#for anything besides fucking… anime twinky

[chewwytwee]

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. People need to become more comfortable with making bad art, and people need to be more comfortable with accepting that their art isn’t good. I’m sorry, but sometimes art looks objectively bad (at least as far as the artist is unable to conceive of their artistic vision), and instead of constantly handwaving negativity and brushing critical feelings under the rug people need to develop skills to cope with and progress from those feelings. The VAST majority of art ‘advice’ I see pass across my dash is really just art positivity, where the takeaway isn’t any valuable information, but rather an admonishment for not being kind enough to themselves and corrections you can make to your behavior. It sidesteps the problem ‘I am unfamiliar with art’ and jumps right to addressing the symptom ‘I feel bad I’m unable to create what I want to create’. Instead of working to improve artistic skill and familiarity with creative tools, it tells the reader that they need to work to re-think their conception of artistic quality. There should be space for both of those conversations but they don’t exist to the exclusion of the other. Most art spaces online attempt to create an encouraging space through enforcement of post-over rules and discouraging critical feedback, but inadvertently creates incentives for people to write insubstantial filler so they can post their own work which discourages people who’s art isn’t as impressive or noteworthy because all of their feedback is platitudes. Art communities are consumed by a fear of alienating beginners, but falsely believe that beginners will be alienated by critical feedback and don’t realize that most beginners feel alienated by stagnation and uncertainty. Feeling bad at a skill feels much better than feeling as if you are incapable of improving at that skill, and the shallow insistence of magical thought as a substitute for practice is a self fulfilling prophecy which will make it so.

[septicstories]

When Will You Realize (UNEDITED)

A/N: @you-said-yes is a bloody freaking genius and came up with this idea for the multiverse twins, and I'm in love. So, I'm gonna write this (Peter-centric, of course) and attempt to do it justice! I just hope I don't goof this masterpiece up too much.

Genre: Angst

Warnings: cursing (duh, it's me), family drama, Charles + Logan + Hank ignore Wanda and Pietro because they need Peter, very brief mentioning of a needle, sad Peter + Wanda + Pietro, Pietro having the nickname "Piet" (pronounced as the first bit of his name, not diet with a "p"), no beta readers or edits (sorry)

Word Count: 3.3k (3,380)

"Peter! The cops are here! ... again."

When Wanda had yelled that down to him, Peter only found himself sighing. What store manager is accusing him of shoplifting this time? Did that punk-ass kid behind the counter at 7/11 rat him out again?

But Peter didn't do anything about it.

Nope.

Well... actually... maybe a quick pick-pocket wouldn't hurt, right? Just see who the hell these cops are, maybe spook them when he says their names. Unless he already knows them, then that'd be weird.

Peter let go of the paddle he was using, calmly walking upstairs as time just slowed around him, nearly to a halt. He was greeted with three new faces, all three of the men. None of them looked like cops.

He went into the pocket of the man with hella sideburns, opening up his wallet, only to see a folded-up piece of paper instead of a badge.

After looking over the paper for a moment, Peter found himself grinning. This was a rental agreement for a car. These guys were from out of town.

Peter folded the paper, replacing it into the man's wallet before slipping it back into his pocket. And with new confidence, he went back to his basement and continued to play his solo game of ping-pong as he waited for the men to come down.

He heard one of the stairs creak, a sure sign that it wasn't one of his siblings. A very particular spot on one of the stairs made the most obnoxious creaking noise, and it was the only way he was able to identify anyone new.

"What do you guys want?"

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Peter just kept going from one end of the table to another, waiting for his brother to come down so the two could go even faster.

"I didn't do anything!"

Of course, that was what he was waiting for before the cops showed up. But now, he was just waiting for them to all get down here. He was just showing off at this point.

Peter dropped his paddle once again, slowly stretching across his couch. Well, slow for him. To the three men, it probably looked like it happened in the blink of an eye.

"I've been here all day."

A shit-eating grin spread across his face as the three men turned to him, one staring at him as though he were an animal at the zoo. The other two seemed exasperated.

"Just... relax, Peter. We're not cops--"

"'Course you're not cops, if you were cops, you wouldn't be driving a rental car." Peter interrupted.

"You're not cops?"

Peter didn't even hear Pietro come down the stairs.

"How'd you know we got a rental car?" the man with long hair and sunglasses asked.

"I checked your registration while you were walking through the door." Peter shrugged.

"Peter!"

Wanda must've recently come down as well, as she lightly smacked Peter's shoulder, like a scolding mother rather than an older sister.

"I also had some time to kill, so I went through your rental agreements and saw you're from out of town." Peter's shit-eating grin just spread across his face, before it dropped into a look of confusion. "Are you FBI?"

Peter shot up, grabbing the nearest wallet, which came from the guy with sunglasses. Nothing that a cop would carry. But there was a business card.

"Nope, you're not cops," he said in a near-mumble, reading the card.

"Peter!"

"Hey, what's with this Gifted Youngsters place?" Peter asked, ignoring his sister's scolding tone as he dropped the wallet, heading over to one of his many mini-fridges.

Peter grabbed two popsicles out of the fridge, slightly melted but still solid, handing one to his brother before beginning to munch on one.

"When I knew him, he wasn't so... young."

That was all he caught out of the conversation the three men had.

"Young?" Peter asked with his mouth full. "You're just old!"

"Peter, don't be rude," Pietro said, opening his popsicle and beginning to eat it at a monstrous pace.

"Both of you, stop!" Wanda said, her eyes beginning to shimmer a bright red color.

"So you're not afraid to show your powers." one of the men said.

"Powers, what powers?" Wanda squeaked out, her eyes flaring red before returning to their usual color.

"You see something strange here?" Pietro asked, leaning against Wanda with an empty popsicle stick in his hand.

"Nothing anybody would believe if you told them?" Peter asked, a massive smirk on his face.

When he saw the tired look on one of the men's faces, he did a little internal victory dance, patting himself on the back for that.

With the cockiest fucking look on his face, Peter went over to the pong machine in his room, turning it on.

"So who are you, what do you want?"

"We need your help, Peter."

"With what?" Wanda and Pietro asked in unison, glaring daggers into the three men.

"To break into a highly secure facility. And to get someone out."

"A prison break?" Wanda asked, her eyes widening.

Peter just chuckled, smirking. "That's illegal you know."

"Well, only if you get caught."

"Okay, no. Peter's not going." Wanda said, her fists clenched by her sides.

Exactly as she said that, Peter asked "What's in it for me?"

"Peter, no, this is an awful--" "You, you kleptomaniac, get to break into the Pentagon."

Peter's fingers froze on the joystick, pausing. The Pentagon? The fucking Pentagon? Wait, were these guys actually cops? Like, undercover cops who are actually good at their jobs?

"How do I know I can trust you?" Peter asked, arching an eyebrow, slowly turning from the machine.

"Because we're just like you."

Peter stiffened, eyes bouncing between each of the three men. They all look normal, albeit a bit like hobos, but still normal. They didn't have any of the physical bits to a mutation, the lucky sons of bitches.

"Show him."

An absolutely disgusting squelching noise filled the room as the man with sideburns had bone breaking through his clenched fists, into a trio of boney claws, gnarly and super gross.

Peter's breath hitched as he watched, before gulping and nodding. "It's cool but it's disgusting."

"So? Are you coming with us?"

"No, he's not," Wanda spoke up again. "Listen, I don't know who the hell you are and why you're asking for Peter to help you break into the Pentagon, nor do I want to know who you're breaking out of the Pentagon, but my baby brother won't be joining you."

Peter rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Who are you to make decisions for me? I'm fucking 17, Wanda! I'm not gonna be staying in this damn house my whole life!"

Peter stood up, going over to his closet, and grabbing a backpack.

"Look, I know you guys are gonna drive me there and there's probably a plan. Fill me in on our way there. I need to bring food so I don't pass out on you guys."

"Peter, ple--" "We'll meet you outside. Thank you, Peter." the man with the sunglasses said as the three left the basement.

Pietro and Wanda shared a glance before heading up the stairs. "Wait for a second!"

Peter shook his head, grabbing the nearest box of food and stuffing it into his bag.

I'm not a baby. I'm 17. I can't stay here for the rest of my life because of humanity. I can't do that to myself. I'd rather be slaughtered for my mutation than sit the hell still and never leave this fucking house.

Pietro and Wanda couldn't keep him here. He loved them both to death, and he'd absolutely come to visit. But he couldn't stay. Even just a taste of adventure like this would be enough to sate him for the day. Maybe a few.

Besides, it wasn't like he was leaving for good. He was gonna come back. Probably. Y'know, assuming he doesn't get caught and shot to death.

Peter gulped.

That won't happen... right?

"Nah, I'll be fine," Peter mumbled to himself, grabbing another box of snacks and opting to grab a hair tie as well. The clock on his wall was ticking slower and slower the deeper into thought he got.

They wouldn't let him get hurt, right? He'd be a-okay.

"Slow down, you crazy child."

Peter stiffened for a moment.

That creaky stair was a blessing and a curse.

Reluctantly, he looked at Wanda, giving her a glare as time sped up. Pietro was right behind her.

"You're so ambitious for a juvenile."

Peter rolled his eyes again.

With this shit.

"But then, if you're so smart, tell me, why are you still so afraid?" Peter asked sarcastically, a scowl finding its way onto his face.

Wanda and Pietro give each other another look before they come closer to Peter. Peter went over to another side of his room, grabbing another box of food, this one already opened.

"Where's the fire? What's the hurry about?" Pietro asked, letting out a nervous laugh as he joked. The tension in the room was making everybody uncomfortable.

They get a bit closer, and Peter forcefully shoved what was bound to be a squished Twinkie into his backpack.

"You better cool it off before you burn it out. You got so much to do."

Pietro and Peter's eyes met, making Peter's resolve crack. Just a little bit. Not much. But a little bit.

Wanda's hand landing on his shoulder wasn't much help.

"And only so many hours of the day."

Wanda's voice was always soft and soothing. The Sokovian lullabies she'd hum to him when he was a child would sometimes play through his head when he was stressed out, and he'd even find himself mumbling the lyrics.

But not right now. Now wasn't the time for her calming voice. No, he had shit to do.

Peter brushed Wanda's hand off of him, storming away from them before speaking, "But you know when the truth is told, that you can get what you want, or you can just get old."

His tone was sharp, like a blade cutting open old sutures.

Pietro's brow furrowed, with a frown making its way onto his face, his own tone becoming less playful.

"You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through."

The scowl on Peter's face only deepened as he turned away from his siblings. He didn't need to hear all of this. Not right now.

Wanda, with that voice that made Peter want to cry, spoke up again. "When will you realize..."

Peter stiffened, a lump growing in his throat. They couldn't do this to him. They couldn't persuade him to stay. They couldn't do that.

"Vienna waits for you." Pietro and Wanda spoke together, Pietro's tone had softened a tad.

When the twins saw Peter's face when he turned around, their hearts broke a little.

Their younger brother had tears in his eyes, his mouth twitching as he took in one shaky breath after another. His mouth opened, only to clamp shut, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes tight.

Peter sped over to his dresser, digging through one of his drawers, in search of his goggles.

"Slow down," Wanda began, her voice making him stop for a single second. "You're doing fine."

Pietro piped up again. "You can't be everything you want to be before your time."

Peter clicked his tongue, fresh tears beginning to roll down his face. They had the motherfucking audacity to pull that shit on him.

"Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight," Peter said sarcastically, turning around and spreading his arms out as he gave both of his siblings a teary-eyed glare.

To them, it probably looked like the glare of a child. Pathetic. Weak. Fragile.

Did he care?

"Tonight," he mumbled again.

Nope, not one bit.

Wanda took a step forward as Peter turned back around, still looking for those damn goggles.

