Merced? She always was the brains of you two. She whispering in your ear right now?"

Leering aggressively at Ross from behind his mask, Tony didn't respond for a moment. Apparently, he had to add yet another person to the list of 'everyone knows this shit but me' regarding The Hub...though if he was lucky, Ross didn't realize the woman was apparently his wife.

Man, he really was struggling to internalize that. It stuck in his craw like a piece of food that just wouldn't go down; could he call her? Promptly, Tony realized that was ridiculous to even be considering right now. He had bigger problems than getting his head screwed on straight, and almost all of them were right in front of him. "Gimme one good reason I shouldn't kill you right now, Thaddeus."

"Because if I'm even half-right about how your last few days have gone, you're too curious; otherwise, you would have thrown one of your ridiculous ripoff toys at me already. Come on, Masters. Just get in the sub and we can talk this out like the adult that I am and that you pretend to be."

Shrugging off the insults - when they came this fast they were pretty much just like a gentle rain, especially from Ross - Taskmaster made his way up onto the submarine. "Fine, but you try anything on me, and I'll run ya through. I know you can't Hulk out anymore, and the power of arthritis ain't gonna save ya if you pull yer usual crap."

"You really seem to resent the fact that I've lived to an old age, Masters." Ross sounded amused as he let the mercenary descend the ladder into the submarine first, following after. Despite his age, Tony marveled at how much of a tank of a man Thaddeus was; Tony was still a little taller than the not-so-good general, but Ross had to be nearly twice as wide as him, and he looked like he still had the strength to match it. Taskmaster made a mental note not to underestimate him if this did get violent - Red Hulk or no, this was a man who had tangled with the best and come out with his ridiculous facial hair intact.

"I think everyone on God's Green Earth resents you still being alive." Impossibly, the damned submarine seemed even bigger on the inside! The gargantuan seacraft's interior was more cavernous than he had expected; as soon as Taskmaster had set foot on the metal floor of the highest level, he could tell that at least this section of the ship was a single enormous hallway, wide enough to drive a tank through and sparsely populated with only a few men and women milling about reading reports, checking equipment, and saluting Ross as he approached. The old general led Taskmaster in a direction that he could only vaguely parse as towards the bridge of the vessel, if his itching familiarity was anything to go by.

"Hilarious. Remember this place yet?" Ross asked, sounding legitimately curious. Adjusting his cuff-links before leaning down to take off his glasses and get read by a retinal scanner, he straightened as a bulkhead opened, leading them towards a small fleet of what looked like sleeker, militarized golf carts. "Come on. I'm too old to be walkin' like this, and you're gettin' there yourself."

"...I don't," Taskmaster admitted honestly. "But I've been here, haven't I?" He didn't even need to ask the question, he could tell. When his specific memories failed him, the muscle memory didn't; he knew the layout of this place. He wasn't lost, and he could -feel- like he knew what was coming, which only made the mercenary more anxious as he stuffed himself into the cart that was far too small for both him and Ross.

"Been here? Son, you spent six months in this sub training the Scions. This here's the home of the United States' greatest super-soldier project since Steve Rogers himself; and if ya knew how many shots we've taken at that particular target over the years, you'd understand how impressive that is. Hell, even you were an example of the Krauts tryin' to get in on the action, until ya stole their big bad serum."

"I like to think I rescued it," Taskmaster corrected as Ross drove them through the submarine. The first few chambers were nondescript, full of nothing more than the extensive supplies and equipment that a vessel this size needed to remain underwater for months at a time. As they approached the bridge, however, things got a little more interesting. Tony caught sight of men and women in strange gas masks, with bulging muscles and aggressive body language, being herded by handlers into a series of cargo elevators; he saw tanks full of human beings being studied by scientists, readings being checked and one of them even awake and looking distinctly panicked. "Speaking of rescue, the -fuck- are you doing to those guys?"

"Saving their lives, believe it or not. If they weren't in those tanks, they'd be dying of oxygen poisoning due to a rare mutation they've developed."

"Developed during one of your little super-soldier experiments. Real noble of ya." Taskmaster sighed. This place was wearing him down more by the minute, aggravating his already explosive temper, and he wondered vaguely if Ross was hoping for that result. All the more reason to stay on his guard. "Look, quit baitin' me and spit it out. What'd I do here? And -why-?" Dread laced his words, even though he tried to avoid it. As much as Tony hated to admit it, he was a little scared to find his own history on this project, and with the Scions...

...But not enough to avoid finding the answer.

Pulling the cart up to the bulkhead outside the head of the submarine, a digital screen displaying the ocean around them and betraying that they were moving -quite- quickly through the water, Ross stepped out and gestured for Taskmaster to follow him. As the caped mercenary tread at his heel, the general flashed his eye at another retinal scanner, then his palm print at another. Whatever this was, it had even heavier security that the chambers they'd already passed through, and as the pair stepped into an elevator, Ross finally replied to him.

"Well, first and foremost, ya ought to know -- this is YET another one of SHIELD's old messes". The elevator didn't have even a single button; it clearly was designed to exclusively travel between two destinations, and if Taskmaster's experience with SHIELD told him anything, this was the -only- way in or out of the other location. Wherever Ross was taking him, it was the kind of government secret that even Nick Fury would have a hard time getting access to. "Well, SHIELD's and yours. You ever wonder about how much of a mess you leave behind when your memory resets, Masters? Or do ya really trust The Hub to clean up after you? 'Cause I gotta tell you, she does a fine job - but not a perfect one."

Tony didn't respond to the comment about his wife. He could tell he was being baited. Instead, keeping his eyes on the prize, he asked, "Get to the point before your heart gives out, gram-gram. What happened?"

"You happened, Masters. When you took that serum that gave you your photographic reflexes, it was when a laboratory full of the stuff was exploding. The kraut bastard who told you what it was capable of told you it was the last dose, right?"

"Fuck if I know," Taskmaster answered honestly.

"Exactly. So shut up and listen, boy. That facility was at the top of a mountain - and a great deal of that serum that was 'destroyed' in the blast actually leaked into the water supply. The Hub knew about this; something about a 'village of Hitlers', which I definitely do not want to know more about." He shook his head as the elevator opened into a dark hallway. In fact, it was pitch black until some overhead lights came to life one after another, exposing black walls and smooth floors that reminded him of what he'd heard of the Red Room. "That woulda been the end of it -- except it turns out about ten years ago, water from wells near the village was gathered en masse by the suppliers for some disaster aid groups. You figure out where this is going?"

For a moment he didn't, but as they proceeded down the hallway, Taskmaster's eyes widened down his mask. "...The Scions."

"Children from families in poverty or disaster-stricken areas across the last decade," Ross confirmed. "Each displaying unusual capacity for perfect mimickry of complex tasks -- photographic reflexes, previously only known to a select handful of individuals, including you, Masters. Your serum got out into the world, and now little Task-babies are sprouting up. Russia, Ireland, Brazil, even Wakanda after Namor wrecked the place. We found them and brought them here -- to the greatest training facility in the world."

They passed through a security checkpoint with a couple of silent, armed guards flanking them into a gargantuan arena that seemed too massive, too awe-inspiring, for even the gargantuan submarine that they were inside. Curved walls and ceiling reminded Tony of a stadium, right down to what almost resembled bleachers along the edges of either side. The 'field' was littered with what must have been a hundred different types of training equipment, from futuristic-looking weightlifting machines to obstacle courses that Taskmaster immediately recognized as his own design. He'd made them some years ago to test not his students, but himself and the limits of his photographic reflexes. To have them here meant only one thing:

"...So you brought in the best teacher to train them," Tony said with resignation. Had he really agreed to this? Had The Hub?

"Exactly," Ross nodded in agreement. "We might not get along on a personal level, Masters, but there's no denying your credentials. Given actual time and resources, you've sculpted some of the finest government agents we've ever had: John Walker, Spider-Woman, even Crossbones before he went rogue. Besides, there's no one else who's as much of an expert as you on photographic reflexes. Some of the other people in charge of this project wanted to bring on Echo or Finesse, but they were considered a little too...sympathetic."

"Yer flatterin' me," Taskmaster deadpanned. "So glad I'm the one you think of when it comes to tutoring kidnapped children." They descended a long ramp towards the training machines; was Taskmaster imagining something, or did he see a dried bloodstain in the combat ring? Before he could focus on it, the earpiece hidden in his mask came to life, a crackling signal of a few rapid, stuttering sounds. It was The Hub, reporting through an old Cherokee code that they used to send messages back and forth when the risk of being overheard was high. Translation?

'The kids are safe. Black Ant's coming to back you up.'

It was a good thing, too. TESS wasn't going to be the reinforcements he needed, she didn't fare too well at getting underwater. Eric, though...well, sometimes he wondered if he really did need to give the guy more credit. They'd have to talk about this once he was done here, if he survived his insane plan that was forming now.

"I'm not flattering you," Ross growled out, stopping in front of the combat ring. "I'm guessing that you've already figured out this didn't exactly end well. You know how long you were here, Masters? Three months. And it turns out that for all three of those months, as you were training those kids, you were preparing to abscond with government property. Remember that part, Masters? When ya tried to steal from us?"

Tony saw Ross rounding on him, sensed the agents approaching him from behind with batons in hand. It should have been a fight he could manage, even an -easy- one...but he couldn't move.

