#gotta get the vent out somewhere before i explode

[kvnghs-archive]

just gotta have a lil real dump here for a min.

i don’t feel very wanted/needed on this platform anymore.  it feels like my ideas and muses have run their course and no one is interested in what i have to offer.  conversations to start the most basic and simple plots are often one-sided, ending before they even begin, or just left on read with nothing to ever come of it.  i need to discuss plots, characters, etc in order to even have the motivation to be here to write, and i’m not getting much of that anymore (unless i write a specific canon male character on a solo blog, but we’ve learned our lesson there).  when i started here, regardless of who i was writing (canon or oc) i would always get random questions about my muses in the inbox.  just dumb little things that people were interested in — what’s their shampoo smell like? do they sleep with the closet door open?  socks on or off at night?  simple things...ya know?  that makes such a difference to me, that someone thinks my silly little muse is interesting enough to know some funny little facts about them.  now it just feels like people are only in search of a plot device to insert into their story and not the actual character they’re writing against.  i want to know about your muses.  i want you to tell me their morning routine, i want to know the dumb little things my muse would know too.  i crave the interaction the rpc is no longer giving out freely like it once did.  

i am slow, and i very much understand that, but the reason i am so slow is because the rpc as a whole is failing.  people have decided it’s not worth reaching out anymore because they’re being ignored, the elitism and cliques are once again getting out of hand with the drama, and it’s just kind of a sad place to be when you’re not in one of those cliques.  especially you 30-somethings out here trying to start drama with kids like it’s high school...but that’s a whole different and very long post for another time.  anyway, what used to be an escape to enjoy with people in my hobby is kind of just a depressive place to be now.  i don’t feel the excitement for my muses, i don’t feel like people are here to learn anything about my muses, and i’m very much starting to feel like a pity party.  while i am fully away this is also my bad mental health speaking, at the same time it’s also not.  

edited*  what happened to the support the rpc once had?  is it only applicable if you have the correct aesthetics and use the prettiest graphics?  i can’t use photoshop very well, but i like to think i can write okay, so why do my graphics dictate how you see me as a writer?  i don’t care if your promo is pretty, i want to support you so i’m going to reblog it.  the rpc is not as supportive as it once was and you cannot tell me otherwise.  i rarely see promos cross my dash ( mine have less than 10 notes, and it’s me and like one other person most of the time...it literally hurts my feelings to spend time on something that gets completely ignored and i am not sorry about that ), people aren’t commenting and communicating as much as they once were, and i think it’s completely skewing the rpc as a whole.  the same goes for edits, is it hard to like a post someone spent time on?  you can unlike it later if you need to clean your likes, but sometimes people just like to be acknowledged for something they’re excited about.  i have been so excited to post something like an edit or what i thought was interesting about my muse, or just fun that other people might think was cool, to only be met with crickets on the other side.  it’s disheartening and not what the rpc is supposed to be about.

i’m complaining to myself as well, because i’ve stopped being as interactive with the dash as i once was.  but as i said before, after time and time again of being shut out, ignored, and even blocked after speaking to someone...can you really blame people for no longer reaching out?

anyway, sorry if you came in to read this.  i’ve been very much struggling here, and thought making harley would help, but it’s only further solidified that feeling.  i’m really trying to navigate around it, but i’m not even sure where to start with people anymore.  like i’m almost afraid to even reblog things from people anymore because they’re so adamant about reblogging everything from the source, not messaging first, and not even following them first like?  isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing here?  idk, the rpc has lost its luster and i really miss the community we used to have here.

so anyway...if you’d like to talk about our muses, plots, etc, i’ll do my best to ask random questions, send asks, make edits, and all that jazz as long as it isn’t one-sided.  my ims, ask, and disco are always available though i do miss (or just never get) notifications sometimes so don’t hesitate to boop me.  i’d just love to find some more writing partners to bounce ideas back and forth with.  i have either lost contact with most of mine over the years or they stopped writing all together unfortunately. :/

disco: shiny shitbag ✨#6427

[its-deputy-caleb]

Day Seven – “Stargazing”

character: (fem!) Dani Rojas | 697 words |

summary: after a very long and stressful day, you and dani find a quiet place to relax and watch the stars

notes: first week down! hopefully i can keep up which seems to be working and uni is going to start to get easier so i can’t wait to write and deliver more fc6 content

“Coño– today was a fucking mess.”

Dani’s breath comes out shaky as she relaxes into the ground, shoulders rolling and head resting on the vent of an apartment rooftop. Her armor is missing, left abandoned on the car’s backseat, to reveal a stream of bandages and gauzes from where you patched her up a few hours ago.