"Too bad, but it's the life you lead," she said calmly.

She was going to start losing composure soon, Peter was sure of it. She had to crack soon. He wasn't going to let his dam burst anymore until he knows he's not the only one who wants to cry.

"You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need."

Peter winced as though he just got a needle stabbed into his arm. A painful pinch that'd be sore for a bit, but he'd forget about it soon.

Wanda sent Pietro a glare, which made the other speedster back down a bit. But only a bit.

"Though you can see when you're wrong, you know you can't always see when you're right." Wanda and Pietro spoke at the same time, making Peter shiver.

It bugged him the hell out whenever they did that. Creepy as shit.

Wanda made it even creepier by repeating herself. "You're right."

She came closer as Pietro spoke. "You've got your passion."

"You've got your pride," Wanda said softly, taking Peter's shaky hands into her calm grip.

They need to stop. They needed to stop doing all that shit to him. They were trying to get him to stay. They shouldn't be doing that.

Peter yanked his hand out of Wanda's grip, his other hand grabbing his goggles before stuffing them in his pockets.

"But don't you know only fools are satisfied?" Peter said bitterly, staring between the twins.

He gulped as he watched Pietro glare at him, his arm going around Wanda as he did so.

"Dream on," Pietro said dully as Peter turned his back on the twins.

"But don't imagine they'll all come true." Wanda and Pietro did their freaky twin thing again, speaking at the same time.

Peter zipped up his backpack, just trying not to cry. He just needed to get past them, and into that car, and then it would be smooth sailing from there.

"When will you realize?" Wanda asked as Peter slung the backpack over his shoulder.

"Vienna waits for you." Pietro finished with a soft murmur.

Peter didn't even need to turn around for Pietro and Wanda to know what Peter's face looked like.

Hot tears burned down his face as he shoved past his older siblings, Pietro purposefully knocking Peter's shoulder with his own. A little thing they'd do when they knew they had a rough day ahead of them. A sign. A quick "good luck. I love you."

A sob got stuck in Peter's throat as he went up the stairs, hitting that creaky stair on the way up.

Wanda, with a defeated sigh, fell back onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. There wasn't any way to stop Peter. Once his mind was set on something, he was going to do it if it were the last thing he'd do.

She just worried that this would be the last thing he'd do.

Before Wanda could even speak, Pietro's hand rested on her back as he sat beside her.

"He'll be okay, Wanda."

Peter was about to leave, fingers grazing the doorknob before he paused.

He turned to the small stand by their front door, grabbing Wanda's locket from when she and Pietro were children. Carefully, he opened it, revealing pictures of Wanda and Pietro as children.

Peter's fingers clumsily fiddled with the locket before placing it around his neck before taking in a deep breath and wiping the tears from his face.

The front door of the Maximoff household swung open as Peter left the house, his hair falling in front of his face as he left, walking at a pace that seemed a tad bit too fast to be human.

The guy with sideburns was sitting in the driver's seat of the car while the two other men stood outside the car.

"Ready?" the man with the sunglasses asked.

Peter found much more interest in the markings on his shoes, staring down at his mixed shoelaces before giving a weak response.

"Yeah."

Slow down, you crazy child. Take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while.

Peter got into the back seat of the car, slamming the door shut as the other two men piled into the car. He swears he heard Pietro and Wanda in his head.

It's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two

His backpack got tucked by his feet on the floor of the car, buckling his seat belt before releasing a sigh. He wanted their voices out of his head. They needed to get out of his head, or else he may actually get fucking shot because he wasn't focused on the mission.

The Maximoff house was now quiet. The only noises came from the basement.

"When will you realize?" Pietro asked, his voice barely carrying over a whisper.

"Vienna waits for you." Wanda finished softly.

The two were leaning against each other on the couch that Peter called his bed, looking around the messy room.

A picture sat on his desk, the three of them all together and smiling. Peter was only eight when they took that picture. His two front teeth were missing from his massive grin, curly brown hair framing his face. He just looked... happy.

Peter, at that moment, felt far from that young kid he used to be. His arms crossed over his chest, doing his best to seem nonchalant. But he was stressed as hell.

In Sokovian, Peter mumbled to himself "And you know that when the truth is told, that you can get what you want, or you can just get old."

Peter could live with dying young. As morbid as it may be, he's accepted his mortality. He knew people wanted him dead because he didn't share the same species name as others.

His eyes looked out the window while the man in the sunglasses and the man with the sideburns spoke in the front seat. Hopefully not to Peter, because he wasn't paying attention.

Unfortunately, instead of seeing an empty doorstep, Pietro and Wanda were standing on the porch.

Pietro's hand was still on Wanda's back, and Peter could see the tear streaks on Wanda's face from within the car.

"You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through," the two whispered, Pietro beginning to choke up "Why don't you realize?"

"Hey, kid, you alright?"

Peter turned to look at the guy with glasses who sat with him in the back seat, nodding with pursed lips.

"I'm good, man. What's the plan?"

Wanda and Pietro still stood on the doorstep, watching Peter look away from them. Wanda bit her lip, looking down at the ground as fat tears streamed down her face.

"Vienna waits for you." she and Pietro were so choked up, their speech was barely audible. "When will you realize?"

Peter listened in on the plan, nodding, but once they stopped saying his name, he looked back out the window. His sister was in tears as Pietro wiped at his face, making Peter's eyes well up a bit too.

With all he had in him, Peter mustered up a small, sad smile on his face. Luckily enough for him, his siblings looked up right then.

Peter gave a small wave, getting teary smiles and waves from his siblings.

The car's engine roared to life, and the group began to pull away from the Maximoff house. Peter turned in his seat a tad, watching as his siblings grew smaller and smaller in the window as the car pulled away from the Maximoff house.

At the same time, the twins watched as the car pulled away from their house, Wanda's body shuddering as she kept in unshed tears.

Pietro let out a heavy sigh as Wanda's head hit his shoulder.

"He'll be okay, Wanda. He always comes out of these things okay."

"He's breaking someone out of the pentagon, Piet. I don't want him to... y'know."

"Yeah... I know."

Peter turned back around in his seat, letting out a heavy sigh of his own.

"They'll be okay." the man with glasses murmured beside Peter.

His only response was a nod and a yawn. "I'm gonna rest up real quick, okay? Save up energy, and stuff."

Because I'm absolutely fucking drained.

[xenoblademisadventures]

Why the fuck does Mythras armor exist?! Here boobs are right there! they are wide open for attacks and getting hit in the chest hurts like hell!! 0/10 devs were horny and bad for combat

From a purely strategic mindset, I think the lack of leg or back armor is worse since that's a larger area to hit and is harder to defend against than a boob window. Besides that, I wouldn't consider it a huge deal that the person who wears a sundress into battle and is also a laser sword that shoots orbital missiles and is from a fantasy anime where sword beats gun doesn't have practical combat attire. Mainly because the setting and rules for how combat are allowed to work isn't realistic in the first place and embracing that lack of logic means you can lean more into other elements of a character's design. Trying to offset it could also put you more into the uncanny valley of the audience not know whether you're going for realism.

The larger issue with the boob window is that it makes her boobs way too overdesigned and draws attention from more important parts of her character design, such as her face and core crystal. That's also one of the two reasons why Smash Bros Mythra design looks really good while Xenoblade 2 Mythra looks horrible, they made the boobs slightly less overdesigned and redirected all of the attention the design draws to them upwards (towards her face). The leggings also really help the design because now there's a noticeable amount of dark colors to offset the light colors.

Smash bros did Mythra pleasant in a lot of ways. The fixed design is very good, but another favorite is how they made her sword activate and deactivate to punctuate her attacks. In Torna especially, her swordfighting looks really weird because her twinky arms are swinging a sword that's the size of her around like it's nothing, so it's really difficult to get a sense of weight. Having her turn the sword on and off lets her swing fast and look like a powerful blur. It emphasizes the movement really nicely. That definitely isn't the only way to fix the initial issue, but it definitely is an option that had a nice end result.

Besides that, there's the sexism angle. Zeke's open tiddies are there because it says something about his character. Both that he's a ridiculous funnyman and that he rejects Tantal. Mythra has a boob window because it's sexy. Zeke's boob window gets made fun of in a scene about how he's too stupid to freeze to death, Mythra's boob window gets made fun of in a scene where she mistakenly believes that Rex was trying to assault her. The boob windows are just not the same.

Xenoblade 2 is just very sexist in several ways and the character designs are one of those ways. I wouldn't consider factors like sexism and racism as a direct factor in how good or bad a character design is (like, the Makna Armor in Xenoblade 1 is some of the best designed armor sets in the game, that doesn't mean it isn't also blatantly racist), but it should still absolutely be a factor when discussing the design. Especially since stuff like sexism and racism is about trends rather than individual moments 99% of the time. Like, you're not going to get the game directly saying "women exist to support men" (at least in most modern games, I believe Xenogears directly said something along those lines in Disc 2). But you are going to get female characters being more likely to be put into support classes or fill supporting roles. In Xenoblade 2, a lot of the blades are women, is a healer, Morag is a tank. Those are both supports while Rex and Zeke are the damage dealers. When the protagonist is a dude, the story puts more focus on his personal story while when the protagonist is a girl, the story is more evenly spread between who gets the focus (Shulk, Rex, and Fei vs Shion, Elma, and Lora). And connecting this back to the character designs, Mythra's design wouldn't be sexist in a vacuum, but considering the overall trend of the female characters getting skimpy sexy gear while male characters get a lot more armor looking stuff that isn't about sex appeal, it does become sexist. I think Xenoblade X's alien armor sets illustrate the problem the most drastically out of any game in the series.

So, that's why I wouldn't consider the heavy sexism in Mythra's character design to be a reason that the design being bad, but it is definitely a bad thing that needs to be addressed when talking about it. I wanted to bring this up because people skirt around the issue a lot when talking about titty armor being bad and it is a legitimate reason to dislike the design.

Overall, Mythra's character design is difficult to work with because it has too many hanging parts that didn't need to be there, it doesn't say a lot about her personality, character designs don't follow the setting consistantly enough for Mythra's design to say anything about it, and the design draws a ton of attention to her boobs opposed to important stuff because sex appeal.

[vidkid20ssimblrlair]

Episode 32: Sundown At Ashfield (Part 3)

Billy groaned. "I told you to come alone! What the hell?!"

"She's not supposed to be here," I fumed. "She must have followed me! Christ!"

"Yep," she grinned as she sat down beside me. She opened the twinkies and stuffed them in her mouth. Her cheeks budged out much like a chipmunk as she talked. "By the way, you forgot to mention some guy named, Bones visited us last night. And why is Gemma so weird? It sucks Ace lost his daughter, but that doesn't explain Gemma's wacko behavior."

"Oh, God! Were you here the whole time?!" I shrilled. "What the fuck?!"

"So you're Billy?" she smirked ignoring me. She held out her hand to him and they shook hands "I'm Audrey. Sup! The mask I saw earlier. From Naruto, right? How come they call you runt if it's a bear?"

Billy's eyes widen. "You like anime?"

"Yeah. I wish I had a manga to read, but yeah I love that stuff."

"A fellow anime fan. Also a video game fan from what I hear. I thought they all died out by now," he chuckled. "Everyone thinks my mask is a dog. When I tried to tell them where it's from and what it is, it's like I'm speaking a foreign language."

"Oh, Vince zones out when I talk about that stuff too. I know the feeling."

I scoffed. "Um...hey nerds. This conversation is quite riveting, but..."

"Woah! Wait! Are you the girl who has the samurai sword?"

"Yes. How you know?"

"I've sort of seen you before when they put me on surveillance duty once....at your house."

"What?!"