Suddenly his memory came rushing back, so powerful and overwhelming it nearly brought him to his knees. He couldn't even lift a hand to defend himself as he heard the attack coming, felt the rush of wind of the baton smashing into the base of his skull from behind. Stumbling forward before collapsing right onto his face, Tony looked up and saw Ross one last time before the darkness took him.

--

"Tasky."

When consciousness returned, it brought explosive pain with it, a shooting star that begun at the base of Tony's neck and erupted in every direction from there. He groaned and tried to bring his hands to his suffering temples, only to find that he was tied down; bound by steel cables to a stretcher, he could barely wiggle his arms and legs. That got his attention.

The mercenary opened his eyes, which felt bleary and unfocused. He was definitely still aboard the submarine, in what he recognized now as the interrogation room. Dim lighting, an assortment of torture devices nearby; this wasn't good.

"Tasky!" Came a tiny voice, directly in his left ear. He winced at the severity. It could only be Eric.

"Black Ant...?" He murmured. Had he been drugged? He felt sluggish, even moreso than he should from having gotten whacked across the dome. "How'd you find me so quickly?"

"I didn't," Eric replied; he was barely the size of an ant, really living up to his name, sitting inside Taskmaster's ear. "You've been here for four days. I had to wait for the submarine to surface at a hidden base near the Everglades before I could sneak on board. They really messed you up, man. You gonna be good to go?"

Trying to figure out what Eric meant, Tony looked down. His costume was gone; he was wearing...well, nothing, and a number of fresh wounds marked his skin every few inches. The effects of the drugs had exacerbated his amnesia, but now he remembered; they'd spent hour after hour torturing him, driving implements into his flesh and drowning him to get the answer to one simple question:

"Where are the kids?"

He felt a surge of pride, spiteful and strong, as he realized he hadn't told them a damn thing. "I'm fine. Can you get me out of here?"

"Yeah," Eric replied, "But it'll take me a few minutes. They really didn't take any chances; I'm gonna have to use my fusion cutter. Keep still, alright? I already looped the camera feed, and they usually only come in here once an hour. We've got plenty of time." He felt the tiny merc jump out of his ear and start to grow, pulling a device that looked much like a miniature welding torch out of his belt. As he started to cut his way through the cables with the intense blue laser that it emitted, Taskmaster spoke up.

"Thanks for coming for me, little buddy."

"Of course. Thanks for not breaking; would've been a real hassle if we had to deal with the Yellow Submarine here. Besides, it's my job."

Tony was grateful, but with his memory returned...he had to ask. "...And because you feel guilty, huh?"

Eric almost paused the cutting with the torch, he was so surprised. "What do you mean?" Taskmaster could sense some brief hesitation as he finished the job, cutting enough of the cable so that Tony could take the fusion cutter and free his own legs.

"You knew this whole time what happened here," Tony responded calmly. He didn't sound angry; he didn't FEEL angry. "...You were here, too. They brought you in for another job, figured since we were partners, it'd be fine." Now Eric -did- stop cutting. Taskmaster could tell the younger mercenary was stunned, that now, of all times, he didn't expect this to come up. "You came in and saw me training the Scions...found out from The Hub I was planning to help them escape. Together, we were gonna do it. We were gonna do something good for once in our lives, Eric."

"Tony..." Black Ant's mask came up, the automatic visor lifting to reveal his face. He looked terrified, legitimately so, even with his messy red hair covering half his face. Tony didn't stop, rising from his bindings. Something about his presence, despite the blood matting his hair and the fact he was naked, must have been striking; Eric backed away.

"...We were almost out, weren't we? We'd almost saved them when Ross's heavy hitter came. It was a tough fight. So tough, I had to use my photographic reflexes to stop her...and it fried my brain, as it tends to do. I forgot what we were doing. Forgot we were trying to -save- those kids." He advanced a step; Eric retreated one. Tony didn't sound angry.

But he felt pretty angry.

"...We had to get out of there," Eric accused. "You were suddenly operating on auto-pilot, Tony. You think I WANTED to leave the kids behind? But we were ALL gonna die, them included, if we didn't bail! You don't know what it's like!" Eric's fear turned into anger of its own now.

Eric was right; Tony didn't know. "...You could have told me later. We could have come back for them."

"And what, heard you call me full of shit? Your BRAIN. IS. BROKEN!" Eric roared. "HOW ABOUT YOU TAKE IT UP WITH THE HUB! IT'S HER FUCKING JOB TO KEEP YOU IN CHECK, NOT MINE! AND YET HERE I AM!"

"...Yeah. It should have been The Hub," Tony agreed, looking around the interrogation room. Damn; they hadn't been stupid enough to keep his equipment nearby. "...Or ya mean, my wife?"

Eric didn't respond to that, averting his eyes. A tense silence hung in the air for awhile between them before Tony finally spoke.

"We got pretty loud, they're gonna check this out. We...can talk about this later. You came for me, O'Grady. We're still a team. I'll do my best, but without any weapons, this ain't gonna be easy."

Happy to change the subject, Black Ant tossed something so small Tony's way that he barely caught it even with his uncanny reflexes. "Here. It's not much...but I was able to sneak this in." As he triggered the Pym Particles, Taskmaster broke into a grin. He hadn't seen -this- thing in awhile...

It was his energy generator, old SHIELD tech that could take any shape at the will of its wielder; he preferred to have a larger arsenal on hand, so he'd eventually abandoned it, but right now? It was exactly what he needed. Strapping it to his forearm, the mercenary straightened as he heard footsteps rushing towards the interrogation room. "Thanks, little buddy. Let's do this."

Relieved, Eric didn't hesitate to crack a joke. "Can that thing take the shape of pants, by chance? I don't really feel like staring at your glazed hams for this whole fight."

"Sorry, I'm going balls out for this one. Literally." With that, Taskmaster broke into a sprint just as the bulkhead door opened; the first thing the agent who entered saw was a very naked, very muscular brown-haired man leaping into the air, just before the jumping snap kick borrowed from Batroc the Leaper broke his neck. As he went down hard, another of the guards went for the alarm, but Black Ant was already leap-frogging over Tony's shoulder, shrinking and then growing in rapid sequence to slip right through the crowd and tackle him.

"Help!" The man cried out. "The prisoner's escap--" He was cut off as Eric's fusion torch was shoved into his mouth, evaporating his tongue and boiling his brain in seconds. "Ew," Black Ant commented, even as he leapt backwards and drove his elbow into another sentry who was approaching him from behind.

Taskmaster had the rest under control. He had a feeling these guys were trained to fight him; that was a mistake on their part. Instead of his first instinct to turn his energy generator on into the shape of Cap's shield or Black Knight's broadsword, he dug a little deeper. He could tell it had been a good idea when a heavily armored soldier reeled back in surprise as the form of Shang-Chi's nunchaku came to life, whirling like a tornado to deflect an oncoming strike from a stun baton before taking most of his teeth out with a vicious swat across the face.

The pair were a blur of motion, perfectly coordinated until the last of the guards had fallen. They'd come a long way from accidentally hitting each other like the first time they'd faced Spider-Man together, that was for sure.

"That's better..." Taskmaster breathed, dismissing the energy nunchaku. "I remember the layout of this place; we're dead in the center of the sub. Even if we fought our way out, thing's on the move right now, isn't it?"

Black Ant nodded. "Yep. We're back at sea; I barely had time to get on board before Ross was moving again. Even being able to track you, it was hard to infiltrate this thing...I can see why he likes it."

"Then escape ain't an option. We gotta commandeer the sub."

"How?" Black Ant asked. "There's hundreds of soldiers here, not to mention Ross himself and whoever he's hired as his elite security. We won't be able to hold the bridge that long."

Taskmaster considered this. "Good point. I'll head for the bridge. You go to the Engine Room. If we can't conquer the submarine, we'll hold it hostage. You can threaten to blow the engines, sink the whole thing, unless they let me take us to the surface. Even if they try to rush the engine room, you can shrink down and start causing trouble to get them to back off."

Eric thought about it, then nodded. "...Risky, but our best option. You'll be taking most of the heat, though; Ross is gonna be on the bridge, and he'll call reinforcements to save his wrinkly butt. You sure you'll be okay? You look pretty roughed up." The concern was touching; it reminded Tony he needed to give Eric the benefit of the doubt. He wasn't sure he could let what had happened slide entirely...but he didn't need to punish the mercenary for it.

"...I'm good. Thanks, Eric. We'll get out of this together, alright? See ya on the other side." He extended a closed hand.

Smiling, Black Ant bumped his fist with his own. "Yeah. We got this."

With that, they split up, unsure if they'd ever see each other again.

---

By the time Taskmaster ran into the next pack of guards, he wasn't even thinking anymore about the fact he was completely naked. At first he thought it'd be funny, surprising these assholes with some full frontal nudity before kicking their asses, but he was just angry. Angry, cold, and ready to show them exactly how big of a mistake they had made.

Two of the sentries had guns, high-tech air rifles designed to be lethal without risking the integrity of the submarine. He took them down first, generating shuriken and flinging them with enough force to go right through the men's hands and send them to the ground howling in pain.