The two of you had spent the majority of the day trying to secure the FND special forces base with little success to say the least. You were spotted almost immediately, triggering the auto turret as you tried your best to duck for cover. Dani was busy with the two tanks and onslaught of FND whilst you did your best to hack the systems for intel– and that was before the reinforcements were called.

The morning moved well into the late afternoon, and still, you were nowhere close to getting the premise secure. Alarms were ringing, radios backfiring and tanks exploding all whilst you two dealt with the FND running your way.

It had been a disaster, but eventually you managed to bring down the last sniper and take your breather in hours. Letting your guard down had been relatively easy. Clara gave you the all clear to call it a night on a quick phone call before Dani was dragging you to get patched up.

You found yourselves perched on the FND apartments overlooking the military base, watching as trucks of Libertad moved in to start setting up blue banners, workbenches and even a small weapons station from one of Juan’s guys– gotta remind Dani to pick up more industrial circuits tomorrow. 

Parking your train of thought, Dani brings you back to reality as she shuffles over to rest her head against your shoulder. She wiggles for a moment, getting comfortable whilst making sure she doesn’t damage her already bruised body as she tucks her head under your chin and stares out at the night sky.

“I wonder if the view is any different all the way up in Castillo’s Torre Del León?” Dani’s voice sounds almost sleepy, contemplative as the day starts to catch up to her and she melts into you.

Your arms wrap loosely around her, your nose twisting as her hair tickles your face and you kiss the top of her head gently. “Mhmm… it’s all the same Yara, no? Just different angles.” 

“I can’t wait to kick him from his pedestal and really get to enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“Soon querida– then we can spend as much time together as we want, whether that’s up in a palace or on a little farm somewhere in El Este,” Your hands gently tilt her head up so she’s looking at you almost upside down. “I don’t care where we are as long as I'm with you.”

Dani breaks out into a soft smile as she turns her attention back to the valley of stars and planets before you both. Her hand extends out, the tips of her fingers tracing patterns between the little specks of light. Your own hand comes out to brush with hers and together your fingers move over the constellations. Both of you giggle at the imaginary pictures you draw, from wonky looking guitars to half a palm tree and even leopard if you look hard enough.

“Hey look here– this one looks like a dog tag.” Your voice is laced with humor as you guide Dani’s fingers over to the shape you’ve found.

“So like… a circle?”

“Hush– I’m trying to be creative.”

None of it matters that your constellation looks nothing like a dog tag, for it already has Dani laughing and snuggling into you closer. By now, you’re no longer actively looking at the stars, deciding your interlaced fingers are far more interesting than anything you could find out there. Her hand squeezes yours, of which you return it with your own reassuring squeeze. 

You sit there together on the rooftop until the morning sun starts to emerge over the horizon. Dani had fallen asleep on you long ago, but you were more than happy to hold her tight all night long.

[moemammon]

When I was in High School, my crush and I got into a fight and neither of us were talking to each other. One day I was headed up the stairwell to get to my science class, when I saw them coming up from behind... I don't think they had even noticed me yet considering that they were busy talking to their friend BUT I am slow going up stairs so even if I rushed up the stairs roadrunner style they would have caught up to me, well; the little corner that connects the steps going up to the second floor and the steps heading down to the ground floor had a large open window... and I jumped out, like I literally just jumped out. I didn't even think it through, I just saw the window and my body was like "Yep, IK what to do." I landed on a bush or tree? It's too big to call a bush but too small to call a tree, landed in a squat before my feet gave out and I fall onto my knees and got two large grass stains on my jeans knee part, couldn't walk right either after that landing, I was shaky all day lol but it was a risk well calculated bc the whole thing would have been so awkward. I mean we used to be like BFFS before the rumors began and then they started and we just stopped talking without warning, we couldn't even look at each other. Our science partners, bc we were in groups of four, literally got fed up of our bullshit bc we literally refused to acknowledge the others existence... anyway, I digress...

Anyway, this whole story is a long winded way of me requesting how the brothers would react to an MC that literally just jumps out windows to avoid awkward moments, or to dodge people that want to ask them for favors, or when they straight up want to avoid someone?

And sorry about the large ass message, but thanks for letting me vent

You have a special place in my heart, window-jumping anon. Just uhhhhhhh look down next time okay? Ily

The Demon Brothers react to GN!MC jumping out of a window to avoid an awkward moment

(Mario jumping sound effect)

Lucifer

He approached you after class to ask exactly what you were snickering at your D.D.D. about during class.

Must've been real funny if you weren't listening to your lecture, huh?

"I imagine you've somehow found something worthy of laughing about in Demonology 101?"