"I know it sounds creepy but...it wasn't my choice," he babbled. He then blushed. "If it makes you feel better, I thought you were super cool. I even gave you a cool name. Samurai. Hey, where is your sword if you don't mind me asking?"

She rolled her eyes and looked back at me. "And this guy is your friend?"

"Nevermind that. I know he's a creep-"

"Hey!"

"Anyway, I wasn't done asking him shit, so can you politely hush!" I growled at her. "So buddy boy, why are they watching us? Why were you put on surveillance duty at our house?!"

"Well, I didn't know it was your house at the time. All I saw was Ms. Audrey here and some woman with short brown hair, but I had no idea they were part of your group!" he cried. "I swear! If I knew I would have warned you sooner."

"Warn us of what?"

"That they plan to take your place from you. If Gemma's there, she's there to spy and fuck with you. If Ace is keeping you alive, he wants to use you. That's got to be it."

"Well, that comforting," Audrey said sarcastically.

"To answer your earlier questions about Gemma and Bones,...um Audrey?"

"That's the name."

"Well, Bones visited you to check on Gemma. Gemma was probably signaling Ace and Co. every night to show everything was fine. Then you tied her up so Bones probably came to check on her when he didn't receive any signal or indication she was fine," he said. "As for Gemma's or Red's deal, I believe she was in an insane asylum at one point."

"You're serious?" I gasped.

"It's not confirmed, but when we found her she was wearing a hospital gown over jeans with a band around her wrist.  The band was pretty worn out but it indicated as such. She was also staying in a burnt-out hospital building as well. She slit the neck of one of our men when we came looking for supplies in the place. It was a big burly guy too. Ace thought it was pretty damn impressive she could take down a guy like that and he took her under his wing. He likes to think he's building some sort of army. I don't know why but people like that fit the mold for him but they do."

"Well, that's even more comforting," Audrey groaned. “Continue. I have to go to the bathroom and this willow tree is looking pretty tempting.”

“Ugh, can’t it wait?”

“No, and don’t look! You and Billy advert your eyes or something.”

“Like anyone would want to look at you anyway!”

She glared at me and stuck her tongue out playfully. She then walked over to the tree and shot us a fleeting look before disappearing behind it. I sighed and turned back to face Billy. The guy looked pretty mortified and covered his face with both hands.

“Not much experience with girls?”

“Huh?” 

“Nothing. It’s getting pretty dark. Going rain.”

He turned his whole body around on the log and continued hiding his face behind his hands comically. "You probably should go then. Night and rain are a recipe for danger. And if Big Red or Gemma as you call her is at your house, it's not safe to leave your people with her. She could be up to anything. Not to mention, what Ace might have planned for you."

I nodded. "Is anything we can do?"

"I'll do my part on the inside. You? Um...well let's see. I can draw you a map of the junkyard. Provide you weapons. Anything to get the upper hand. Then we can try-"

"Enough!!!" I heard a woman shout.

I then heard muffled cries behind me. I slowly looked back to see to my horror, Billy's sister holding Audrey hostage. She had one hand on her mouth and the other aimed a gun at her head. Her face covered by a mask just like before.

"Get up!"

"Sis?" Billy yelped. "What...?"

"Shut up, Billy. Shut your mouth!" she snapped. "Now get up! Both of you!"

We did as she demanded and she took her hand away from Audrey's mouth. She used two fingers to fire off a whistle.

Then more masked figures appeared walking up to us. I looked around and realized we were now surrounded.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4 is the last part for this one.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #328

okay i’m going the fuck to bed now. @_@

Have you ever worn fake eyelashes? No; the only time I ever will will possibly be my wedding, if even then. Could you possibly write a successful novel? I think I'm capable, but I don't believe it will happen. Who’s the last person you video-chatted with? My therapy group via Zoom. Do ski lifts make you nervous or do you like them? Never been in one, but they seem cool. Have you ever had dandruff? I have dandruff AND a dry scalp. Nice combo. Do you think sleeve tattoos look trashy? Please explain to me how ANY tattoo inherently equates to being "trashy." I actually love sleeve tats. Have you ever gone through a phase of crushing on EVERYONE? No. I experienced a few crushes my freshman year of high school, but they weren't just anybody. If you had to get a portrait tattoo, who would it be of? I may or may not get a tattoo of Darkiplier doing his i c o n i c debut smile somewhere, but idk. I already have one tattoo related to Mark and would kill for another with his handwriting, so having three would be a bit... wild, haha. Do you have any stickers on any of your electronic devices? No. Do you like the smell of men’s colognes better than woman’s perfumes? Usually. Can you remember what you last clapped for? Yes; everyone in group clapped for one of the women taking a big step against her agoraphobia. Is your hair damaged? No, it's actually super healthy. Are you in charge of cleaning anything in your household? The litterbox and my room in general. Ever carved/written anything on a park bench? No. Most interesting place you’ve ever visited? Chicago was a big shock to me. I am FAR from used to cities that incredible and stocked. Do you keep your eyebrows more thick or thin? I don't groom them, so they're on the thicker end. Do you always wear a bra? Not at home and if there's no company. Do your shoulder blades protrude? No. Have you ever won on one of those grabber machine things? Yeah, a few times. Are you gonna French kiss your hubby at your wedding? Who says I'm marrying a man? But whatever, no. Keep that behind closed doors. How many bananas have you ever eaten in a row? No more than two. I usually don't even have two. Have you ever had sex outside? No. Have you ever been outside naked? No. Have you ever been in a shrubbery maze? No. You ever like someone who liked you back, but didn’t want a relationship?: That's pretty much where I'm at now. Have you ever fallen for someone who didn’t feel the same? No. Are you financially stable? No. Mom can barely afford rent right now; I had to pay it last month with gifted money. Are you emotionally stable? hunny Do you think kids these days are growing up too quickly? I kinda think so, yeah. It's funny how different kids are now compared to when I was whatever age they are. I try to be open-minded about it, though; times change, and I don't expect my generation to be the only "right" way to have grown up. I just think kids are chasing the power of "maturity" with much more vigor. Are you a rebel? Not really. Do you like when people use proper grammar on the Internet? Yeah. I like conversing with people who type just how they talk, like me. Have you ever driven or been a passenger on a motorcycle? Neither. I don't want to ride one. Do you use standard time, or 24 hour time? Standard time. Do you enjoy NASCAR? "HE'S MAKIN ANOTHER LEFT TURRRRRRN!" Lol no, I really don't. Who is the most fascinating person you’ve met? Probably Sara, honestly. What amazing adventures have you been on? What's this "adventure" you speak of? What would you do if had enough money to not need a job? Lots of traveling with my camera, still selling art anyway. What TV series do you keep coming back to and re-watching? None. What would your perfect vacation look like? Y'know, one of those glass dome ceiling cabin... things in the mountains with Sara would be so, SO cool. So much nature for us to explore. What are some obscure things that you are or were really into? Most of my interests honestly, haha. The strangest is probably "vulture culture," in which the remains (typically the bones) of a naturally deceased wild animal are basically recycled for some sort of artistic purpose. You could consider my roadkill photography an example. What are some things everyone should try at least once? I dunno, man. Depends on what you're into. What would your perfect morning be like? Cuddles with an s/o watching some funny videos or something like that to get in some morning laughter. What are you always game for? Video games, haha. What do you do to unwind? Watch YouTube. What’s your favorite piece of furniture you’ve ever owned? I don't have a fave. What would be the best city to live in? I don't want to live in a city. What would you like to know more about, but haven’t had the time to look into it? Time isn't an issue; I just haven't. There's lots of stuff. I'm a very curious person. How have you changed from when you were in high school? I'm less depressed, but more confused, scared, and much less motivated. Imagine a chicken wandering around with its head chopped off. Where is the most fun place around where you live? Nothing, really... Where would your friends or family be most surprised to find you? Like, a strip club or something. What’s expensive but totally worth it? This depends on what's important to you. For me, a quality DSLR camera. When do you feel most out of place? Whenever I'm some place fancy. What’s the most recent thing you’ve done for the first time? No idea. What small seemingly insignificant decision had a massive impact on your life? Accepting Jason's friend request on Facebook because I thought it was a different Jason I actually knew. What did you do last summer? Nothing, just stayed indoors trying not to melt into a sizzling puddle. What are you most grateful for? My mom. What’s the most essential part of a friendship? Trust, maybe. When was the last time you walked for more than an hour? Many, many years ago when I used to walk outside for hours with my iPod. All modesty aside, what are you better at than 90% of people? It doesn’t have to be useful or serious, it can be something ridiculous. 90% is a lot, man. Maybe bonding with animals? What’s the strangest phone conversation you’ve ever had? I don’t know. What do you like but are kind of embarrassed to admit? If I'm embarrassed by it, I have no interest in sharing it. What skill or ability have you always wanted to learn? Even just a smidge of social skills. What’s the best meal you’ve ever had? Probably the spicy shrimp fritas at Olive Garden. I adore those sooooooooo so much. Where was your favorite place to go when you were a kid? The zoo. We didn't go often at all, but I would frequently nag Mom about going. What’s something that most people haven’t done, but you have? Fed a freshly severed rat to a vulture. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I wanna go back to that bird rescue... What says the most about a person? How they treat others. What machine or appliance in your house aggravates you the most? The dryer. It can take a few rounds to fully dry something. What places have you visited that exceeded your expectations? Chicago, that I actually remember. Disney World probably did, but I was just a little kid and only have faint memories of the trip. What’s the worst advice someone has given you? I don't know. Besides your home and your work, where do you spend most of your time? People leave their houses? What are your top 3 favorite things to talk about? Mark, meerkats, and video games. When you were a kid, what seemed like the best thing about being a grown up? No one could tell me no for "stupid" reasons. What’s the strangest way you’ve become friends with someone? Strange way? I haven't got a clue. What’s your favorite band NAME (not necessarily your favorite band)? Maybe Cradle of Filth. Badass metal name. There are a lot of good ones, though. What’s your favorite thing to do outdoors? Take pictures of flowers or animals. How often do you dance? Silly/ironic dancing counts. Essentially never. Who besides your parents taught you the most about life? Jason, I guess. What’s been the most significant plot twist in your own life? The breakup that I thought was physically impossible, entirely unfathomable. Where did you take family vacations to when you were younger? We didn't really go on vacations. If you could instantly receive a Ph.D. in any discipline including all the knowledge and experience that goes along with it, what would your Ph.D. be in? Biology. What are the top three social situations you try to avoid most? Anywhere where I have to speak publicly; parties/get-togethers involving people I don't know; anywhere that is extremely crowded. Just social situations in general, really... What friendship you’ve had has impacted you the most? My friendship with Sara. What’s something you’re interested in that most people wouldn’t expect? Uhhh I don't know, really. What’s the hardest you’ve worked for something? My recovery from the breakup. What took you way too long to figure out? The only person who had any right to control my happiness and will to live was myself. What nicknames have you had throughout your life? If you include online ones as well, there's Britt, Britt-Britt, Twinkie, Bee, Flower, Ruby, Mozart2, Ozz(y), Alessa, and uhhh... I wanna say that's it? What do you do differently than most people? I deconstruct my breakfast biscuits to eat one part at a time... haha. Where’s the last place you’d ever go? Prison. What fact floored you when you heard it? That my dad did some hard drugs before us kids were born. I was entirely speechless. Have you ever watched a needle go into your own skin? Yeah, it doesn't bother me. Have you ever spent more than two weeks in a wheelchair? No. Does weed smell good? Or no? Ugh, no. It smells awful. Do you blow dry your hair or do you let it air out? Air dry. Do you catch lizards? No; I don't like the idea of catching wild animals just to pick up and check out. That poor critter is terrified. I'd rather just take pictures of it and let it go about its day. Would you rather get a big tattoo or small tattoo? I want my next tattoo to be a big'n. How many pills do you take every morning? I absolutely do not want to count. A whole lot. What was the last parade you went to? /shrug What theme would you choose for a baby’s nursery? If I was hypothetically having kids, let's see. A son, absolutely dinosaurs. A daughter, maybe meadowy with baby animals. My baby blanket was full of baby animals, so it'd be kinda cute, that connection. What color would you paint a baby girl’s nursery? Not because of gender norms, but by personal choice, pastel pink. Does your first crush know that he/she was your first crush? No. What is the last thing you missed out on that you wanted to go to? Hm. Who do you wish were your best friend? I am perfectly happy with who already is my best friend. Who do you wish you could go on another date with? She knows. Who was the last friend of yours to have a baby, and what’s the baby’s name? I'm not sure, but my high school friend Megan is due to have her daughter Persephone soon! She won the naming game. Like damn, how badass would it feel for your name to be Persephone. Do you have a favorite M&M? Just the classic ones. Is it easy to make you cry? OHHHHH YES IT IS. Have you ever snuck out? Nah. Who was the last person to comment you? On Facebook? My friend Lyndsey commented on a photo I shared. What song reminds you of being in middle school? "All Signs Point to Lauderdale" by A Day To Remember is the anthem for going through puberty in school and trying to figure yourself out. What was the first thing you learned how to cook? Scrambled eggs. What’s something really basic that you’re terrible at? Cooking. Are you pale or tan? I'm very pale. When’s the last time you were kissed? On the lips, like two or so years ago. Do you like the movie Grease? Never seen it, actually. What’s your favorite Jim Carrey movie? The Mask, probably. What was the last baby animal you saw in the wild? I think a fawn. Have you been binge-watching any shows lately? If so, what? No. What’s the best physical feeling in the entire universe? I meeeaaan... Do you have bad anxiety? If so, do you take any kind of medication for it? Yes and yes. If you could, would you work from home? Do you think that would make you more or less productive? Well, it's complicated. I don't, but I also want to be a freelance photographer, so I kinda would. I like the idea of having an office in my house purely for productive activities to prevent becoming lazy because I'd be at home. Would you ever be an organ donor? I am one.