A Bullseye special. A second later, he was bringing forth a little trick from Zaran the Weapons Master, cleaving through his assailants with the wickedly curved blade of a chinese hooksword. Hawkeye, Iron Fist, Daredevil; these men were clearly expecting those heroes, had trained and prepared accordingly. He could read it in their movements.

As the last one fell, gurgling as a hole poked in their throat surged with blood, Tony shook his head. "Fuckin' amateurs. You think I've spent my whole life doin' this and I only got five people's moves? I was bein' -nice- before." He was close to the bridge now. A little longer, and he'd knock Ross out, tie his moustache to a radiator or something, and be done with this.

"Nothing nice about what I'm looking at, Taskmaster." Tony nearly froze. He knew that voice. It was the only one Thaddeus could have hired to reasonably stop him -- the only mercenary alive he considered to be on his level...and the one he'd been forced to throw everything at just to survive last time.

Elektra Natchios, clad head to toe in black leather armor save for the red mask around the lower half of her face, stood between him and the entrance to the bridge.

"...You again," he growled. She didn't lose her composure at his obvious venom, though she did seem visibly amused.

"You remember, then. I suppose that means you know this won't end well for you. Give up, Taskmaster. You're out of your depth here; you don't even have that ridiculous suit of yours."

"...I thought you had a soft spot for kids, Elektra. This doesn't seem like your kind of job." Tony gripped the energy generator on his wrist, considering what to summon. What could he really use to surprise the world's greatest assassin?

"Don't pretend you know me," she countered. Unsurprisingly, her signature sai were her weapon of choice; she rarely -needed- much else, drawing them from her hips and twirling them in place. "Who are you to talk? You ruined those kid's lives already, blowing up that facility and letting them develop your powers. I'm trying to help them; -Ross- is trying to help them. Do you realize they're already starting to get your memory problems? I don't like Ross, but he's the only one working on a cure. Psychics, scientists, the whole nine yards; he's saving them."

"He's turning them into weapons," Taskmaster growled. "You're fucking deluded if you think he's doing anything because he has their best interests in mind."

"Not as deluded as a naked supervillain who thinks he's the hero here. No more words." Elektra rushed at him, her body little more than a black-and-crimson blur. Even having faced her multiple times, Taskmaster was always alarmed by her speed; it was like trying to battle a waterfall, all its weight bearing down on you...and just as useless to try and hit.

She didn't stop, didn't run into him; she dashed right past him, swinging her sai for his shoulder. Turning and summoning his Captain America shield on reflex, he realized immediately that was her whole plan, to push him into falling back into his faithful moves, his reliable ones. Too late; she was already pirouetting like a dancer, bringing her other dagger up and driving it into his back. It would have run through his kidney and ended the fight right there if he hadn't caught on, but he managed to turn and instead have it driven straight into the muscle group behind his ribs instead.

No time for pain. He swiped with the shield, missed as she deftly ducked, but he was back in control. On the backswing, the shield became a gauntlet, enveloping his fist. Elektra's eyes widened in surprise as she was clocked across the face by a classic move from The Destroyer; she recovered quickly, rolling with the momentum and whirling her leg up in a kick that stopped him from being able to pursue. Now on guard, she closed in once more, this time protecting herself with one sai while thrusting with the other.

A katana. A boomerang. A large, bouncing ball that rapidly whacked Elektra in the forehead and then bounced back into his hand to intercept an attempted cut. Taskmaster pushed himself to his limits, conjuring the most esoteric and obscure techniques he'd ever picked up, desperate to keep Elektra from overwhelming him. As her nose ran red with blood, the same red that trickled down his wounded back, the mercenaries circled each other.

"I always respected you for being able to keep up," Elektra admitted. "Put anything in your hand and it becomes a deadly weapon."

"Bit late for flattery," Taskmaster replied, preparing to  summon the next energy weapon...but he didn't get a chance. Elektra dove in, went low with a stab for his thigh. When he stepped back to avoid it, she came up, smashing her skull into his chin and nearly making him bite his own tongue off, sending him staggering. Reflexively, he moved to summon his shield again - damn it - and she punished him for it. Instead of trying to stab his less vulnerable head, she shoved her sai right through the energy generator itself.

It sputtered, sparked...and died. Suddenly, Taskmaster was weaponless.

"It wasn't flattery. I was explaining your weakness. You're a mimic, Masters...a vague shadow, always one step behind those of us who push ourselves to be the best." She wasn't haughty, wasn't arrogant; just stating facts. Every word stung as true as her dagger as she started towards him. "You gave up everything to be the greatest fighter alive...and you failed at even that."

She lunged. It was all Tony could do to keep himself away from the vicious points of her weapons; he took a kick, a backhand, a pommel smack across the temple in his desperate attempt to block her myriad stabs and cuts. She was a whirlwind of speed and aggression, not reckless but wholly confident that he couldn't keep up with her without a weapon, couldn't spare himself getting run through and land a blow against her at the same time.

Realizing she was right, Tony took a deep breath...and charged head-long at her. He'd told himself there was no way he could truly copy someone like Wolverine; he'd tear his body apart.

But right now, that was a worthy price. As Elektra tried to guard herself with a vicious cross-up slash, Tony suddenly reversed his momentum, trying not to scream in pain when one of his ankles cracked from the sheer speed with which he re-directed his momentum. The assassin couldn't keep up as he whirled in a capoeria kick that smashed her across the jaw, sending her spinning.

She was correct. He couldn't copy his way out of this one. There was one thing, though, that Tony had that even she couldn't match. "You know why I'm the only merc who hasn't fucking -died- and come back by now?" He growled through bloody teeth, rushing at Elektra again. She caught him, intercepted his oncoming punch with her sai. Pain shot through Tony's hand like lightning as the blade punched between his knuckle like a sick inversion of Wolverine's claw, thrusting all the way down until it emerged from his wrist.

But he didn't stop. Taking advantage of his greater weight and raw, adrenaline-fueled strength, he used the fact her blade was stuck in his hand to -yank- her towards him, smashing his forehead into her nose. Elektra reeled, bringing her other sai up into his ribcage; he felt the sick, liquid heat of the wound opened in his liver, then swatted his right hand up with staggering force to box her in the ear, causing her to issue forth a scream of pain that she couldn't even hear as her eardrum exploded.

"Because for all the shit you talk about being better...none of you know how to -survive-. None of you know what it means to really be outgunned, to be against a better opponent...and to take them the fuck down."

Again.

Again.

He beat her. He savaged her. She kept ripping away, giving up on her sai embedded in his flesh and clawing at him with her nails, biting him like a wounded and angry animal, tearing flesh off a chunk at a time.

But he drove his fingers into one of her eyes, slammed his knee into her stomach, and ripped out one of her sai, finally shoving it into her gut. Wavering a moment, Elektra looked down at her wound...and finally collapsed.

It was all Taskmaster could do to not mimic that, too.

"You'll live," he muttered, wiping a frothy mix of his saliva and both of their blood from his face. "As for me...remains to be seen." Taking both of her sai, bleeding from a dozen wounds and running purely on adrenaline, Taskmaster advanced towards the bridge. One brave soldier, a survivor of the previous fight, took aim with an airsoft gun -- he never even saw the dagger that was thrown directly between his eyes, killing him on the spot.

The bulkhead of the bridge hissed as it opened. Thunderbolt Ross was on a mic, shouting himself hoarse. "NATCHIOS! COME IN! IS TASKMASTER--" Hearing the door, he turned around and cursed. "Fucking christ, Masters...you look dead already. ...Hey!" He didn't expect the sheer speed with which Tony closed the gap, driving the sai into his shoulder and literally pinning him to the wall. As he started to struggle, Tony twisted the weapon, narrowing his good eye; the other one was swelling shut, more purple than brown by now.

"We're surfacing. The Hub's going to pick me up. You're never gonna see those kids again. You wanted to know where they were? They're..." He paused, remembering Laura Kinney's last nod to him as she boarded the quinjet.

"They're with an -actual- hero. They're safe, and they're out of your reach."

"Who do you think you are, Masters?" Ross spat. "You'll bleed out before we even breach. You got no idea who the fuck you're messing with, Uncle Sam's--"

"--Uncle Sam isn't gonna do shit. I remember everything now, Thaddeus. This project? It's your little pet. Off the books. No accountability...but no backup. You'll be disowned; thrown out of the military if you're lucky, into The Raft if you're not. And ya know what? I came up here fully intending to bury this fucking dagger in your skull...but I've seen what it looks like to actually give a shit about human life, even worthless ones like yours. So I'm gonna let them."

He jabbed his thumb into a pressure point he'd picked up from Shang-Chi years ago, and Ross fell silent. Stumbling to the controls, he grabbed hold of the mic, even as his photographic reflexes took over and automatically went about commanding the enormous vessel to breach. It was optimized for Ross himself to pilot, all the sub-systems that would normally require a staff of dozens to manage redirected through this very console. A strength...and a weakness.

"Black Ant...this is Taskmaster. I got the bridge. You good?"

He heard gunfire, and for the first time, legitimately felt a pang of fear. Then the speakers crackled. "I'm good. No one else here. You sound like shit."

"Yeah, well...shove...shove it up yer ass, O'Grady."

Taskmaster collapsed against the control panel, just as the submarine began to gain altitude.

