#especially with it being so half-assed

[sweaterkittensahoy]

A little Don't Worry Darling HateFic, which is something I might have just invented

(I mean probably not because fandom is amazing, but yes, I am writing this little ficlet on the fly because I'm so mad at that fucking movie for being so goddamn bad. Spoilers for all the worst parts).

Alice presses her whole body to headquarters, and there's a violent, sharp yank in her lower belly. When she opens her eyes, she's staring at a gauzy canopy covered in fairy lights. There's something touching her face. Something touching her legs. Something in her arm. In her left arm.

It's an IV. The tube leads to a clear solution that Alice doesn't recognize but can guess at. There are lots of clear things one gets in a bag from a hospital or medical supply company. She doesn't know how long she's been asleep, but she is certain from Jack's yelling that it was more than a day or two. Whatever's in the bag is what's kept her alive.

What's kept her asleep?

She shakes her head at the feeling of something around her eyes, and she tries to lift her right arm to use her hand to feel it. Her right hand is caught in something. She tries to lift her head to see, but something's holding her back. She squeezes her fingers around the thing, and after a moment, she realizes what it is.

Jack's hand.

Jack's hand holding hers.

Jack's dead hand holding hers. Like they fell asleep in some cute moment.

Except that is absolutely what's not happened at all.

Alice breathes out something like a scream. Her throat is moist, but her vocal cords are clearly unused. What comes out instead of a scream is a whispery, high sound like you'd make for a ghost story.

She shakes her arm, and it doesn't move like it should. Doesn't move like there's well-trained muscle to help her out. At the beginning of her surgical residency, another doctor had told her that a good gym routine was vital to staying at the top of her game. It upped her endorphins and her stamina, and you wouldn't think ribs were hard to break through, but you'd be surprised.

"You don't need the gym for that," Jack had said when Alice had mentioned planning to up her twice-weekly routine to include a day of strength training. "You want endorphins, we can just fuck."

"You're gross," she'd said and laughed. And they'd fucked that night, carefree and laughing like they always did.

She wonders now, as she shakes her arm again and again, dislodging his fingers a tiny bit of pressure at the time, if he'd really believed their sex life could solve all her problems.

There's a shout, and a loud smashing sound. Alice freezes, Jack's fingers three-quarters dislodged. She hears murmuring and heavy steps. She wonders if it's Frank's men coming to find her in the real world.

She counts the seconds silently, hoping they'll find her and kill her. Hoping they won't. She doesn't know.

At 37 seconds, the door opens, and a flashlight makes her squeeze her eyes shut.

"Shit. Fuck," says a familiar voice, and Alice risks opening her eyes again because it can't be--

"Alice."

"...Bunny?" Alice tries to say, but it comes out a painful whisper.

"You've been trapped for five months," Bunny says. "I've got a medic with me. We're going to undo your restraints."

"But--"

"The kids are alive and well," Bunny says. "Older than when you met them. I'll explain once we get you out of here."

"Who--"

Bunny smiles and reaches for Alice's left wrist, undoing the buckle as someone else starts to work on Alice's ankles. "Senior Agent Bunny McClair, FBI. And before you ask, that is really my legal name."

Alice's laugh is as dry as her whisper, but something in her soul feels really fucking good. "Nice to meet you," she manages to get out, and with one final shake of her arm, she dislodges Jack's fingers for good.

*

She's underweight, and there's muscular atrophy. The doctor, once Alice explains she was in surgical residency, is happy to speak to her using jargon.

"We'll get you started on PT immediately," she says. "You're not so weak I think we can't reverse it, but I always prefer an aggressive plan in these cases."

"Do you mean atrophy or women getting found after being trapped like I was?" Alice asks. Her voice is a little better. She's been allowed ice chips as they've checked her over.

"Both," the doctor says. She gives Alice a look that's equal parts sympathy and anger. "You're our fourth one from that fucking place."

Alice wants to sit up straighter, but her back muscles are worse off than the rest. It makes sense to her. It seems Jack did some isometric exercises with her limbs but failed to worry about her torso. It's not an uncommon issue for people who try to take care of a disabled spouse at home without a decent amount of medical knowledge or help from a home health service.