[the-jennnster]

I don’t put down books often

I’m the kind of reader who sits down to really read a book, who will gobble up a good novel in one sitting, who has to be told to stop reading.

But today I started Bill Konigsberg’s The Music of What Happens, and I think that changed.

I met Bill, actually. He came a local literary festival and, because not many people showed up, we actually got to have a discussion about his work. He was funny, insightful, and had great stories. He was legitimately curious about our thoughts as readers, on both this book and his past works, and he seemed to really love being up there and talking to the maybe seven people in the audience.

I’ll admit, I’ve never read anything of his before. I remember seeing Openly Straight in my school library as a kid, never realizing what it was, but after falling in love with books like Simon vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda and What If It’s Us (both by Becky Albertalli, with Adam Silvera working with her on the latter), I thought The Music of What Happens would be similar and just as enjoyable.

I started it today, at about ten o’ clock. I finished one of my exams super early, and pulled out a book to read while I waited for my classmates to finish (it was a small class, and there was the promise of a round of Cards Against Humanity with six other animation students with anime obsessions and dirty humor).

I immediately loved Jordan. He reminded me of myself in a lot of ways.

Quiet unless he’s with his friends, a writer nervous but still eager to share his works with people he cares about, just enough emo to garner jokes about his darkly-colored wardrobe, enough acne and self-esteem issues to be trapped in endless daydreams of finding someone but knowing he stands no chance.

I got absorbed into the story, enjoying the goofy antics of Max and Jordan as they tried (and often failed) to make an old food truck into a culinary masterpiece, learning more and more about each other, running off to have little adventures, and just generally being goofy kids.

The major conflicts of the book, however, don’t stem from the food truck itself (though it most certainly is a conflict).

[Spoilers below the cut.]

Max is struggling to deal with the aftermath of what he’s slowly realizing was his own rape (he’d initially thought he’d just had a really shitty first time, which... he had, but it’s so much more than that) and Jordan is trying to take care of his mother and keep their house, which they’re about $5,000 behind on.

I’m about three hundred pages in, not quite finished, maybe a hundred out from the end.

Up until this point, Jordan and his mother have had a decent relationship. It’s far from perfect, as they’re both still dealing with the aftershocks of his father’s death four years prior, but it’s alright. She’s loving, she’s very alright with his being gay, and, aside from a few moments here and there where she leaves him to his own devices (which, you may be arguing, he’s almost a senior, he doesn’t need constant adult supervision, but... well, we’ll get to that), she’s there for him.

She did have a gambling problem, his friends do make some jokes about his mom being a little crazy, and Jordan and Max’s “meet cute” was thanks to the fact that Jordan’s mom had a bit of a meltdown at the farmer’s market and impulsively offered Max a job (as she felt like she couldn’t handle it), but overall it’s fine. They have a good relationship for a mother-and-son, especially with all the possible issues that could arise out of the things they’ve gone through.

But there is one little thing that caught my attention, a red flag, if you will.

At one point, Max points out that Jordan’s mother often treats him as if he’s the adult, as Jordan is the one responsible for making money, buying groceries, and ensuring bills get paid (after his mother let the mortgage go for several months). Jordan brushes it off by saying “I’m sure everybody’s relationship with their mom looks weird from the outside.”

That made my stomach pitch, just a little. Reading that interaction, having that pointed out. It was familiar to me, a conversation I’d recognized not from one I’d had with others, but from one I’d had in my head time and time again.

I kept reading, certain that it would just be nothing. As Jordan said, people have different relationships with their moms.

And then he went grocery shopping. Shit had been going down with the food truck, he and Max were in a bit of trouble, and Jordan just decided “fuck it, I’m going to get some healthy food because Mom said she wanted to turn her life around and get healthier”. He got home, and his mom immediately brushed it off. She dismissed his trying to help her, and when he tried to argue, she snapped.

She never hit him. She never threw anything, or threatened him, or even said she hated him.

In fact, this was the scene:

She takes a bite of her Twinkie, and a twinge of something goes through my chest. “That crap will kill you,�� I say.

She exaggeratedly lies back and rolls her eyes back into her head like she’s becoming a corpse. “Well hurry up Twinkie,” she says.

“Mom,” I say. “That’s so not funny.”

“Oh my God!” she shouts and I am stunned frozen. “I get it! You’re perfect. I’m a total fuckup. I am so far below acceptable and there’s zero chance that will ever chance. I get it, okay?”

The energy in the room shifts, lightning fast. Dorcas barks and scurries out the dog door, like she feels it. I stare at my mom with my mouth open. Words do not come out. I don’t even have a coherent thought of how to respond to that.

She sighs dramatically. Herstrionically. “Forget it,” she says. “Forget I said anything. I’m not me, okay? I’m not myself. I don’t remember the last fuckin’ time I was myself but it was no time in recent history.”

She closes her eyes, throws the remaining bites of her Twinkie down on the plate in front of her, and stands. “Excuse me. I just need to--” And she walks away toward her bedroom. Moments later, I hear her door close softly.

That is what made me put down my book.

In fact, typing that up, it was probably the first time I read the scene with a clear mind. Reading it initially, I likely only got so far as “I’m a total fuckup” before my mind went blank.

If I had been in Jordan’s shoes... I would’ve been holding back tears. I would’ve been gritting my teeth, grinding them to dust to keep myself from reacting. I would’ve felt sick to my stomach, with a massive knot coiling in my gut, stealing my appetite (actually, I do feel that). I would’ve felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under me, as if I’d been pushed from a cliff and was free-falling, landing in icy water, desperately trying to swim to the top (I know how to swim, but suddenly, I can’t remember, it’s too much, the water’s too cold, I can’t feel my hands, and it’s everywhere). My mind would’ve been racing a mile a minute, telling me to prepare for the worst, bracing me for sharp words or yelling. I would’ve flinched when she put the Twinkie down and flinched again when she closed the door. The sound of the dog’s nails scraping on hardwood would echo in my ears unbearably, my hands would be shaking for hours (they were). I would’ve gone to bed feeling like shit, feeling like it was my fault, blaming myself for the blow-up, telling myself to get myself together before she comes to apologize.

Because she always comes to apologize.

She comes to stroke tear-stained cheeks long after it’s over. She comes to crawl into your bed and whisper “I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I’m such a mess, I shouldn’t have done that” until the knot returns and your ears swim. She comes to say “If you had just done what I’d asked” and “I should be a harsher mother, I never follow through on consequences”.

She comes to remind you that, despite what she does, she can always do more.

And she never realizes a word of what she’s saying.

I read that part, and I went back to all the times my own mother has done the very same thing. I put down the book and pushed it away while my hands shook and my stomach roiled, waves crashing in my ears as I tried to block out the memories that purposefully faded each time the sun rose on a new day.

I left the book on a table behind me and went to a computer, playing mindless games from elementary school (she wasn’t like that then, she never yelled) until muscle memory and quick-fingered strategy ruled my mind, pushing it out.

I was still shaking when I got on the bus at one o’ clock, too sickened to get lunch before I left, only wishing to curl up against one of my best friends’ shoulder and ask her “You know how we were talking about too-real stories the other day?”

Because that’s what this was for me.

It was too real.

I’ve read my fair share of “too real” in the past, in fanfictions like “Dirty Laundry” or “my blood is upon me” that tackle the carefully barbed biphobia of family members who “love you despite what you are”.

But those I counted on. Those I planned on. Those I went into saying “I’m reading this to know I’m not alone, to know that there’s a way to live around it, to know that there’s a way to solve it.”

But this... Jordan and his mom... it side-swiped me.

I’ve been home nearly two hours now, and I still have yet to eat (actually, that’s a lie, I had a Klondike bar, because that’s how I cope) or continue the book thanks to the pit of anxiety in my stomach, because I was so surprised by the familiarity of that situation that it took me totally off-guard and threw me back into things I cared not to remember. 

I love this book. It’s amazingly well-written and tackles concepts besides “being gay”.

But please, I’m begging you.

Know what you’re getting into when you read it. Rape (never portrayed explicitly, though discussed) and a borderline-bipolar/abusive mother are at the forefront of this book’s story.

Don’t get side-swiped.

[spectrumscribe]

i’m in the middle of working on “The Strange Happenings of Lakefield” right now, but i gotta get this drabble out of my drafts so i can concentrate.

the Stranger Things AU i talked about earlier, co-owned with @rhi-draws-things who helped with the designs and is making art of it currently. more to come sometime in the future.

Casey isn’t sure his mom or dad will be happy he’s sneaking out like this, but Nine isn’t exactly someone who lets people say ‘no’ to her anymore.

So out the window he goes, dropping onto the grass below his ground floor bedroom windowsill, and with a brief glance around himself, he ducks into the woods behind his house. His backpack, filled with snacks he’s not supposed to take so many of, bumps against him as he jogs.

The woods are cold tonight, fall on the way, and it makes goosebumps prickle over Casey’s skin. He could swear it feels like the trees are watching him.

Casey ignores that creepy thought- he’s too old to get scared by ghost stories- and keeps his steady pace to reach his destination.

Nine is exactly where she said she’d be, sitting with her knees curled up to her chest on top of an old stump. She’s not shivering in the brisk evening air like Casey is, probably on the account of her borrowed winter coat and thick yellow scarf; taken from the back of Casey’s family closet. Her freckled cheeks are reddened though, as well as the tip of her nose.

“Hey,” Casey says as he enters the small clearing, slowing his jog. It’s nearly pitch black out here, so he has to be careful where he steps. “I brought some good stuff. You hungry for chips?”

Nine nods, and holds out a demanding hand. Casey drops his bag on the ground and takes out the promised snack, putting it in her hand without delay. Nine wastes no time opening it and pulling out a handful to drop into her mouth.