                                                                                       EPILOGUE

Tony woke in a stark white room, hooked up to so many machines that he couldn't tell where his arms ended and the needles and cables began. Nauseous with pain and barely able to lift his head, he was greeted with not only the faces of Black Ant and Wolverine, but even the hooded mask of Spymaster and Mara, the young leader of the Scions.

"No one was sure you'd make it," Laura said. "But I said you were pretty damn tough...for a supervillain." Her smirk was wry; maybe it was too optimistic to say it was fond...but it showed relief that he was awake. More than he'd expected.

"...Where am I?" He groaned.

"Albino's hospital," Spymaster explained. He almost collapsed again with relief. There was no one he'd trust more to patch him up after a fight like that. "Don't worry, you haven't been out for another four days...only one this time." Tony winced at the lost time, but it was better than being dead.

"...Ross? The sub?"

"I arrested Ross myself," Laura confirmed. "He's in the Raft awaiting trial. The Scions have agreed to testify, and with that, it's pretty much certain he'll never see the light of day again."

"Hell yeah," Tony replied, then glanced over at Eric. "You make it out alright?"

"Better than you," O'Grady affirmed, then lifted the t-shirt he was wearing to expose an enormous hole in his torso. Tony could see cables and machinery all around the wound. "Except for this. But sometimes being an LMD is kind of awesome, huh? I'm on my way to the repair shop now, but wanted to check in with you first."

"Thanks, buddy."

"...Well, we might not see each other for awhile, after all." Eric averted his eyes, then narrowed them at Laura.

"What do ya mean?" Tony looked curious, then felt a surge of panic as he realized that he wasn't too weak to lift his arm: it was cuffed to the bed.

Laura, her eyes apologetic but her voice firm, didn't make him wait. "...Ross isn't the only one I arrested," she began. "Elektra is also in jail...and you will be too, as soon as you're able to walk."

"Are you fucking--" Taskmaster started, but when Spymaster held up a hand, he stopped.

"Let her talk," Spymaster pleaded. Furious but silent, he nodded for Laura to continue.

"...You have to be tried for what you did, Taskmaster. For a lot of it. But this isn't supposed to be revenge. I told you the Scions are going to testify against Ross..."

Mara picked up where she left off, "...But we're going to testify for you, too. Spymaster explained everything on the Quinjet. About your memory issues. About how you really did want to help us...but you didn't know we existed after you fought Elektra."

Laura nodded at that, then added, after the first hesitation she'd shown this whole time, "...And I'll be testifying, too. I'll tell them about how much of a bastard you are...but also how much I think you can change, if you really try. If someone gives you a chance. You're not well, Tony." It was the first time she'd used his name, -really- used it. "You don't need to be in prison...you need help. And I think if you got it, you could really do a lot of good. But this can't keep happening. You can't keep forgetting who you are, then going right back to mercenary work. I'm hunting The Hub now. She has to account for how she's been controlling you...and if she really is your wife, if she's trying to help you do good as well...then she needs to do better. She needs to bring in professionals. You're not a good man, Taskmaster...but maybe you could be, someday. With help."

Tony tried to look mad, but it didn't work with the tears starting to well in his eyes. "...Why you? Of all people?"

Digging into her pocket, Laura tossed something familiar onto his chest. It was barely as big as his pinky. "After you shot my sisters and I took you down, I wondered about why you seemed so reluctant to fight me. I found the 'bullet' you hit Gabby with. Airsoft pellet...wouldn't have done more than knock her out even if she hadn't been wearing armor. I realized that on some level, even you know you can't keep going on like this...and you don't want to be the villain you let yourself be made out as."

Taskmaster didn't say anything. He couldn't think of anything -to- say. Staring at the deformed pellet, he just laid his head back on his pillow. Smiling faintly, Wolverine gently patted the side of his bed.

"Alright. He needs to rest," came another voice. It was Albino, a sharp-featured and white-haired woman dressed in a pristine lab coat and with a complete lack of fear as she entered the room. "If you want him able to attend this ridiculous trial of yours, I suggest you let him sleep. Out."

Tony watched them go, even weakly lifting a shackled hand to wave at Mara. Black Ant lingered, then leaned down to whisper, "And if they -do- try to put you away, I'll spring ya, buddy. We'll go on the lam together. It's win-win!" With that, he skipped out with the rest.

For the first time in ages, Tony was smiling - sincerely and wholly - as he fell back asleep under Albino's loyal care.

--

Black Ant had gone off for repairs, and Mara had already been escorted away; upon being informed of Akeja's location, Black Panther had quickly contacted Wolverine and agreed to bring all of the Scions to an Academy in Wakanda, where their burgeoning memory issues could be addressed and they could get the care and education they needed after the year they'd missed since their kidnapping. Attempts would be made to find their families, but they would be well cared for regardless.

Now it was just Laura and Spymaster, who stopped the heroine as she was about to leave. "Kinney."

"What?" Laura turned back to face the hooded woman, narrowing her eyes. "Just because I'm helping Taskmaster doesn't mean we're friends. We're finished here."

"...No we're not," Spymaster replied. "In fact, I suspect you're going to want to have a long talk with me." She pulled down her hood, then lifted her mask. Laura had never seen her before; it wasn't someone she recognized, a latina woman with a shock of black hair, stunningly intelligent brown eyes, and the most long-suffering, yet confident quirk of the lips she'd ever laid eyes on.

"...My name's Mercedes Merced. I'm Taskmaster's wife -- and The Hub."

[tessatechaitea]

Kid Eternity #2

This cover says, "Don't look at who wrote it! Just look at how interesting these visuals are! Sucker."

In my review of Kid Eternity #1, I threw out a few theories on why Ann Nocenti's writing is so weird. After reading page one of this issue, I've thrown those theories out again but in a different way. That makes complete sense if you understand English idioms and also understand that everything Ann Nocenti writes is basically pre-trash.

This is page one of Kid Eternity #2 and it will probably get this review banned on Tumblr.

I have a new theory: Ann Nocenti asked what a Vertigo comic book should be and editor Tom Peyer probably joked, "They're mostly tits and profound nonsense." So Ann Nocenti's vagina gobbed in her underwear and she squealed with glee. "That's what I do!" she chortled merrily! I probably shouldn't abuse Ann Nocenti for writing things I don't understand. I have plenty of choices of other people to abuse for it: my elementary school teachers for not calling me out on doing just enough to get by; my junior high school teachers who let me get away with not putting any effort into big year-end projects (In science, we were supposed to make a stone age tool. I rubber glued a carved-to-a-shoddy point stick to another stick (which was worse than my friend Robert who put some pine needles into a split stick, calling the weapon "Ow"); in English, we had one project based on Romeo and Juliet (because all we did that quarter was watch and read various versions of the play) and I refused to do it because the teacher was wasting my time; in Computers, I found Dan Felipe's project, a trivia program, and I just copied it and used it for my own project (changing all the questions and line numbers and other things to make it seem like it wasn't plagiarized but, I mean, come on! In fairness to me, I only did it because the stupid fucking school changed computers halfway through the semester, dropping the TRS-80s for Apples and my project was relying on the Poke images of the TRS-80 to create an animated sequence)); my high school English teacher, Mr. Borror, for reading nearly everything I wrote in front of the class so that I began to think I was the wittiest fucker in Santa Clara High; my college teachers for some reason or another that allows me to not blame my own lack of ability; and probably my parents because if they were any good at their parental jobs, I wouldn't be writing a blog about comic books. In other words, I'm sure Ann Nocenti is a philosophical genius while I'm just a guy who blames everybody else for things I don't understand. Even if I truly felt Ann Nocenti was an underrated genius whose writings I'm incapable of parsing, I would never ask her to explain what she meant by this first page of Kid Eternity #2. I just wouldn't feel comfortable putting her on the spot like that. It's not up to the artist to explain their art to the foolish audience! Only the Christian Messiah bears that responsibility (and, let's face it, he wouldn't have had to explain every fucking parable if he'd been able to convince smarter people of his bullshit). So if it's up to me to interpret this first page gibber gabber, I suppose I should get to business. Or kill myself. I mean, killing myself would be easier and less painful. And I totally would kill myself before reading more Ann Nocenti comic books except I have plans to cut my toenails in a few months. Before I begin trying to understand this hogwash, I'd like to point out that if she'd written it as a sonnet, I wouldn't have a problem with it. I'd read it, think, "Yep, that's a sonnet!", nod my head in sage understanding, and then jerk off to the titties. But this is not a sonnet so it is not allowed to be obtuse simply for obtuseness' sake. So this fucking speech. First off, who is speaking? The serpent trying to fuck the naked lady? Is this the speech the serpent used on Eve to get her to eat the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil? Although if that's the case, how would talking about Buddha convince Eve of anything? I'll assume the serpent is omniscient (because he may or may not be Satan, depending on what holy men or con artists you believe but certainly isn't Satan if you're simply going by the Book of Genesis. I bet the serpent was God doing one of those Zeus things minus the rape. Zeus loved to trick people so he could get laid; Yahweh tricks people to test their faith). I guess since she had yet to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil (come on, God! That name is terrible), she wouldn't know what she doesn't know and can't defend against any nonsense the serpent spews at her. Let's assume the art goes with the speech and it's the serpent speaking. So why is "God in repair" and what the fuck does that mean? And why is it followed by the statement, "Why not call the wisest man a freak?" Does the snake only speak in non sequiturs? Was that a stupid question since I already know the snake's dialogue is being written by Ann Nocenti? It is kind of refreshing to see that her dialogue style never changed in thirty years. The shit the serpent says on this page could be nonsense spewed by Coil from Nocenti's New 52 Katana. You know what? I don't have to continue this because, in the end, it's just a carnival barker's pitch to get people to believe in the freaks in his freak show. He's all, "What's the difference between freaks and religion?!" That's not a riddle I have an answer for. The only religious joke I know is "What do Noah's Ark and The Bible have in common?" That might be a joke that was extant before I came up with it but I did come up with it on my own. And I think the answer is so obvious I would be insulting the intelligence of all four people reading this. Oh, and the snake trying to fuck the lady? It's a tattoo on the Tattooed Lady. The reason the comic begins in a circus freak show? Because Kid Eternity is the newest freak on display! The opening sideshow scene is just one of Kid Eternity's dreams. The demon angel babies get into Kid Eternity's dream and when he wakes up, they've tied his hair to the floor which totally has him trapped for like three panels. That was a close one! Kid Eternity decides he can't truly know what he's doing unless he utterly knows himself. So it's time to get his brain probed.