"Who else is out?" Alice asks.

"Agent McClair can tell you," the doctor says.

"Right," Alice replies. "Ethics and shit."

The doctor smiles at her. "Exactly. Ethics and shit."

*

Alice sleeps for fourteen hours. When she wakes up, there's a polite nurse with a bland but nutritional breakfast. Alice manages to eat half of it.

"I used to murder twice as many eggs," she mutters in annoyance.

The nurse's polite façade disappears, and she grins openly. "You have PT this afternoon. I'm sure you'll improve your score tomorrow."

Alice grunts in amusement as the nurse leaves. A moment later, Bunny--Agent McClair, Alice reminds herself--walks into the room. She's wearing a pearl gray pants suit with a silk, pussy bow blouse and very tall shoes.

"Alice, may I sit?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course."

Bunny sits in the chair that's pressed against the wall next to the bed, and Alice gives up as thinking of her by any other name. It's just not possible right now. She's physically strained and mentally exhausted, and Bunny's not just wearing a pussy bow and high heels, but she's also wearing a string of pearls and earrings to match.

"Are you into the retro look?"

Bunny chuckles. "I am," she says. "I have been forever. I advised on the whole look I should have inside the virtual compound."

"Virtual compound," Alice mutters. "How did you--if you didn't--I mean." She shakes her head and closes her eyes to think. It takes her longer than she'd like to get a question formed. She feels as scattered as she did inside Victory after the electroshock. "Who are you?"

"I'm Bunny McClair--and that's my maiden name," Bunny replies. "The people in charge of the FBI's undercover operation into Victory used me as a template for the man playing my husband--"

"Dean's not your husband?" Alice blurts out, feeling foolish the second the question leaves her mouth.

"Dean's another agent," Bunny says. "I run the team in the field. He's an undercover agent who spends his days debriefing with me and doing deep dive searches on everyone in Victory."

"But...he chased me," Alice says. "I...I hit him with my car."

"I lied to you more than once when you came to me," Bunny says, and she looks deeply apologetic. "I told you yesterday, the kids aren't dead--"

"Do they know me at all?" Alice asks.

"They know of you," Bunny replies. "When we all realized I was the perfect person to be used for the physical template inside Victory, I made sure to get their consent to use their old pictures and videos to set up the reason why I'd be in there."

"Who plays you?"

"A variety of agents. There's a backdoor hack attached to 'my' eye pieces that allow us to switch out agents every few hours."

Alice reaches up and touches the sides of her eyes where the eye pieces had been. There are calluses there she'd never had before. the nurses had offered her lotion, but she'd refused it. She'd apply it too much, she knows, just trying to rid herself of the feel of captivity.

"Do a lot of people play Dean?"

"No. Since he doesn't need to be there all the time, he can just play himself. But he knows the schedules of the other agents so he knows who he's...acting...against at any given time."

"Acting."

Bunny shrugs and gives Alice the same rueful smile she's always had. "For lack of a better word."

Alice licks her lips. "Is Jack dead?"

Bunny sighs. "No, and I'm sorry I had to lie to you in the moment about that."

"You said he died in real life," Alice replies, and she barks a laugh so loud and sudden and unexpected that she covers her mouth. "I--"

Bunny drags her chair closer and drapes her arms over the bedrail. "The agent playing me told me what happened. I laughed, too." She throws up her hands in a mockery of fear. "They die in real life!"

Alice's laugh this time is a bit quieter, but still as surprising. "I shouldn't--"

"You should," Bunny says, and her hand hovers over Alice's arm before she pulls it back. "Every fucking one of you we get out of there deserves to laugh at whatever makes them laugh. Mary did the best she could under pressure, but even she admits the 'they die in real life' was a last-ditch attempt to basically shock you into slowing down enough that we could help you. He was unresponsive when you woke up because we traced where he was and fed his tech a virus that incapacitated him. "

"Oh," Alice says. "You were--I mean Mary--"

"It's an imperfect system," Bunny says, and this time she touches her fingertips to Alice's arm before curling her whole hand around it at Alice's nod of consent. "I wish we could have gotten Margaret out sooner, but she--"

"Is she okay?"