Casey looks around at the trees while she eats, giving Nine a moment to get past her tunnel vision for food. But, his curiosity only lets him stay quiet for so long.

“So, uh,” He can’t find anything weird nearby, or see anything besides chips in Nine’s hands. “what’d you want to show me, exactly? You said it was gonna be metal.”

Nine licks her lips, nodding her head. “Very metal,” She says, in that kind of halting way she talks. Like she thinks hard about the words before saying them. She gives Casey a very serious look.

“Don’t be scared,” Nine says, and then whistles low and long.

Casey starts looking for a dog- maybe a cat? Do cats come when they’re whistled at?- but he doesn’t hear the sound of quick little animal steps approaching. He barely, barely hears something taking slow, careful steps towards them.

Casey whips towards the sound of a snapping twig, coming from behind Nine on the edge of the clearing. His mouth drops open.

A thing on four legs emerges from the shadows, something like a low growling trill coming from its chest. Casey can’t make out perfect detail in the dark- why didn’t he bring a flashlight? Or a bat?!- but he thinks he sees a tail and a shell, and luminescent red eyes.

“This one,” Nine says, holding out a chip to the thing as it comes to stand by her. “is named… Smart. Also Tall.”

The monster lives up to its second name, then; standing on its back legs and going from three feet high to nearly five. Casey gulps, staring at it as it stares at him. The rumbling clicking sound persists as it cocks its head, examining him.

Its lower jaw abruptly splits into three parts and a long tongue shoots out. Casey flinches backwards with an aborted yell.

Its long tongue snatches the chip from Nine’s hand, and slither back inside as Smart eats the snack with a small crunch. It then drops back onto the ground, sitting next to Nine and her stump. Nine pats its head and offers more of the chips, which it eats this time with its long clawed fingers.

Casey watches his weird psychic friend feed the monster like it’s a docile housecat for a solid few seconds, and then slowly stops eases out of his frozen fear.

“…dude,” Casey breathes. He grins. “That’s so metal!”

Nine gives a tiny smile in return, and her monster opens its mouth to display row after row of teeth. Five more chips disappear as it does.

Its tail is wagging, and Casey is about seventy percent sure it’s not eyeing him like a meal. So he decides he’s on board with this.

“Good.” Nine says firmly when he tells her that. “There’s more.”

And about then, Casey’s backpack is snatched off the ground and carried away by a galloping creature. Two more tackle it to get at the bag as well, and before Casey can react, his snack stash is strewn across the ground and being devoured. Nine actually giggles as they tear open the packets and bags, which just makes the situation all the more unsettling.

Casey rolls with it, anyway.

But he doesn’t even try to get the food back. He values his fingers more than he values twinkies.

Casey does, however, convince Nine to convince her monsters- named Brave, Stubborn, Smart, and Clever- to give back his bag, and also let him toss chips in the air to see how many they could catch without using their hands. The answer is all of them.

“Where’d they come from?” Casey asks, watching as two of the monsters go barreling around the clearing; still fighting over packets of food. The one he thinks is Clever has a sneaky mound of them to itself, while Brave and Stubborn are fighting over a single one. Smart is enjoying the comfort of being handed its share by Nine.

Nine crunches a few more chips, finishing her second bag with that. She wipes her mouth on her sleeve, and finally says, “The Other Side.”

“The other side of where?”

“No. The Other Side,” Nine says fervently, which still doesn’t clarify anything to Casey. He gives her a confused frown, and Nine glares at him for not understanding what she’s trying to explain.

She stands suddenly, dropping the chip bag on the ground and marching away. Casey belatedly calls after her, scrambling to keep up and not be left unsupervised with her monsters. They follow them as Nine walks into the trees, and Casey keeps close to his friend’s side as the two of them are surrounded by the pack.

Are they really, really fucking cool? Absolutely. Does Casey trust that they won’t take a chunk out of him when Nine isn’t looking? Also absolutely.

They arrive at a large tree a couple paces from the clearing, and Nine points at it, still glaring at Casey.

He dutifully looks at it. It’s a tree. Wow, shocker.

“Still not getting it,” He says, and Nine makes a disgusted noise.

“Watch,” She instructs, and raises both hands. A beat of nothing, and then the air shifts.

Something like ripping flesh and paper, and the trunk of the big tree splits down its length. Casey’s mouth falls open a second time that night as a fleshy, dripping tear is opened in what should be solid wood.

Nine lowers her hands, swiping at a drip of blood from her nose and breathing in quiet gasps. Her monsters creep over to the opening, and without prompt, disappear inside it with squelching noises as they rip through the white film over it.

Casey’s hand is seized, and without ceremony or pause, he’s dragged into the opening by Nine.

He falls through, shoved by a girl half his weight, and his eyes sting when he opens them again. He’s on his back and the sky above him is pitch black- not like a normal nighttime sky, though. There’s just nothing there. No stars, no moon. Just… void.

The world around him is grey, filthy, and Casey’s pretty sure he’s lying on something fleshy. What looks like ash drifts through the rank tasting air, but Casey feels no heat of a forest fire nor sees any lights of flame.

He slowly sits up, just as Nine comes through the opening with Smart at her side, and Casey stares around at the dark, wrong looking forest they’re in. Nine’s monsters circle them both, heads turning and unnerving eyes darting at the woods around them. Why, Casey isn’t sure he wants to find out.

“Oh,” He says faintly as Nine hauls him to his feet. “The Other Side.”

[graysongraysoff]

13 tres horny boyz .... just a slice of life funny thing mebbe??? ... plus ango

Things you said at the kitchen table.

“Hello, sirs!” Angus chirped as he entered the Bureau of Balance cafeteria, waving excitedly to the round table where the Reclaimers sat by themselves.

“Oh, great,” Merle muttered.  Taako let his head, which had been propped up by his wrists, fall to the table with a thud.

“Hey, Ango,” Magnus greeted the boy detective, lifting one hand for a high-five.  “Up high!”

Angus stood up on his tiptoes to give Magnus’s hand an eager slap.

“Down low!” Magnus said, this time dropping his hand so that it was level with the chair he sat in.

Just as Angus’s hand was arcing down to meet it, however, Magnus swiped his hand up into his hair.

“Too suh-loowww!” he said cheerily.  Merle burst into a gale of laughter.  “Nice,” Taako said without lifting his head from the table.

“Oh, that was a good one, sir!” Angus laughed nervously.  “You really got me that time!”

“I really did,” Magnus said.  “What’s in the lunchbox?”

“W-well, it’s, um –”

“Ooh, if there’s a Twinkie in there I call dibs!” Merle shouted.

“You – you’re going to steal my lunch?” Angus asked, clutching his tin Caleb Cleveland lunchbox to his chest and taking a step back.

“No, no, no – of course not,” Magnus assured him.  “It’s just if there’s anything we want in there we’re gonna grab it, that’s all.”

“Well.”  Angus’s brows came together then, his face straightening into something more stern.  “Or you could, you know.  Stick to the food you guys brought and just let me eat mine.  I’m a growing boy after all!”

“You don’t want whatever garbage he has in there,” Taako said, still not lifting his head.  “I made you both a – dare I say it – genuinely exquisite meal.  You don’t need to pilfer his Little Debbies, you fucking animals.  Show me some goddamn respect.”

“I – my, my lunch isn’t garbage –” Angus stammered.

“Aw, we were just teasing him,” Magnus relented.  “Come on, Ango, grab a seat.”

“Speak for yourself!” Merle insisted.  “If there’s a damn Twinkie in there it’s mine!”

“I’m not allowed to eat foods with such high sugar content, sir,” Angus said, sitting beside Magnus and opening his tin.  “My grandfather says those Little Debbie snacks are just chock full of empty calories!”

“Figures,” Merle grumbled.  “Fine, fine, we won’t steal any of your lunch food.”

Angus gave him, and then Magnus, and then Taako’s slumped form a crooked little grin.

“I appreciate that, sirs.  Thank you.”

[engineeringnovels]

Chapter One: Business as Usual

I sat near the doorway of an old convenience store in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere staring at the carcass of what used to be a person lying underneath the snow covered leaves of a maple tree. A flock of crows fed on whatever scraps of meat remained.. I’ve heard from other travelers that crows were a sign of bad luck. I suppose in this case, they did.

That person probably died of pneumonia seeing how carefully the body was covered . A deadly strain of the terrible illness struck everyone we passed. We thought that if we kept moving, we could avoid contracting it, but Pestilence rode faster than we could run. There used to be fifteen of us. Now, we’re down to five.

The wind howled outside. The inside of the store wasn’t much warmer than the outside, but it was nice to get out of that brutal wind. The place had been looted long ago,but it still had canned food, medical supplies, and even antibiotics if time is spent looking for it. Even looted, people targeted these places for supplies. If my small group of survivors and I found this place, other people can too and people were much more dangerous than the elements.

Time had become more of an enemy than the elements or even other people. The more time we spent searching, the more likely this bitter wind turned into a blizzard or a group of hardened survivors crossed our paths. Still, anything we found gave us an edge over the next guy.

“David!” Someone shook me.

When I turned my head, a perky little ginger named Steph stared back at me. “You started dozing off,” she says.

“I fucking hate farmland,” I reply. “Too much land to cross with little payoff.” Honestly, farmland would be awesome if animals didn’t strip the land bare long ago. Sometimes, we come across some surviving crops, but more often than not, there’s nothing for miles around besides some old house that I wouldn’t go in with just my revolver.

“We’re all tired dude,” Steph stated.

“Yeah, but we had to hike a few miles in that bitter wind. If we were out there a little more, I’d come down with pneumonia,” I declared.

Steph’s face grew dim. I lost friends to illness before especially when we ran out of antibiotics; but for Steph, it hit a little closer to home. My group found her and her brother couple years ago shivering in a tent on our way south during the dying gasps of autumn. We managed to save Steph… Her brother was too far gone…

“Oh, shit… I didn’t mean-”

“Shut up David… Let’s just find what we came here for.”

Steph walked away intensely. I stayed planted in my stop burying my face in my hands wondering how someone could be so stupid.

“What’s up with Steph?” A rugged young man named Danny asked standing in front of me.

“I made a pneumonia joke,” I revealed.

“Dude! You shouldn’t make jokes like that, especially around her!” Danny reprimanded. His tone suddenly changed. “What kind of a joke was it?”

“If we were out in the cold a little more I’d come down with pneumonia,” I repeated.

“Same. I glad we got here when we did. It feels like it’s getting colder every year.”

“Yeah, I did notice we had to travel further south this time,” I pointed out.

“Alright, the faster we get supplies, the faster we get out of this cold,” Danny said.

“Why did you even volunteer us for this?”

“Someone has to do it and I didn’t want to do it alone,” Danny chuckled.

Danny pulled me up onto my feet. We had assignments to make the job a little more efficient. I was in charge of gathering medical supplies, Steph was in charge of gathering food and water, and Danny was lookout.

Steph held up a can of baked beans. “I found some beans!” She shouted.

“Nice! Where did you find it?” Danny asked.

“Underneath the overhang of the bottom shelf. Guess no one wanted to put their face to the ground,” Steph said disappearing behind the shelves.

“How about you David? You find anything?” Danny shouted.

“Just some band-aids,” I paused for a second. “With flowers on it.”

“Got anything else?” Danny whined slightly.

“Just some tampons if you prefer those.”

“I’ll take the flower band-aids…” Danny sighed.

I hopped over the pharmacy counter nearly tripping over my own foot in the process. The freezing wind whistled in through a hole in the ceiling. A small pile of snow covered some cardboard containers at the base of the hole. Still, medicine still sat on the shelves. At this point, the chances of finding painkillers or antibiotics were slim. However, medication for high blood pressure and antidepressants still remained on the shelves; these were fairly useless unless traded at the handful of settlements along the way.