Let me guess: Carl will blather on about synchronicity and dreams while Freud tries to figure out how big Kid Eternity's penis is.

Carl doesn't initially discuss anything. He's just the straight man for Freud saying all the typical things you'd expect Freud to say: penis this, envy that, fuck your mom, kill your dad, more penises, many more penises, everything is penises. But then he comes on fast and furious with his archetypes and collective unconscious and human mythology stuff, all the biggest Carl Jung hits (aside from synchronicity but I'm sure he'll get around to that later. Ann Nocenti isn't going to miss showing the readers all the knowledge nuggets she mined to make her brain big). If only Nocenti would spend as much time writing the story as she spends making sure the readers know she knows a lot of shit then maybe I would have kept reading this comic book. Meanwhile, Zeus wanders around looking for somebody to trick fuck, Madame Blavatsky hunts down the next best burger before she slips back to the past, Beelzebub and Judas wander through Limbo, Jesus gets drunk and falls off a bar stool, and a phone yells at a woman. That all happens on one page to make sure the reader remembers other things are happening. But why does Ann Nocenti spend two panels of that dense page on Madame Blavatsky when she could have updated the reader on the non-X-File FBI agents who will probably hate fuck each other before the story ends? I also wanted an update on the Buddha Christ Trash Child. But no! Instead Nocenti just moves on to more of her proof that she's read all about Freud and Jung and totally understands the shallow top layer of their theories and philosophies. I don't mean to say I know any more than Ann Nocenti! But I understand how little I know of Freud and everything she's had him say are things everybody knows about Freud from all the dirty jokes about him: ids, supermen, parental relations, and phalli!

Oh, that's why we didn't get an update on the dense update page; Nocenti needed a full page to document the hate/fuck.

My new Ann Nocenti writing theory: Ann Nocenti has never had an original thought. She simply reads things, takes copious notes of bits and quotes she likes, and then shoves them sideways into whatever script she's currently writing. No wait. She does have original thoughts but they're almost not worth having. Like "everything in life is a prison" and then proving it by stating a few things about life that can be cell-like. It's profound in that way that things are profound when you're on acid. If you don't think about it, you can find yourself nodding along going, "Yeah! Yeah! Everything is a prison! Life is a fucking prison!" But if you do stop to think about it, it's like coming down off acid. You start to see how that thought you had about how the number three ties everything else in the universe together because of the way the corners meet didn't wasn't as mind blowing as it was six hours ago. Although the rant you went on about how pressing play on the VCR remote play the show and pressing pause pauses it but then to unpause it you have to hit pause again when you should really hit play was pretty fucking good. Speaking of acid, I'm two-thirds of the way through the acid documentary on Netflix and it's fucking fantastic. I wasn't really thinking a lot about it but I was nodding along going, "Yeah! Yeah! Everything they're saying about acid is absolutely spot on!" throughout. I actually had to take a break because it was making me too happy listening to all Sting and Carrie Fisher tell their acid stories. I don't know why I didn't just spend five paragraphs discussing why the FBI agents were playing Scrabble while they fucked. It's probably just one of Sean Phillips' kinks. Oh, maybe they were just playing Scrabble and not hate-fucking. It's hard to tell because on the next page, Jerry asks Val if they can finally fuck and Val is all, "You're a nerd!" Then she slits his throat. But then in the next panel, his throat isn't slit and he's all, "You feeling better?" And she's all, "Yeah!" So I don't know what the fuck is going on and I don't really care. I've still got like eight pages of this mess to get through and I'd rather just nod along than try to understand it. And then just like last issue, Ann Nocenti sputters out a bit of writing that I totally agree with because I've said basically the same thing before. About how every day, I fall in love with some person I see on the street because of the smallest of things. And then I love them forever.

My story isn't as good but I once fell in love walking through the airport in Minneapolis. I was passing by an attractive woman and she was gazing off somewhere as I looked at her face. She was coming up on my right and then I glanced down at her breasts and back up at her face. And that was the moment she noticed me, as I glanced from her breasts to her face. And, catching me, she smiled and laughed and kept on walking. And I still love her to this day.

And for this page alone, I forgive all of Ann Nocenti's past (future?) transgressions and find myself eager to read Kid Eternity #3. Oh wait. I still have a few pages left in this piece of crap. I read a lot of books in college that I sometimes still say are my favorite books but I should probably just say they stuck with me because I know which books are almost always in my top five and a lot of the ones in college aren't those. But Edith Wharton's Age of Innocence always stuck with me. It's possible that I completely missed the message of the novel but to me, the book was about how true love only exists when it's unrequited. Archer Day-Lewis doesn't love Ellen Pfeifer more than May Ryder for any other reason than that she was the one he didn't marry. It seemed to me that Wharton was trying to portray how hard love is and true, phenomenal love only exists in the imagination. Only a love we can imagine can remain magical. Only when we love an object, or the imaginary person we've placed on a pedestal, can we evade disappointment in the reality and flaws of another actual human being. Being in love with Ellen Pfeifer was easy because she wasn't there for all those years. There were no fights or disappointments or multiple times accidentally walking in on her taking a huge shit. She was pure and beautiful and imaginary. But then again, maybe that wasn't the point of the book at all. I was young and romantic at the time and I still absolutely loved the women I'd had unrequited crushes on in junior high and high school while my college relationship was slowly circling the drain due to personality conflicts. But not due to sex. The sex was fucking great! Anyway, Freud and Jung decide Kid Eternity is in denial and they leave. Hemlock and Dog spread some new reality across the world via a computer virus. Madame Blavatsky starts making time go backwards, probably so she can vomit up all the Twinkies she ate and eat them again with their delicious creamy filling. And the devil and Judas wind up in a bar in Limbo with Jesus to make plans for Kid Eternity. There's probably a lot more going on but there'd be too much for me to process even if it wasn't confused by Nocenti's writing style. No wonder I gave up on this book after three issues. There's no way by the third issue I could remember anything that was going on, if I even understood it the month prior. Kid Eternity #2 Rating: C-. A confusing mess that's about 90% Ann Nocenti just vomiting out things she's read. Even the things that, with the benefit of the doubt, I want to believe sprang from her own philosophical musings, I can't bring myself to absolutely believe it. I feel like every thought and piece of dialogue she's placed in this story just came from piles of notebooks filled with notes she's made while reading other people's works. It's practically a collage of philosophical ideas and moral musings pulled from myriad sources and shoved into a Kid Eternity framework "written" by Ann Nocenti. Which could explain Nocenti's penchant for stilted dialogue. If she were making up all the character's thoughts, the dialogue would flow from one character to the next. But when each character can only respond with some profound thought Nocenti read elsewhere, it comes across like a ransom note, each word cut from the mind of somebody else and pasted as a reply to another bit cut from some other thinker, no relation existing between the two thoughts except the proximity relationship Nocenti has given them.