"She's safe," Bunny says. "She's getting very good help. She wants to see you, but it's going to be a couple of weeks."

"What?! Why?!"

"Because her doctors say so." Bunny's gaze gets sharp and deadly serious, and Alice realizes that the similar look she'd seen in Victory when she'd admitted going to Headquarters is nothing compared to it. "And you'll get your own doctors who will agree you're healthy enough before you see her, too," Bunny continues. "You've both been through a tremendous trauma, and you came out within days of each other. We want to be sure you're both truly safe before we put you in the same room."

Alice lets that thought wash over her. She shifts her arm so she can clutch Bunny's hand. "I know you're not the Bunny I knew in there," she says, "but I feel like you're trying to do right by the Alice you heard about from everyone playing you."

"I am," Bunny says. "The same as I did for Margaret and Lydia and Carol."

"I don't know Lydia and Carol."

"We got them out shortly before you and Margaret were taken hostage."

Hostage. The word rings in Alice's ears, and her hand goes slack.

"That's what I was, wasn't I?"

"Yes," Bunny says with that no-nonsense edge Alice knows very well. "But not anymore. And not ever again. We're going to shut it down, Alice. I promise you that."

"How long will it take?"

"I don't know," Bunny replies, and it's the willingness to be unsure that makes Alice trust her all the more.

[a-spectacular-pigeon]

"OOoOooOOoh, but using 'it/its' pronouns for Murderbot is dehumanising!!"

[yardsards]

i needed to express a sentiment in the creative stylings of @dunmeshiminimumwage

[punkeropercyjackson]

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.

I don't have external meltdowns.

I could. I don't let it happen.

I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.

So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.

She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.

Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].

It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.

They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.

I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.

I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.

I couldn't understand what made her like this.

But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.

If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.

And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*

And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?

My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.

Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???

And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.

I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*

She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.

I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.

So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.

But I told her hundreds of times.

I probably should have just screamed at her.

[fromtheseventhhell]

Now, if George was smart? He'd be working on finishing up Winds asap and coast on HOTD's downfall, cause a press run full of shade toward unfaithful adaptions would have book readers and locals alike tuned in

[un-pearable]

the sheer volume of titans tower aus are the most baffling thing to me because fic fandom treats it like this Core Event that his entire life is oriented around… they always treat tim like he’s a newbie who just picked up a bo staff five minutes ago when that couldn’t be further from the truth. he’s existed for over a decade at that point. he’s had over a hundred issues of a solo, not even touching his appearances anywhere else. in universe, he’s been robin for at least 3-4 years. he had AN ENTIRE OTHER TEAM who’s series ran for three years and had comics wide crossovers twice. he was enlisted in a war. he’s time traveled. he’s been to apocalips. he’s not a little baby who’s in too deep that kid’s been to space.

[tangledinourstrings]

weird how all the fnaf fangame devs ppl love to make fun of are the ones that arent killing themselves by pumping out 50000000+ games a second. maybe you guys can actually treat fangame developers like human fucking beings and not crucify them everytime they cancel a project because you think theyre disposable and that you can interact with their creation any way you fucking want even if it violates their boundaries just because its out there on the internet. like i swear yall are so quick to tear apart other peoples work because of your unnecessarily high standards of what a fangame should be even though the original fnaf wasnt even all that impressive by today's standards. none of you have any respect for any of the creators in this community and the ones you do have parasocial respect for are the bigoted ones that get outed for grooming kids and use their platform to send their fans after other people.

[dream-sans-mogai]

Anyway, because I'm considered a bigger creator within the mogai community and I have a responsibility to address things given my bigger audience-

Please remember that Tumblr, especially LGBT Tumblr concerning discourse and intracommunity issues, is a hyper niche, reactive, violent, sensitive community with next to zero basis in reality at large and you should not take any of its opinions as absolute fact. Especially the mogai community's opinions.