“Are there any trading posts nearby?!” I asked loudly. “I got some meds.”

“Any antibiotics?” Steph replied.  

“Nothing so far.”

“It’s already starting to snow. I don’t think we’re making any stops,” Danny declared.

I stuffed three bottles of antidepressants into my bag before continuing my search for antibiotics. I carefully inspected the names of each drug looking for anything that ended in -xin, -cin, -lin, -zole, or -cline. I pushed aside a dozens of drugs trying to see if there was anything left standing. I looked for a solid five minutes without any payoff.

I heard a soft fluttering behind me. I drew my revolver expecting some sort of dangerous creature. A crow flew in from the hole in the ceiling perching right above two pill bottles labelled Amoxicillin. It looked at me inquisitively cocking its head side to side and I stared back at it in disbelief. Slowly, I reached for the pills hoping the bird wouldn’t give me a nasty bite in exchange. It cawed twice before flying back through the hole.

“That can’t be good…” I thought to myself.

Suddenly, the sound of tires grinding against pavement approached us as I quickly stuffed the meds in my bag.

“Pickup truck! Get down!” Danny whispered loudly.

I immediately searched for a back door. Even though power had been off for years, the red exit signs still did their jobs. I found a push door a little further from the pharmacy. Rust and ice covered the hinges and the door frame. I pushed as much as I could, but the door wouldn’t budge. Damn!

I returned to the pharmacy counter where Steph and Danny holed up. The headlights from the truck lit up one wall of the store. The shadows of armed people passed through the headlights.

“I counted at least three,” Steph whispered.

Danny broke open his shotgun. “I have enough firepower to take out two guys if I don’t miss.”

“They don’t know we’re here right? We can sneak around them and if we’re lucky, take their truck from right under their noses.”

I peeked over the shelves to get a more accurate headcount. Four people entered the store cautiously with their weapons up. These guys looked tough. Their stone faces showed no signs of mercy or compassion. One of them levelled their gun at me. I quickly ducked under the shelves.

“Four guys, rifles and shotguns,” I reported. “And they don’t look friendly.”

“Do they have body armor?” Danny asked.

“No, they don’t look military. Maybe cold…”

“David! This is no time for jokes! Are you sure that there are only four of them?” Danny asked.

I quickly peeked over the shelves again. Still, only four people were inside. I gave a Danny a thumbs up to confirm my findings. I remained semi-exposed a little longer just to see if anyone else. A truck door slammed. I held my finger up. A little girl no older than thirteen came in with a duffle bag.

“We have five people in here with us,” I added.

“Alright, where are they grouping up?” Danny asked.

“Left side.”

“Ok, we’ll try to sneak out through the far wall.” Danny handed Steph his backup automatic pistol. “Take this Steph.”

“I’ll be fine. I got my knife,” Steph answered confidently bordering arrogance.

“Are you sure?”

The strangers started grabbing things off the shelves quickly making their way towards us. “Guys, they’re coming this way!” I said desperately. Steph grabbed the pistol.

“Spread out and stay low! Move out!” Danny ordered.

We broke off into a different aisle. My revolver trembled in my numb finger tips. I kept moving one foot at a time. I peered over the shelf. They didn’t notice...yet… I came across a wide open corridor; the safety of the aisle just out of reach. Danny and Steph poked their heads out.

“What’s that?!” A voice boomed.

We retreated into the aisles. I stared at the entrance. Heart pounding. The footsteps inched closer. A box crunched under a boot. I turned towards the entrance to the aisle. My neck cracked in intervals. The footsteps got louder. I extended my weapon arm. I half-cocked the hammer. Click!

“I found a twinkie!” The plastic wrapper crinkled.

“Are you done thinking with your stomach?” A more commanding person yelled. “I want to be out of here before the weather gets worse.”

The footsteps got quieter. I poked my head out again. The strangers were more spread out now. I turned toward Danny.

“Go!” He mouthed.

I held my breath. One… two… THREE! I darted across the corridor. I fell onto the ground face first. I quietly gasped. My breath rose slow and high. Safe behind the aisles once more. Just a few more feet to freedom.

Crash! Steph stumbled into something in the next aisle over. Fuck! We almost had it!

“Fan out! Block off the exit!” Someone ordered.

Footsteps frantically raced around. I peeked over the shelves.

One of them saw me. “There’s one over there!” Somebody shouted.

I ducked back down. They’re coming for me. ME! I suddenly became immobilized; my body curling into a fetal position. My breathing quickened into some panicked pace.

An echoey voice screamed at me followed by a sharp whack to the face. “Don’t take unnecessary risks. You endanger yourself and I hope to God you are alone. If you aren’t, you risk the lives of your friends! They will die…”

They will die rang in my head over and over. They will die! They will die! They will die! THEY WILL DIE!!!!

I felt a hand suddenly grabbed my shoulder. I jammed my gun in that person’s gut. Silence.

“Thank God that thing is ancient!” A familiar voice quietly gasped. Danny pushed aside my gun.

“Shit Danny!”

“Shhh! Don’t move!” Danny pointed backwards. Steph darted past.

“Grab him!” Someone shouted. Three guys followed Steph.

“Follow me!” Danny ordered. We crouched to the end of the aisle. “There’s one guy right there. I’ll circle around and try to distract the rest. You take care of this guy and anyone else that comes your way.”

“Got it,” I replied.

Danny turned to leave, but he tapped me on the shoulder again. “Oh and David?”

“Hmm?”

“Make sure your gun shoots this time,” Danny smirked.

He shuffled away. My thumb reached for the hammer one more time. Click! I took several deep breaths. Steph’s struggling echoed through the hollow store.

“What are you doing here?!” The same commanding voice boomed. “How many of you are here?!”

“I’m here alone!” Steph replied.

“Bullshit! No one has survived this long alone.”

Steph let out a soft squeal.

“Now, I’ll give you one last chance to rethink your situation before I gut you like a pig.”

Steph spat in the guy’s face.

“Why you little-”

Boom! Boom! Two shotgun blasts broke the tension. I rushed around the corner. Pop! Pop! One in the gut. One in the chest. Gunfire clattered. Pop! Boom! Pop! People screamed. People died. The scent of gunpowder hung in the air.

Rapid footsteps approached me. I turned. I faced the business end of a hunting rifle. Behind it was the girl; a poor soul who had to grow up too quick. I hesitated. She fired. A dull searing pain grazed my face. She struggled with the bolt. “THEY WILL DIE!” rang in my head. Click! Click! I didn’t hesitate again. Her body hit the ground before I realized what happened.

Another loud boom.

“Danny!” Steph shrieked.

My stomach tightened. I ran fast. White smoke rose above the aisles. I turned a corner. A gun waited. I stepped back. Pop! The bullet just missed my face. Another shot boomed. I came around the corner again.

Steph had a knife to her throat; held there in one hand by a grizzly looking man. In his other, a pistol aimed at Danny. Danny sat against a wall his body brushed a new coat of blood. His shotgun was just out of reach, but a thin pillar of smoke rose from a barrel.

“Shoot him David!” Danny groaned.

“Don’t shoot!” Steph pleaded, the knife pressed into her throat.

“I’m giving you a chance to walk away,” I declared aiming my gun at the man’s head.

He instinctively hid behind Steph. “You shoot me and this knife slides right across her neck.”

“If you let her go, I’ll let you live,” I proposed.

“And you get to go free after killing my friends?”

He was right. If that had been the other way around, I’d kill all of them. This wasn’t good. If I made any moves, Steph dies. Her life was in my hands. What do I do? I looked at Steph’s frantic eyes. Her eyes bolted to the floor and back up. I quickly glanced at her feet. The slight end of a wooden handle stuck out of her boot. She still had her knife.

“This is your last chance. Let her go now!” I demanded. It was futile. His eyes revealed his choice.

I aimed low. The man’s gun flew out of his hand. He was distracted for just a moment. Steph broke free. She grabbed her knife. A sharp thrust. A sudden twist. Steph retreated. The man fell to his knees. I flipped a lever on my hammer. Boom! Birdshot peppered his body. The man slumped onto the floor. I cautiously approached the man.

“My daughter-” he said choking on his blood.

“Dead,” I coldly replied. The man’s eyes filled with tears. He inhaled sharply twice more then expired. My gun arm dropped to my side. In less than five minutes, four adults and one child lay dead inside an abandoned rotting convenience store.

“David,” Steph said with careful horror. She went to hug me.

“Don’t!” I exclaimed.

Steph stopped in her tracks.

“It’s just business as usual,” I said solemnly before walking away.  

I returned to the little girl. She wore a cap with an obscure sports team and a gold cross around her neck. Her eyes were still open. They say that eyes are the doors to people’s souls. What did she see in her final final moments? Did she see a monster or just a broken person? I fell to my knees and shut her eyes. How many people has she lost? How many people did she kill already? Not even two minutes ago, she was still breathing the same frigid air, feeling the same bitter cold. She had so much potential. And I cut it short. I sat back staring at the holes I put in her. I buried my face in my hands and wept.

[joshwritesforu]

The Wonderful Winston - Part 3, Candy Gram

Content Warning: Slurs

Read Part 1 here

Read Part 2 here

Harris Nguyen is very tired. The bags under his eyes seem to pull his entire face down with them. He has messy, patchy facial hair that just screams “yes, I am indeed a boy turning into a man.” He stands in the gas stop quick-mart candy aisle. He reaches for the Peanut M&Ms, but stops when he hears a noise. He turns and sees a woman pushing a stroller. He looks back at the candy. Peanut M&Ms. He quickly snatches them and stuffs the bag quietly into his hoodie pocket. He then swipes a pack of Twizzlers, slipping them into his jeans. Harris finally takes a package of two Twinkies and puts those in his hoodie pocket, carefully placing them next to the Peanut M&Ms and clasping his hands together in the pocket so to make the act more believable, and stop the plastic rustling noises. He then takes a bag of Hot Cheetos to the counter.

“Two fifty-eight.” The clerk never even bothers looking up at Harris. It’s 2 a.m., after all. Everyone’s just about dead inside. Harris hands over three dollar bills.

“Keep it.” He quickly walks out, and successfully gets past the automatic door. Success. Harris has pulled off yet another Ocean’s Eleven-style heist with efficiency and believability. He’d personally rate this an 8/10.

Harris promised Mr. Winston he would stop stealing. He promised he’d stop doing most of the things he usually does, actually, but stealing was a big one. And Harris wanted to keep the promise, really and truly, but committing was harder than he could have ever expected. It was just so easy, and what, was the gas station going to fold because some kid took six bucks worth of junk food?

Although he did make the promise.

Five months ago, Harris broke Tommy Bautista’s jaw. When Tommy ran to the office and Harris realized he was in deep shit, he went straight to Mr. Winston’s classroom. He didn’t really know why. Maybe it was because Mr. Winston was one of maybe two teachers in his lifetime who didn’t actively hate him.

“You gotta help me out, Mr. Winston.”

“What’s wrong, Harris? You got questions about the test?”

Harris looked at Mr. Winston like he just asked if dogs could fly.

“What? No. I just punched Tommy and it looks like he’s real hurt. I think I really screwed up.”

Mr. Winston closed his laptop.

“Why did you punch him?”

“He called me a faggot! Multiple times!”

“Was there a reason you went straight to violence?”

“Uh, yeah, he called me a faggot. Like, five times.”

“Okay. Here’s what you do. You apologize. Even if you don’t think you have to, do it anyway.”

“Why? I’m not a faggot.”

“Stop saying that. Let me finish. Call me in. I’ll tell them about your improvement in my class, and how I think your behavior is improving as well. And promise them it won’t happen again. Seem sincere and, even better, be sincere. I think they’d take that.”