[grammarkid]

can you rant about Jennifer's body plz? I'm interested in hearing your thoughts on it

oh, my dude.. my dude, ur rly gonna regret asking me this. like, i legit wrote a paper on this film. i analyzed it for a month straight and did research. for ur own sake, i’m so sry. for everyone else, i’m gonna put it under a cut, bc.. it’s a lot.

ok, i just want to preface this by saying that i know that the movie is objectively just bad. tbh, the writing is terrible, and diablo cody? thought she could tap into the hip cool teen lingo™️? but she was rly just pulling words out of her ass, so i always get torn between finding the dialogue laughable and cringe-worthy.

but i love the movie to death and i actually got the chance to write a big paper about it in college. long story short, i took this english/social studies class that was all about monsters – vampires, werewolves, zombies, cyborgs, etc. – and how they were representations of society’s fear of those who transgress social norms. so, basically we spent an entire semester studying ‘monster culture,’ a way of reading texts that parses the social anxieties from within their monster stories, bc the word ‘monster’ comes from the latin ‘monstrum,’ which literally means “that which reveals or warns.” so in monster theory, a monster always signifies something other than itself. & our final assignment was to analyze a monster film that we hadn’t discussed in class and explain the issues behind the film’s monster – but i won’t get into all that, bc that’s kind of a diff story.

but without going into all the social anxiety stuff about teenage sexuality, simply put, the film is an allegory for the ways in which sexuality and one’s self-esteem are intertwined. literally, jennifer gets turned into a demon, and the only way she can remain healthy and beautiful is to kill/feed off the guys at her school – but, rly, the story behind that is about jennifer’s insecurities. 

listen. jennifer slept with a lot of guys, even before she was transformed into a demon. needy said that jennifer lost her virginity in junior high. did u know that adolescents who have sex earlier are more likely to be depressed and to have issues with their self-esteem? (i told u, i did the research.) and teens with high levels of “sexual permissiveness” are often low in self-esteem in comparison to those who abstain. (no judgment at all, that’s just what the studies say. and let’s talk about the word ‘permissiveness’ here – it’s explicitly stated that jennifer’s already done anal. i’d say that’s permissive for a teenager.) and studies have also found that ppl who do participate in sex will often experience a temporary boost in self-esteem afterward, bc it makes them feel desirable – shocking!! 

so, ok, the point is, what jennifer does with boys after she becomes a demon is rly not that different from what she did with boys before she was a demon – she uses them to improve her self-image. (the only difference now being that she.. u know.. kinda eats them.) bc as confident and pretty as jennifer is, she has a lot of problems with her self-image. she’s peppy and vivacious whenever she looks pretty, but rude and mean when she feels ugly. & like, the biggest fuckin’ insult needy could use against her was that she was insecure?? literally nothing else that needy said had any effect on her, but she rly cracked when needy accused her of being insecure. i mean, she literally starts crying as she’s putting on her makeup for the winter formal bc she can see herself in the mirror and she’s ugly, and the only way she can fix that is to, u know, eat a guy – and it’s not just any guy, ok? she’s not just going around murdering the random 65y/o dude in the mcdonald’s drive-thru or the lady running the convenience store. they’re all young guys, around her age, who very obviously find her attractive. 

hmm. deteriorating demon eats boys who are attracted to her to regain beauty vs. human teenage girl with deteriorating self-worth and self-esteem sleeps with boys who are attracted to her to feel beautiful again. and uh let’s not forget that girls who regularly use guys are often called ‘man eaters.’ like, it literally could not be more obvious?? yet so many ppl i’ve talked to about it are oblivious.

but the thing that rly gets me about this movie? it’s the relationship between jen and needy. and i’m not just talking about the fact that they made out in bed for thirty seconds – although that does play a factor. i’m talking about how the film is rly an exploration of how these issues literally destroy their relationship.

bc jennifer is detrimentally obsessed with being pretty and popular and ‘socially relevant’ but she can’t let go of needy. needy even says that it’s to the point that kids at their school literally can’t understand why jen hangs out with her?? and i think that reason is pretty obvious.

like, ppl have their opinions, but i feel like there is clearly something between jennifer and needy beyond just friendship? jennifer is constantly sizing needy up, flirting with her, touching her, etc. jennifer even says that they used to play ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ when they were younger. like, idk, that doesn’t seem like something friends do to me?? & it definitely doesn’t seem like something needy would suggest. no, that had to have been jennifer’s idea. but why? bc she has feelings for needy. hint: jennifer didn’t go after anyone in the film other than ppl she could use to her advantage – she explicitly mentions wanting to sleep with ahmet, jonas is the quarterback so ofc sleeping with him would be a boost to her esteem, colin asked her out on a date despite her lackluster appearance, and she also mentioned finding chip attractive. (if she could get him to choose her despite his loyalty to needy, wouldn’t that be a rush? why do u think she was so adamant when she said ‘tell me i’m better than needy’??) she doesn’t even attempt to approach anyone else in that way except needy. immediately after jennifer’s transformation, she goes back to needy. she’s the first person jennifer thinks of, and the first person we see jennifer approach in that way. and the scene definitely isn’t lacking sexual tension?? but ultimately it just suggests that needy could, in fact, give jennifer the same thing she got from the boys – i would even go so far as to say that, as a whole, the film suggests that needy is the only one who could give her that – but she can’t bring herself to do it. she cares too much about her to hurt her, to use her like that, and she even admits that later in needy’s bedroom. she literally says “i couldn’t hurt you.”

like omg the real tragedy of the movie is that needy and jen are torn apart by their missed opportunities. they’re constantly reaching out for one another, but they’re never in sync. after jen’s transformation, needy tries to be there for her, asks her questions, wants to be sure she’s okay, but jen can’t let her in bc she can’t even cope with the truth herself. after she kills colin, jen goes to needy’s room and tells her what happened to her bc it’s taking its toll on her and she’s desperate for needy’s support and validation, but needy is already convinced that she’s evil and her aggressive questions make jennifer retract. and without needy, jennifer has nothing. that’s why she goes after chip, bc it will hurt needy the same way needy hurt her. & personally, i don’t think jennifer was ever truly attracted to chip – i think she was attracted to his loyalty. & she was jealous of needy’s relationship with him bc it was steady and respectful and jen had no way of obtaining that for herself. and at that point in the film, she’s got nothing left to lose. honestly, like, with the others? jen didn’t hesitate. she made out with them and tore them apart at the first available opportunity. with chip? she took him to the pool and they just.. fucking sat there?? she tells him “i feel so empty” and yea most ppl probably take that to mean that she’s hungry, but if she was starving, then she’d just have her way with chip and be done with it, wouldn’t she? but she didn’t want to. she feels empty bc it’s all catching up to her and she doesn’t even have needy to help her through it. needy pushed her away. 

which is why i personally think that jennifer looks her absolute worst in the final scene with needy in her bedroom. she fed a bit off chip, obv, bc it was enough to kill him, and enough to completely heal the giant gaping hole in her stomach – which she plainly says to needy only happens ‘when she’s full.’ and yet she’s still so ugly. her skin is pale and her eyes are yellow and bloodshot, why? bc her physical state is a literal representation of her self-image and she feels terrible about herself so she looks terrible. ok, another hint: immediately after jen dies? she’s beautiful again. you literally watch it happen. & yeah, bc the film is about demons and the occult, u could say that the demon left her body, blah blah, but i think she becomes beautiful again bc that’s what she looks like when it’s not being distorted through the lens of her own self-view. all her insecurities aren’t killing her anymore, bc there’s nothing left. (and, just one last note about this final scene. what allows needy to kill jen? she tears off her bff necklace. and then jen literally loses all her power. she falls out of midair. it’s like everything stops, bc she still wore the necklace, she was still holding on to needy, even tho needy pushed her away. that was the last thing holding her together and needy took that too. and i think, rly, that’s what ultimately killed her. sure, the boxcutter had something to do with it, but there’s a reason that moment took up so much screen time, why it had such an impact, whereas the knife going in and that stupid ass ‘my tit’ line were so rushed in comparison.)

ugh, gosh. ok, i rly need to stop now. all that is already all twisted up and it hardly makes any sense bc i was rushing. i could literally go on for days about this movie, but this has already taken up like an hour of my day?? and i’m sure no one has even read this far anyway. but yeah. i have a lot of feelings about jennifer’s body, because imo it’s rly a tragedy disguised as a horror film.

[merriecana]

Serial Cheater

[Human!AU DenNor and DenSpa Warning: Cheating Word Count: Rating: PG (Language)--This is a two part series, the second part will be rated M (; ]

I’m not sure you want to do this, Sig. Like look you don’t deserve to do this to yourself…

             Sigve’s phone lit up, drawing his attention away from the uncharacteristically silent movie night he and Mikkel were having. His brows knit slightly as he skimmed the text from his coworker, his stomach flipped a moment later when his phone buzzed again.

If I didn’t think this was necessary I wouldn’t have texted you. Give me his number.

I’m not sure you want to do this, Sig. Like look you don’t deserve to do this to yourself…

            Sigve’s phone lit up, drawing his attention away from the uncharacteristically silent movie night he and Mikkel were having. His brows knit slightly as he skimmed the text from his coworker, his stomach flipped a moment later when his phone buzzed again.

Don’t just leave me on read lmao

             He gave a soft snort then glanced over at Mikkel, who was watching The Lobster with rather intense concentration. Sigve found himself gazing fondly at the Dane, a fondness that was almost painful. He uncrossed his legs which were propped against the coffee table and shifted them into his boyfriend’s lap. Momentarily confused, Mikkel gave him a sideways glance then set about massaging Sigve’s foot through the thick wool socks he was wearing. Sucking in a deep breath, Sigve reveled in the normalcy of the moment before unlocking his phone and typing out his response.

If I didn’t think this was necessary I wouldn’t have texted you. Give me his number.              A few minutes passed and Sigve let the movie take him away again. The way the people in the movie spoke was somewhat disconcerting upon first tuning in—constantly texting was definitely taking away from the atmosphere the filmmakers worked so hard to create, but this conversation felt so much more important. He became aware that Mikkel was looking at him after a few moments, his nerves were getting the better of him and he’d been shaking his foot in his boyfriend’s grip.

“Want me to stop?” Mikkel asked, his fingers digging into his tendon. “Mh-mhm…” Sigve gave him a soft smile. “You’re breaking your own rule, texting away on that thing,” he tossed his head towards his phone, “You doin’ alright, Sig? Something with work?”