A lot of people on mogai Tumblr talk big game with very clearly fake the-whole-bus-clapped stories about the real world concerning acceptance towards mspec monos, Neopronouns and Xenogenders and it's my job as an adult and guiding voice to remind people these experiences may happen but rarely do and you absolutely should not just tell random people you use purr/purrs pronouns or your a bi gaybian or you identify as Chronosian or other things like that because it's really fucking dangerous even in hyper progressive places like new york, cali and Detroit. It can be deadly in many many small towns, including ones in progressive states. Especially dangerous in non accepting states.

I don't say this to burst your bubble or ruin your hopeful world view but many stories of acceptance are fake, even if some are true, most of the community is underage and just cause your teacher may approve of your Soniccharic identity, doesn't mean they won't tell your transphobic parents. It's scary and dangerous out here for trans and gay people rn and I won't be one of the idiots who tell you to run and frolic with your Xenogender pins Infront of increasingly hostile transphobes. I want the younger gen z trans people to survive and I won't lie to you about the reality of the battle we all are staring down concerning project 2025.

Most of the people telling these stories live in progressive states and do not tell you about the failed times or exaggerate the acceptance they supposedly received. I'm telling you from the mouth of someone who grew up in a tiny town in South Ohio with less than 1,000 people, it's still just as dangerous as it was 10 years ago. I still get followed in my home town. I still get stares in my home town. My actual home town, a place I grew up in where people knew me as the gnc dyke for a good while in my last 2 years of school. Do not spread this shit around to everyone. Nex didn't think they would become a victim, Brianna didn't think she would be one of the unlucky ones, plenty of those we've lost did not think they would die in hate crimes. I almost died in two of the hate crimes I've experienced.

You need to be really fucking careful and although I love than Neopronouns and Xenogenders are becoming more accepted by the larger LGBT community, you need to be very very VERY careful about what you do, what you wear and who you tell what because word spreads fast in suburbia and hate spreads faster. You do not want to be wearing a pin the day some white cishet magat decides he's tired of the "pedophiles" and chooses you as the first victim because you were the first he saw. Don't hide who you are but Be. Fucking. Careful.

[maretriarch]

amerikkkan tiktok commenters will see someone not eating three squares meals and three snacks and 9 consumer purchases of little treats and will be like I Hope You Heal One Day

[redysetdare]

I'd appreciate it if monkie kid just...stopped removing DBK and PIF from the story if they wanted to make it believable that they were treating Red son better. the fact that they are consistently just not there and we are left in the dark if they are being better parents or if they are still as shitty all the while not giving us any information through Red son himself who is now consistently working with the heroes away from his parents is like.... what is the relationship supposed to be here??? They set up possibilities at the beginning of season 2 then barely followed up and it seems like this is becoming a pattern and it's just feels like it's missing a whole lot of potential. Like idk the dynamic and arc they had set up for the demon bull family had a lot of potential and honestly I would've loved to see it explored but instead they just shoved it off to the side and barely acknowledge it...

[punkeropercyjackson]

"We need more m/f ships that aren't heternormative or enforce gender stereotypes!!!"You guys couldn't even handle Todomomo

[neverendingford]

stuff like this is why I prefer passionate amateur translation.

[timeisacephalopod]

Part of being Canadian is how similar we are to the US, and honestly not a single person on earth I think could genuinely pin point the difference between Canadian and American culture but the average Canadian. Americans assume we're the same as them (we aren't), even a bunch of Canadians think we're Americans, especially around voting seasons, and about half our cultural identity is "we're Not American!" but there are some cultural differences and if we all spoke French equally we could have had a language distinction but nooooo. Despite not being America unfortunately such a fuck off massive country right below your teeny tiny ass country (population wise) does result in a cultural avalanche from said fuck off massive country. Especially when you share a language.

The war of 1812 will forever be funny to me though because Americans were like "hmm maybe Canadians would also like to tell the British to fuck off, we will invade to show them!" And Canada was like *burns down the white house* and we've been tentatively chill with each other ever since lmao (even when we probably like. Shouldn't be cool with America but like. We could not risk that implosion politically or otherwise it'd be suicide).

[silverselfshippingchaos]

could cozy up to me- ahem

[milo-igidk]

have i mentioned lately that i fucking hate the council