“Tommy doesn’t have to do shit? That’s fucked, man.”

“Listen. Tommy’s an asshole, but he doesn’t give the teachers and staff trouble. You’re on thin ice, kid. And Tommy can be an asshole before he’s hit with real-world shit that’ll leave him crying, but you still have a chance. I really think you do. But not if you get expelled.”

“Whoa. Are you allowed to say that about students?” “Are you allowed to punch a guy?”

Harris sat down.

“Do what I tell you. I can get you out of this. But only if you promise to give a damn, if not in any other class, at least mine. Okay?”

“Alright. Fine.”

“Good.”

Mr. Winston extended his hand. Harris reluctantly shook it. And lo and behold, Mr. Winston was right. Harris only took a week’s worth of lunch detention, and in return he started showing up to class. It was hard at first; Harris would barely stay awake long enough to catch what Mr. Winston’s opening line of his Great Gatsby lecture was. His eyes would wander to the girls in class, and he could only glimpse the notes on the board when he was switching views from Andi to Jennifer. But Mr. Winston wouldn’t stop trying. It really was like one of those teacher-student prestige Oscar-bait movies, but with way more dick jokes flung around. Harris came into Mr. Winston’s classroom during empty hours, considering he didn’t really have anywhere else to be, and no one else to hang out with. Every day, something new would come up.

“Man, Daisy’s a real bitch, huh?”

Mr. Winston would chuckle. “I’m not so sure about that. I mean, consider Tom’s behavior, and how that might affect how she acts. Maybe she’s just as pained as Gatsby is, and we just don’t see it as much.”

“Yeah. Or maybe she’s a bitch.”

After a few weeks, things did start getting better. Harris’s grade went from an F to a C-. Mr. Winston got to improve a student. And they both made a new friend.

Yep. Real Oscar-bait, prestige film bullshit.

Later on, Harris had an idea. Kissler Oaks High, for some reason, did not have a book club. So with a newfound inclination to read rather than beat up kids on the reg, Harris started one. Mr. Winston would be advisor. They met every Thursday at lunch, and the club had six core members: Kelly, Lopez, Omar, Sheila, Gretchen, and Toby. It was a tight-knit group, a collection of black sheep kids who didn’t seem to belong anywhere else. The type of kids who were actively willing to discuss a novel for their precious lunch hour. This was insane. Harris had actually started a club, a club for nerds, and he enjoyed it. He truly had become what he once hated.

Harris sits on the curb. He takes out his peanut M&Ms and tears into them like some feral animal digging into his prey. He chooses out a green one, and pops it. He rolls it around in his mouth, lets the candy coating melt, and chews the soft chocolate. If everyone knew this is how Harris ate sweets, he’d probably get endless shit over it.

He looks up at the stars. They’re sparse, but at least he can still spot some, even discounting the satellites and occasional helicopter. He swears that he was able to see more of them when he was younger.

His phone rings. COME ON AND SLAM, AND WELCOME TO THE JAM! He looks at the caller ID. It’s Kelly. He picks up.

“Harris?”

“Hey Kelly, what’s up.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“...Nothing much.”

“You know how Mr. Winston didn’t show up to class for like two weeks?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know why?” “Thought he was sick or something.” “Dude, I think he’s gone missing.”

Harris chuckles. “Sure.”

“I’m serious.” “Why do you say that?” “Considering people are saying that he’s gone missing. Check the news.” Harris tries to check on his phone, but it won’t load.

“Hold on, I’m out of data.” Harris walks over to the newsstand, and picks up a paper. He flips through it and

gets to the missing persons section. In a sea of lost kids and elderly folk, sure enough, Mr. Winston’s profile is splotched on the page. He has a beaming smile and wears a cardigan.

“Holy shit,” Harris says. He closes and opens the newspaper as if the image is a hallucination that would go away.

“Why hasn’t the school said anything about this?” His voice gets more strained.

“They’re late to everything. And I assume they’re waiting on more details.”

“Details? What details? This is happening because there aren’t any details!” He slaps the paper back in its plastic container.

“Yeah, I don’t know man.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“Don’t think we can do anything. The cops are already on it.”

“Sure, like the cops have a healthy thirty-something dude on the top of their priority list. They probably assume he’s gone hitchhiking or something.”

“I don’t know about that. But besides, we’re kids, Harris. We’ll just have to wait, I guess.”

“This is horseshit.”

“I know. Seeya in class.”

Monday. Literature class. For the sixth day in a row, the students have had to suffer under the boot of the teaching style of a lame-ass, slow-talking, nasal-voiced substitute teacher. Harris can’t even remember the man’s name. When he takes roll, it’s like the scene from Ferris Bueller, except far less funny and far more tragic.

“Mark Allen?”

“Here.”

“Jacy… Is it Jacy? How do you say that?”

“Jacy.”

“Jacy. Thank you. Jacy Anderson?”

“Here.”

“Luis. Sorry, how do you pronounce that? Soft or hard ‘S’?”

Thursday. Lunch period. It’s been three more days without Mr. Winston, and now the club is just seven kids gathered around an awkward circle.

“So, uh, how’s it going. What did you all think about-” Harris looks at the cover. “Slaugher-House Five?”

Sure, Harris was the club president, but he wasn’t exactly a great conversation leader.

“I don’t know. I thought there was too much cursing,” Sheila starts.

“Shut the fuck up, Sheila. Why are you always bitching about the dumbest shit?” Lopez bites back.

“Guys, calm down. Even though Sheila’s being an idiot right now, that doesn’t mean you can all have a free-for-all Hell in a Cell action bloc,” says Omar.

Harris zones out. He whispers to Kelly: “You’re in charge.” He walks to the principal’s office and knocks on the secretary’s desk.

“Is Mr. Gonzalez in?” Harris asks.

“Yes, what do you need?”

“To see him.”

“Let me just call in-”

Before he can finish, Harris storms straight to Principal Gonzalez’s office. At this point, he knows far too well how to get there.

The secretary gets up.

“Hey, I need to call in-”

Harris opens the door and sees Gonzalez eating a salad. He sighs, and pushes his lunch aside.

“Why didn’t John call you in?”

“Where’s Mr. Winston?”

“He’s out.”

“Oh really? Cause last time I checked… anywhere that wasn’t you guys, he’s actually missing. For real, missing.”

Gonzalez sighs. “Close the door.” Harris closes the door and sits down.

Gonzalez clasps his fingers together and places his hands on his desk.

“Harris. We don’t want to cause more panic than necessary.”

“A teacher’s missing!”

“Yes, but telling everyone won’t be productive. The police are doing their best, and we don’t know the extent of the situation.”

“The extent of the situation is Mr. Winston could be in deep trouble!” “And there’s nothing we can do about it, Mr. Nguyen. It does nothing to ease the problem and I’m afraid announcing it will only make things far worse. If you’re so inclined, though, there is something I believe you can do.”

“What’s that.”

“There’s a hotline where you can call in and give any information you can. I’m sure you have something you can give. Here’s the number.”

Gonzalez scribbles down a phone number and hands it to Harris.

“Alright. Thanks.”

Harris leaves and Gonzalez digs into his salad.

[ecotone99]

[SF] They Came From The Moon

Note: I don't care about the real-life details of the real event that's being reported on right now. This is my inspired take on it. Enjoy.

​

It all started when we went back to the moon. And now here I am, about to die. There’s not too many of us left, I don’t think. At this point, they’ve pretty well exterminated us. And they won’t stop until they get every last one of us. I’m certain of that. I’m surrounded now, and I’m not going to get away. There’s nothing I can do.

These damn things are indestructible. You can shoot them, stab them, bomb them, nuke them. And they just keep coming. The most indestructible creatures known to man. And to think they started out microscopic and insignificant.

Fucking tardigrades. Water bears. Moss piglets. Monsters.

Of course, it’s our own fault. These things were perfectly content, blissfully unaware, non-sentient little bugs who never hurt anything or anyone. Fine tuned over bazillions of years of evolution, the little bastards were perfectly adapted to, well, everywhere. Water, frozen and boiling, volcanoes, tropical rainforests, you name it. People say only cockroaches and twinkies would survive world-wide nuclear holocaust, but so would tardigrades. These things can live in the vaccuum of space for jebus’ sake.

At some point we decided it was a fan-fucking-tastic idea to shoot them off to the moon to “see what would happen.” Humans. Balls, we’re stupid sometimes. Not that our smartest minds could have foreseen the events that would happen to transpire a few decades later. At that time, it was no big deal. The tardigrades were dehydrated and cryo-frozen in epoxy, and sandwiched between plates of nickel. And then these plates - no larger than a DVD - were blasted off to the moon, where an Israeli ship crashed into the lunar surface. Oops.

Oh, and also sandwiched between those plates of nickel? Human DNA.

Human DNA and tardigrades. Together. Forever. Why you ask? Fuck knows.

And now here we are, a couple decades later, facing certain extinction. I don’t know if anyone knows how they became what they are - indestructible, slimy, 12 foot tall, sentient (REALLY fucking sentient) tardigrades. I don’t know, I’m not a scientist. Although now that I think of it, there very well may no longer be any human scientists around. So maybe I’m the closest thing to a scientist now. Maybe I’m the smartest human left on this monsterbug-infested planet. And I’m surrounded by them. Not so smart, I’m thinking.

What we do know is that a little over seven years after that initial tardigrade-dump on the moon, we went back for them. We always intended to of course. Scientists wanted to see how the lunar environment - weaker gravity, temperatures nearing absolute zero, the bombardment of radiation (so, SO much radiation) - would affect the biology and chemistry of those little shits, and apparently that of human DNA.

So these discs came back to Earth. A fully automated combination lander/rover/rocket blasted off from Kennedy Space Station in August, 2026. Space X’s latest and greatest at that time. It gently reverse-thrusted it’s way to the lunar surface 42 hours later. The rover unfolded itself from the lander rocket, set its 12 treaded wheels on the dusty, grey ground, and embarked on its mission. It took a little while, but eventually it made its way to a series of craters that upon first glance looked empty. But half buried and scattered throughout the two largest craters, were four DVD sized discs that the rover came for. Nothing else survived. No debris from the crash, no additional components. It was designed that way in case of a crash. You know, don’t contaminate alien worlds and all. Just the discs. Almost as if it was intended that way.

With the discs rounded up and safely stored away, the rover made its way back to the lander - now lunar rocket - and mechanically secured itself into a specially designed niche on the side of the ship. And off it went, right back to whence it came.

So they came back. Seemingly no different than when they blasted off the first time. NASA and Israeli scientists initially reported that the cryo-frozen tardigrades appeared to sustain very little, if any damage, and that they were still blissfully alivedead in their cozy little petri dishes. Re-hydrated, they went right back to their unassuming tardigrade ways, sucking nutrients from mosses and lichens through their face-holes and floating around lazily in saline solution. That’s the last I had heard back in the day, and hadn’t thought anything of it until the mushroom clouds appeared.

That was about two years ago, I’d say. I haven’t kept track. Maybe a bit more, maybe a bit less. It’s either late 2039 or early 2040 now. Winter. Only there’s no snow, there hasn’t been since last winter when nuclear fallout toasted most things and dried it to a crisp.

Those blasts killed most things. Not a whole lot of us survived. Not a whole lot of anything survived. But a few of us did. Cockroaches, and some people who had the wherewithal to shield themselves in time. And a few of us who can only chalk it up to dumb luck. I was out fishing when it started. Deep, deep in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. Considering packing it in for the day, fish-less, when I noticed the sky darkening and grey-green smoke rising between two peaks in the distance. Forest fire was the first thing that came to mind. Until the smoke quickly took a form that is unmistakable. As the mushroom-cap billowed upwards, I turned and ran. Had it not been for old crazy ass mountain man Liam, I’m sure I would have radiation puked myself to death within days or weeks.