             Well, the king of excuses picked out an excuse for him, so Sigve didn’t struggle to fabricate a story about how his buddies at work were trying to plan some office get together for later that month. It didn’t take much to make it work—Mikkel didn’t seem too interested to begin with. This had been a common theme. He’d try to talk about developments in his work relationships or just office drama but Mikkel refused to take the time to learn the names of the people he was talking about and he constantly forgot the details of the prior story so there was no point. His lack of curiosity stung. It seemed that he’d just lost interest with him as a whole…

             He was dragged from his self-pitying thoughts as his phone lit up again, this time with an attached contact. Toni Carriedo with the number attached. He flipped to his notes to compare the contact to the unsaved number that he’d pulled off of Mikkel’s phone. They were exactly the same. Sigve’s mouth went dry and his hands suddenly felt restless. He closed his phone and sat with his hands in his lap for a moment before staring at the TV, trying to find it in himself to get interested in the movie again.

             He wanted his feet out of Mikkel’s lap. He wanted to be anywhere else but on the couch with him, and the thought that he’d be sharing a bed with him tonight was just… It was too much. After forcing himself to sit still for a solid minute, he pulled his feet back to himself and tucked them tightly under him. His face was completely still, but he felt like something was shredding his insides. Sigve wasn’t typically a crier, and this little bump in the road wasn’t going to change that about him. But… God, did this hurt. He needed space.

             And with that he picked himself up and gave his boyfriend a tired smile and told him he was going to go shower then lay down; he was feeling sick.

             As he stood under the hot water of the shower he let his head fall limply. Staring at his feet, Sigve tried to understand. What had changed between the two of them? Had he done something wrong or was this just something inside of Mikkel? He couldn’t parse it apart.

             About a month ago, something in their 3-year relationship had changed. Mikkel switched his password on his phone and wouldn’t let Sigve in, which inherently hadn’t seemed like the worst thing in the world. Mikkel offered up some excuse that he’d read about the dangers of having someone know your codes on that snapchat, Mashable daily reading thing. Sigve had brushed it off. Then, Mikkel began to keep a closer hold on his phone.

             Once, Sigve found it on the counter and went to put on some music—only to remember that he didn’t know the code anymore. Just as he was setting it down, his startled boyfriend was there. Charming as ever, Mikkel spun up something about needing to make a phone call to someone, somewhere for work. Sigve had thought nothing of it at the time and willingly handed him his phone back.

             Then, their time together seemed to evaporate. Fewer dates, less time alone together, and far more alone time for Sigve. Mikkel always seemed to be out. He was working, going drinking with his friends, working late, getting more drinks, late night gym trips, he joined a cycling group… Nothing unusual for Mikkel, really. But it was just the combination of everything.

             Sigve didn’t snoop. He prided himself on this. As a partner, he felt that snooping and constant checking of your partner’s phone showed signs of an unhealthy relationship. After 3 weeks of minimal contact and a wild swing from over affection to almost none, Sigve found himself feeling in need of reassurance. So, he watched Mikkel unlock his phone one day and memorized the passcode.

             And if this story was a good one, Sigve would have forgotten about the code and had a direct conversation with Mikkel and addressed his issues. But that’s not what happened at all. Instead he found texts between Mikkel and some random number that spanned the past two months. At first, they started out platonic enough but the most recent ones were… Explicit to say the least. And there were photos. So many back and forths between the two men.

             Sigve hadn’t noticed when he had started crying, but his nostrils were pouring mucous and the steam wasn’t making breathing any easier. He could hardly feel where his tears ended and the water ended and he liked it that way. He shifted to lean against the wall and cried. He had stuffed his feelings down far enough that he had been able to ignore them but now they were all rushing to the surface. Every sign that Mikkel was acting different came back to him and the confusion and sadness that he’d forced himself to not feel were fresh as day. He was gasping at this point. The hot water was calming usually, but the steam was making it hard for him to breathe. Gasping and snotty, Sigve’s sobs ripped out of him silently, wracking his entire frame.

             The stupid man had him turned in knots. He loved him—it had been three years and Sigve was the happiest he’d ever been. Never in his life had he found someone who could make him smile quite like Mikkel. They’d known each other since they were children but it wasn’t until they were both out of college and in the working world that they realized they were in the same city. They met for coffee and the rest was history. It was the dream. It was perfect. It was wonderful…. In the beginning it was all Sigve could do to keep Mikkel. The world had so much to offer and while Sigve knew he wasn’t plain by any means, there was just so much out there. And keeping Mikkel tethered was like trying to tame a falcon: hard, but possible.

             The introduction of this Toni person had, seemingly thrown the balance. And Sigve couldn’t really blame Mikkel. He’d seen the photos. The man was gorgeous. Fit, trim, tall, tanned, handsome—with a smile much like Mikkel’s own. They could have met anywhere… The gym, a bar, work… Well, Sigve had suspicions it was through the bar Mikkel made a habit of going to. His coworker, Matthew, tended to drop by there with his sister every now and again and when Sigve gave the description of the man—Toni—Matthew knew who he was talking about immediately.

             He was making himself feel sick again. He needed to figure out what he was going to do.

 ------

             Confrontations always went smoother in public, right? That’s what Sigve tried to tell himself as his anxiety spiked. It was about ten minutes into waiting that he wished he’d kept his prescription for Xanax or that it was past 3PM so he wouldn’t feel quite so terrible being in public drunk. Not that drunk, mind you. Buzzed. Something to take the edge off so he wouldn’t feel quite so… terrible.

Every brunette to enter the café made his heartrate jump up about a hundred beats per minute. By the time the proper brunette walked into the café Sigve’s poor heart was about to give out. But the second he finally saw Toni he wished he could go back to waiting for the guy to show up. He’d texted him off Mikkel’s phone and asked him to meet him here and up until now he’d never seen the man in person. He could understand why Mikkel was fucking him, he gave off this electric energy and his features were stunning.

That being said, seeing his full figure only dredged up mental images of him and Mikkel fucking or whatever it was that they did. That was what sealed the deal. Sigve’s hands and feet felt cold as he stood. He clutched his cup of coffee in shaking hands and headed towards the table Toni had seated himself at as he tapped away on his phone. Sigve loomed beside him; Toni didn’t look up.

“Ah, give me a second I’m waiting for someone--,” He glanced up to see Sigve and gave him a confused smile when he realized he wasn’t staff. “Oh, uh, sorry can I help you?”              God dammit, even the way he speaks is beautiful. Sigve couldn’t help but compare Toni’s soft rolling of his r’s and tutting of his t’s to his own harsh r sounds and his morphing of t’s to d’s.

“Are you Toni Carriedo?” He felt totally numb, his brain was on auto-pilot. “Yes, I am. Antonio, but same difference. I’m sorry, do I know you?” Though he still looked confused he flashed a brilliant smile. Sigve sank into the chair across from him, earning an even more confused look. “I’m sorry, I have someone who’s coming…” He began.

             Sigve shook his head until Antonio fell silent, he was beginning to look antsy. Sigve stilled himself with a sip of coffee.

“Mikkie isn’t coming.” He used the pet name with little affection and the word felt like glass in his mouth. “I don’t need to hear anything from you I just… I need you to listen to me.”

“…Alright,” Antonio looked downright concerned at this point.

             Sigve sucked in a deep breath and set the coffee down on the table, his eyes trained on the stains near the rim of the cup. As he sighed it out, he felt like he was going to completely deflate. The chipper demeanor he’d been trying to sell fell away with that sigh and it lay in a heap on the ground at his feet. What was left, whatever little emotion he’d been able to knit together was all that was left.

“I don’t know,” he began, delicately licking his lips, “what it is you have with Mikkel Jensen. I don’t—I can’t know. But Antonio, this man has been the light of my life since I was a child. I… I am not a happy person. But he makes me happy. You are, I mean… You know. You wake up and see how you look. You know that you’ve got me beat in looks. You’re fit, you’re tall, you’re… You’re perfect. You could have any person man you ever wanted and all you’d have to do is pass them a wayward glance and… And they’d fall into your fucking lap.”

             Sigve’s voice was low but his gaze was steady as he looked at Antonio. After a moment he let his eyes drop.

“I can easily understand how you could… You could take him. You could have anyone, Antonio.” He coughed and cleared his throat before continuing on. “I don’t want to sound too melodramatic but, Mikkel is the love of my life. And I do not think—“ his voice cracked and he quickly adverted his gaze to the lid of his coffee as he paused. “I—I’m—,” Antonio began, stumbling with words with a pain in his eyes. “Please. Just let me finish.”        

             They sat in silence for a moment. The bustle of the café continued on around them, but the two men seated by the window seemed frozen against the chaos.

“I’m begging you, please don’t take him just because you know you can. If what you have is… If it’s something more than simple lust—I don’t… I can’t condone it. I’m having this talk with you Antonio, because… Because my happiness hinges on whatever you decide to do. Please. Don’t take him, even though you can.”

             With that, Sigve stood up abruptly. He sniffled softly and shoved his free hand into his pocket, his lukewarm coffee in the other hand.

“Hope I didn’t interrupt your day,” he said stiffly before turning to go.

“I didn’t know,” Antonio caught his elbow and Sigve visibly recoiled. Whether it was the touch or the words was unclear.