That guy was a riot. And I mean, a machine gun totin’, bear trap loadin’, full blown lunatic of a man. The guy turned his small peaceful cabin and surrounding lands in the middle of nowhere into Fort Fucking Knox. That’s what he called it. Only he wasn’t guarding gold (maybe he was?), he was guarding himself. From them lib’ral snowflake soshulists comin’ for his guns. And his rights, he tells ya what.

So by a strange cascade of events that I don’t have time for here - mostly me runstumbling through the brush - I found my way to Liam’s bunker. More like, he found me. At gun point. The man, staring at me down the barrel of a Kalashnikov; greasy, stringy white hair flowing from under a disgusting old red trucker cap with worn once-white lettering on the front. I couldn’t make the words out, but it looked familiar from a time long ago. I thought I could vaguely make out the phrase “...GREAT AGAIN.” After much deliberation I was successfully able to convince him that indeed I was NOT one of them soshulist motherfuckers. I told him our govmint turned on us and were nukin’ us goddammit. I had no idea what was going on, I had to tell him something.

Liam’s place - Fort Fucking Knox - happened to come equipped with a state of the art nuclear fallout bunker. Of course it did. One of those they sold in mail order catalogs back in the 1950s. Better than duck-n-cover. So we holed up for a while. We ate a shit load of baked beans. Luckily, Liam preferred to keep to hisself and for the most part, that’s what he did. We listened to the chatter on his shortwave receivers, which is how we came to understand - mostly - what was happening. Liam didn’t keep TeeVee, or internet, or satellite. Just his goddamn CB radios. Probably a good thing, because I’m pretty sure these things would have found us sooner if he wasn’t so goddamn paranoid. They were smart. Very smart.

Not a whole lot more to report, honestly. Some time has passed, and Liam dies from some shit. No idea what. One day he just wouldn’t wake up. For the best though, I was gonna kill him soon if he hadn’t. I couldn’t take any more of his conspiracy theories, or his baked beans.

Over time the chatter on the CB radios went quiet. They were all getting found. I even listened to a couple good ol’ boys broadcast their own terrifyingly gruesome deaths. The Water Bears found them. It didn’t take long, they found them all.

Now, the bunker is surrounded. I have guns - Liam’s guns - and I have explosives. I have actual hand grenades. I’ve been out of the bunker a bit these last couple weeks, I don’t think the radiation is too bad, I’m only puking once every couple days or so. I’ve taken guns out looking for things to shoot. No animals anywhere, no birds chirping, not even a cricket.

And that’s how I fucked up. You see, I was out looking for anything to eat besides baked beans, when I rounded a group of huge boulders. And I saw it. That thing. It was huge, at least as big as the largest boulder I was standing next to. At first it didn’t know I was there, and it was preoccupied with something I couldn’t see. Then it froze. And much quicker than it had any right to, based on its fleshy marshmallow man contours, it half-twisted around to face me. It’s alien face - is it a face? - staring directly at me. The bung that is it’s mouth/face-hole slowly puckering in anticipation.

We stood there frozen for many milliseconds. Then I acted, pulling Liam’s only AR-15 around and semi-automatically squeezing off as many rounds into its pudgy rice pudding torso as I could. More rounds. I was on my ass on the ground now, the assault rifle having knocked me over. But I kept shooting. It folded in, like a roley-poley and collapsed face-down. I could see brown green goo dripping from the exit wounds on its reverse side. Thankfully, no one came and took away Liam’s guns.

Then they slowly, but surely, closed up. The wounds. They healed right before my eyes, and the thing started to tremble and move. I took off. As fast as my aging knees would let me, I stumbled back through the wild, crashing through the steel barbed front gate of Fort Fucking Knox. I didn’t stop until I was down in the bunker, locked from the inside.

That was two days ago - I think. Not like I’ve slept, and I’ve stopped looking at the clock. I’m not even sure what time or day it was when I got back to the bunker after shooting that thing. I knew, of course, that they were indestructible. I heard as much from the handhelds. Guns, bombs, nukes. Apparently, we (the govmint) retaliated by shooting nukes at Canada. This after the bugs already nuked Canada and most of the rest of the world. Wasn’t much left of ‘Mercia then either. But we still had our nukes.

They wanted to see if we could nuke those bastards. Because perhaps our nukes were better than those Russian nukes that already gave their college-try. Apparently not. Or if the nukes did get ‘em, more just came in their place.

Fucking machetes. One good ol’ boy hacked one up with a machete. Then as he was proudly broadcasting his victory on channel 13.5, the thing got him.

And now, here I am. Surrounded. I know I am, because I’m watching them on the closed circuit monitors. I’m going to die. Not sure if today, or tomorrow, or when, but I’m going to die. At least I’m in the bunker. I’m certain they can’t get in here. Reinforced concrete and steel. Underground. So I’ll just watch them, LEARN them. For my own edu-ma-fuckin-cation. I’ll eat these beans, though I’m only seeing about half a dozen more cans. I’ll drink whatever water is left, also not much. And then I’ll die. Either I’ll starve or die of thirst, or maybe I’ll rig up this whole damn place and blast myself and them to kingdom come. Or just myself. I turned around and puked into an old stainless steel turkey fryer.

I guess we’ll just see what happens. You know, it’s a bit ironic, don’tcha think? For decades now people have been freaking out over the climate changing. Me too. Now I’m in a bunker in the middle of a wasteland. And we didn’t even do THAT shit. People have been freaking out over viruses - these “super bugs”. The flu is goddamn scary these days, for sure. People die from that. At least, they did. Super bugs. Ain’t that some shit. I’m looking at the real Super Bugs right now, in all their closed-circuit, black and white, low resolution glory.

Fucking Tardigrades. Tardigrades from the fucking moon. And yes, we did that shit.

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[purplesurveys]

444

What may we call you?: Robyn is fine.

When can we send you a birthday card? (Figuratively, of course.): April 21st.

And, where are you calling from? (Again, figuratively.): Somewhere in the Philippines, but you don’t need to know the details.

What is your favorite Hostess/Little Debbie snack?: I only know Twinkies and I loved it the one time I tried some, so I guess that would be my default favorite?

Do you/your family buy loaf from the bakery or bagged on the shelf?: Always bagged. There aren’t any bakeries nearby, and the brand we buy from is already good anyway.

White, wheat or other?: White, I don’t think I eat any other type.

Have you ever fixed something without knowing just how you did it?: I’m sure I’ve done it a few times before, I just can’t give specific cases right now.

Do store brands actually taste the same?: I don’t know about the States, but local store brands are usually suckier so we never buy those.

Quick! Grab the closest book to you, open to page 5 and type the first line: I don’t have any book nearby, I’m in a coffee shop and I just brought my laptop :/

What was the last non-fiction book you’ve read? (Not a school textbook!): Oh I have no idea. Probably AJ’s autobiography, which I never get tired of reading.

Do you make surveys or just take them?: Just take them. I’m not ~creative enough to come up with new random questions that no one has encountered before.

When was the last time you were on a plane?: February or Marchish this year, I don’t actually remember since this semester was such a blur. 

Where were you going and why?: We went to a small island down south. Went to the beach and stuff. Family vacation.

What’s the best news you’ve gotten lately?: I passed my econ class. It’s my lowest grade so far in my time in university, but at least I didn’t fail and at least I don’t have to redo the course.

^And, the worst?: Someone I know’s thesis has not been approved and he might not graduate this semester.

How is 2010 treating you so far, anyway?: Wow, a 9 year old survey. Life was shit at the time uhhhhhh no friends, peak loneliness, hated by family. Plus I was 12 and puberty hormones were raging. I was just mad at the world.

If you could invent something, what would it be?: I was just telling Gabie that I wanted a tumbler that was able to hold two drinks haha. I had the idea because I brought the equivalent of two cups of coffee in my tumbler to school once, but my chest started to hurt and there was nowhere to drink water so I was stuck with a pounding chest and palpitating hands for my classes.

Tell me about your favorite pair of pants.: They’re kinda high-waist, ripped, mom jeans. It’s super casual and matches with any top.

Do you like getting dressed up?: It’s always a good idea!

Would you rather receive (or give) flowers, chocolates or jewelry?: Any of these would be nice so long as it was sincere.

Do you drink Vitamin Water?: Nope.

^If yes, what flavor is your favorite?:

What color are your headphones/earbuds?: I lost my earphones like 8 months ago :( They were white.

Is your technology up to date?: I think so. My laptop is a little old but it’s still working fine; and I think an iPhone 8 can still be considered pretty recent.

Ever been stuck next to someone really annoying on a LONG plane/train ride?: I wouldn’t call it annoying but the last time I was on a plane, the guy beside me was asleep from boarding to touchdown. He was snoring the whole time, too. It was super distracting and kept me from just having a peaceful flight.

What sound just drives you crazy?: When metal utensils scrape against a plate, or against each other.

Would you be embarrassed to find out you snored loudly in public?: Yes I think so. I get embarrassed when I wake myself up snoring lmaoaoaoo so it’d be worse if I did it in public and someone else had to point it out to me.

Do you embarrass easily?: Y E S

Why were you embarrassed last?: Gabie paid for dinner tonight because I had no money left for the week.

Are you afraid of heights?: Not really. I find it cool to be seeing so much stuff from the top.

What is a compliment you get most often?: Either on my work ethic or my skin.

Tell me about the last frightening/weird dream you had.: We were stuck in a classroom being held hostage by the military, who were all just surrounded outside the room with guns, ready to shoot. All the lights were out and we were trying to stay as quiet as we can so that we don’t provoke the people with the guns.

Now, about the last pleasant dream you had.: I don’t remember; I usually forget the dreams that aren’t scary.

Do you feel guilty about killing bugs?: No. I hate bugs. Sorry, I know it makes me a bad animal lover, but almost all the bugs in the Philippines are fucking pests so I’ve grown to hate them.

If there is a spider in your room, will you be up all night knowing that?: Nah, I’d ask my mom to kill it.

Is there a trait typical to your gender that doesn’t apply to you?: I dunno...I hate wearing makeup? This is generalizing though, so I don’t know how to answer this properly.

How do you feel about coconut?: I only love coconut milk in my soups. Otherwise, I’ve always found coconut to be weird-tasting; plus I hate the weird crunchy texture of it.

^ Ever cracked one open?: Nope. But I honestly should have done so at least once being that the Philippines is rich in coconuts lol.

If you like someone, what do you do?: Listen to them; find out the things they like and strike up a conversation with them.

If you DON’T like someone, what do you do?: Ignore them for the most part.

What do you feel most insecure about?: Hahahahaha, doing anything that requires me to be creative. Poster-making, conceptualizing ads, making sketches...I always pass them off to someone who can make them better than I could.

Crash into water or an open field? D:: Both hurt like hell...can I opt not to crash at all?

What’s the best thing about being your gender?: Periods will always be a guilt-free reason to eat whatever the fuck we want. ^ And the worst thing?: Men.

Do you do your part to save the earth?: Yesssss I always try to do my part.

Does it ROYALLY piss you off when your intended username is already taken?: Well it’s never happened to me since my default username (I’ve been using it since 2010-ish I think) is pretty unique. 

What color do you wear most often?: Black or white. For sure.

What’s the most you’ve spent on a pair of sunglasses?: I don’t really like sunglasses.

^Or, ladies, what about a purse?: I’m not into spoiling myself with girl stuff like purse or bags. The only purse I own was a gift from family in the States.

Actually, what’s the most expensive clothing item/accessory you own?: Probably one of my shoes.

Who do you think should have their portrait on a bill?: Ramon Magsaysay.

What is your favorite spoken language to listen to?: Spanish and deep Filipino.

How long until you turn 40?: 19.