“Next time you should ask,” he spoke softly but the words came out with venom.

             And with that, Sigve made his way out of the café and onto the street. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, taking in a moment to enjoy the warm breeze that danced between the buildings. Nothing had changed about his physical appearance but he felt so… exposed. When he let go of that thick skin to Antonio he peeled completely out of it and that protection was lying in that café while Sigve was walking back to his small apartment in the outskirts of the city. He couldn’t hold back the tears that welled in his eyes, but they felt somewhat refreshing this time around. There was no running from it anymore.

             A week passed and Mikkel was in a blue mood that fluctuated between depressed and angry. But there was no mention of his intervention. His moods swung far from raging—slamming cabinets and stomping through the house—to dismal—not leaving bed for hours, not speaking or returning texts—within mere hours. To anyone who didn’t know him better, it would seem like a bad week. But Sigve knew him well—it was how Mikkel dealt with rejection.

             And as that mood passed, Sigve felt some semblance of hope start to come back into his chest. It hurt like hell to hope again but it was better than the alternative.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

But those aren't the only reasons parents don't want their kids using. But this is, strictly speaking, impossible. Some say Europeans are less energetic, but I don't believe it.1 If they aren't an X, and the right mood. In those days, you will be net more productive. Foreseeing disaster, my friend Robert Morris and Trevor Blackwell.2 You write programs in the parse trees that get generated within the compiler when other languages are parsed. Don't be hapless is not much point.3 Maybe mostly in one hub.

What should they do research on?4 And if you think about it, cuteness is helplessness. We chose Lisp. Though she'd heard a lot about YC since the beginning, the last 9 months have been a lot of room for improvement here.5 It doesn't even have y. How sterile it was. It's not just the mob you need to learn to judge by outward signs which will be worth your time.

I wanted to keep it that way.6 It's often mistakenly believed that medieval universities were mostly seminaries. I recommend is to take yourself out of the woodwork every month or so. But we should understand the price. Subtract one from the other, and the result is what we can't say. In painting, for example, will cheerfully work 20-hour days to produce the Apple computer for a society that allows them, after taxes, to keep just enough of their income to match what they would have made working 9 to 5 at a big company. It's good to have a few trusted friends you can speak openly to.

But because they have to.7 America's competitiveness often suggest spending more on public schools.8 Tax laws that encourage growth? I must have explained something badly. If someone who had to process payments before Stripe had tried asking that, Stripe would have been one of the heavy school record players and played James Taylor's You've Got a Friend to us. Gradually it will re-emerge. The truth is common property.9 So I'm really glad I stopped to think about which one to use. For example, can this quality be taught? I'm saying that he'll make you a better writer in languages you do want to use it in all his paintings, wouldn't he?10

And what, exactly, is hate speech?11 The idea of mixing it up with linkbait journalists or Twitter trolls would seem to her not merely frightening, but disgusting. Cadillac stopped being the Cadillac of cars in about 1970. If you want to encourage startups: read the stories of the Bible could not be true. Performance isn't everything, you say? This is too big a problem to solve here, but certainly one reason life sucks at 15 is that kids are trapped in a world designed for 10 year olds. But America has no monopoly on this. But, at least, taking money from a top firm would generally be a bargain. First Round that they performed one. Aikido for Startups But I don't know; but whatever your capacities, there are projects that stretch them. I don't like the idea of being mistaken.

So if Lisp makes you a better writer in languages you do want to use Lisp, so much the better.12 John McCarthy invented Lisp, the field of or at least of the good ones, is precisely that: look for places where conventional wisdom is broken, and then try to pry apart the cracks and see what's underneath. Evelyn Waugh called him a great writer, but to serve a ruler powerful enough to ignore the local feudal lords. That's schlep blindness. The more of an IT flavor the job descriptions had, the less dangerous the company was. Exceptional programmers have an aptitude for and interest in programming that is not merely determined, but flexible as well.13 Indians in the current Silicon Valley. What counts as pornography and violence? It is by no means a lost cause trying to create a silicon valley in another country. Let's run through an example. Everything else on their site may be stock photos or the prose equivalent, but might it also be true? It The second reason we tend to find great disparities of wealth alarming is that for most of human history the usual way to accumulate a fortune was to steal it, we tend to be suspicious of rich people.14

It means a tedious, unpleasant task.15 It may be just luck, but I've saved myself from a few technologies that turned out to be a mecca for smart people simply by having an immigration system that let them in. It won't get you a job is that no one speaks it. That's not enough to consider your mind a blank slate. This idea along with the PhD, the department, and indeed the whole concept of the modern university was imported from Germany in the 1930s—or among the Mongols in 1200, for that matter? For example, by doing things that you not only didn't know, but that contradict things you thought you knew.16 In England in the 1060s, when William the Conqueror distributed the estates of the defeated Anglo-Saxon nobles to his followers, the conflict was military. When she turned to see what had happened, she found the steps were all different heights. Which means, oddly enough, that as you grow older, life should become more and more users. The Daddy Model of Wealth When I was a whiz at it. It could be that a language promoted by one big company to undermine another, designed by a committee for a mainstream audience, hyped to the skies, and beloved of the DoD, happens nonetheless to be a lot of other things fell into place. My grandmother told us an edited version of the death of my grandfather.

Notes

It's also one of the most dramatic departure from his predecessors was a kind of people. It seems to pass. Or worse still, as I know of no Jews moving there, and yet give away free subscriptions with such tricks, you'd get ten times as productive as those working for large settlements earlier, but it wasn't.

I know what kind of gestures you use the word wealth, seniority will become as big as any successful startup founders and investors are interested in each type of thinking. Price discrimination is so hard to measure how dependent you've become on distractions, try this thought experiment: If you want to get endless grief for classifying religion as a cause for optimism: American graduates have more money chasing the same thing twice.

I mean that if the growth rate early on. As the art itself gets more random, the space of careers does.

4%, Macintosh 18. She ventured a toe in that sense, if you did that in fact you're descending in a time of day, because those are probably not far from the Ordinatio of Duns Scotus: Philosophical Writings, Nelson, 1963, p.

Since I now have on the wrong ISP. Kant. Whereas the activation energy for enterprise software. Sokal, Alan, Transgressing the Boundaries: Toward a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity, Social Text 46/47, pp.

On the other meanings are fairly closely related. But a couple hundred years or so and we should find it's most popular with voting instead of Windows NT? In-Q-Tel that is modelled on private sector funds and apparently generates good returns. The situation is analogous to the Bureau of Labor.

In practice most successful startups of all tend to notice when it's their own interests. Many people feel good. I'm going to create a great one.

B made brand the dominant factor in the Ancient World, Economic History Review, 2:9 1956,185-199, reprinted in Finley, M.

The late 1960s were famous for social upheaval. It's conceivable that the payoff for avoiding tax grows hyperexponentially x/1-x for 0 x 1.

Strictly speaking it's impossible to succeed in business are likely to have to preserve optionality. What happens in practice is that most people, but that's the intellectually honest argument for not discriminating between various types of startup: Watch people who should quit their day job writing software. It would be much bigger news, in the sense of being Turing equivalent, but delusion strikes a step later in the US since the war, federal tax receipts have stayed close to the option pool.

In high school. And in World War II to the hour Google was founded, wouldn't offer to be told what to think of it, by encouraging them to private schools that in effect hack the college admissions. Which in turn is why I haven't released Arc.

Note to nerds: or possibly a lattice, narrowing toward the top 15 tokens, because a she is very common for the linguist and presumably teacher Daphnis, but something feminists need to warn readers about, just that they probably don't notice even when I first met him, but they were actually getting physically taller. Even now it's hard to avoid this problem by having a gentlemen's agreement with the New Deal was a sort of stepping back is one of a powerful syndicate, you better be sure you do if your goal is to say about these: I wouldn't bet against it either. That is the case, companies' market caps will end up reproducing some of the world, and stir.

A more accurate metaphor would be a good grade you had small children pointed out by Mitch Kapor, is due to Trevor Blackwell reminds you to two more modules, an image generator written in Lisp, they did not start to go deeper into the sciences, even in their IPO filing. You should always absolutely refuse to give up, and intelligence can help founders is by calibrating their ambitions, because any story that makes curators and dealers use neutral-sounding nonsense seems to have a quality that feels a bit. Indifference, mainly. Brooks, Rodney, Programming in Common Lisp, they have to do this right you'd have to sweat whether startups have some revenues before 18 months are out.

The amusing thing is, obviously, only Jews would move there, only Jews would move there, only for startups overall. Programming languages should be your compass. Which is not Apple's products but their policies. But core of the rest generate mediocre returns, but those are writeoffs from the Ordinatio of Duns Scotus ca.

Common Lisp for, but the number of startups as they are at selling it. Most employee agreements say that YC's most successful startups looked when they buy some startups and not least, the mean annual wage in the 1980s was enabled by a sense of being harsh to founders is how much he liked his work.

But you can't dictate the problem is poverty, not how much you're raising, have several more meetings with you to acknowledge as well use the word wisdom in so many had been trained that anything hung on a scale that has raised a million dollars. It doesn't end every semester like classes do. Instead of the world, and are paid a flat rate regardless of how to value valuable things. When you get nothing.