You do not have the guts to tell him that you and Mammon were texting back and forth, abusing a new photo editing app to alter pictures of the eldest himself.

I mean, take a wild guess about how he’d react to seeing how big you edited his head to be-

The avatar of pride lets his eyes pierce into you, like he's trying to stare a hole through your blanket of "uh"s and "um"s,

You don't exactly see a way out of this one, but you can NOT let Lucifer see your photo gallery.

So you glance to your left to the open classroom window, and do the only thing you can think of: you jump.

Luckily you're on the ground floor so you??? really didn't have to jump so dramatically. But the fact that you yeeted yourself into a bush JUST to escape has left Lucifer speechless.

Honestly? He so impressed with your dedication that he's not gonna stop you. Besides, he's gonna see you back at home anyway so-

Also thinks you might be hanging around Mammon too much because that 100% seems like a stunt he’d pull.

Mammon

GIVE GOLDIE BACK RIGHT NOW

He KNOWS Lucifer told you to bring the credit card to him, and he demands to know where it's hidden! He's positive you know where it is!

But you don't really though?? You just brought the card to him like you were asked. If anything, you're the victim here!

But Mammon isn't having that. The avatar of greed is circling around you like an angry cat, patting you all over like airport security to see if you've got his beloved card.

"Where is it, huh?! Ya really think you can steal from THE Mammon?! Even if Lucifer told ya to, who do ya think you are?!"

When he has confirmed that you don't in fact have his previous Goldie, he's now cornering you up against a wall.

If looks could kill, you would've exploded into a fine powder

And you feel like your mental strength is about to do just that. So what do you do after you notices the slightest of breezes caress your face?

You jump outta that open window, before Mammon can even finish his "Wh- Oi! What're ya-"

Even though you just face planted into the garden, you're up on your feet and making a mad dash for somewhere that wasn't here.

Mammon lets you run for ten while seconds before he's hopping out after you. You think you can outfox the Great Mammon?! Think again!!!

Levi

You... weren't interested in this movie in the slightest, but you didn't have the heart to tell Levi that. Especially not after he’d begged/harassed you for the past week about watching it with him!

Reluctantly you agreed, and now you were suffering,,,But Levi was ecstatic! This movie was a classic! Sure it was an old one and the acting was a little bad, but you could overlook that if you watched it with your heart, not your eyes!

According to Levi.

You managed to keep your eyes open for the grueling one and a half hour movie, enduring every corny line of bad acting, horrible CGI, and lame sound effects straight out of a 90s super hero movie, and now the hell was finally over...

Or so you though, until Levi followed that up by immediately pulling out a cosplay outfit worn by one of the supporting characters in the show.

Funny how it seemed specifically tailored to your measurements. Even funnier how Levi was looking at you with those damned eyes.

You knew what he wanted without him even having to say it. But one look at the gaudy outfit he presented to you made your heart burn with a sudden indescribable urge.... to escape.

Honestly you caught him so off guard by suddenly getting up and sprinting out of the room, that he makes a sound that's pretty much the noise equivalent of "?!?!?!?!?!?"

He watches you run down to the end of the hall, throw the window open, and fuckin JUMP. Pretty sure he just witnessed your death??

Also this kinda solidified his 'gross otaku' mentality, seeing as you literally jumped out of a window to get out of cosplaying with him. A simple no would've sufficed, MC.......,.,,..,,,

Hey gamers... can we get an F in the chat? 😔✌️💦

Satan

Satan lent you a book to read last week that he was sure you'd be interested in! He found it pretty interesting himself, so he wants to see if you'd like it as much as he did.

That being said, you don't have the heart to tell him that you,,, didn't read any of it. Well you kind of did, if the cover counts for anything.

You doubt he would accept that as an answer, considering how you told him how much you appreciated receiving the book, and how you'd definitely read it and let him know how it was.

So now, Satan had come into your room with two cups of tea, ready to settle down and have a nice, long talk about your thoughts on the riveting plot that you promised you would indulge in.

"I'm really glad you decided to read it. I found that the protagonist reminded me a lot like you. I'd like to know what you thought about it."

Satan sets down the tea cups, and one sip tells you that he brewed it exactly the way you like.

His expression is eager and warm as he waits for you to begin gushing about just how deeply the story touched you... how absolutely moved you are by the sheer majesty that was the book he lent you...

Okay yeah, you're sweating bullets. You can't imagine how the sparkly eyed avatar of wrath would react to learning that you chose the company of your D.D.D. over Satan's book.

You don't have such an ice cold hard that you can just crush this book nerds dreams like that! And every time you look at his expectant face, the weight of your crimes weigh heavier on you until... you break.

Satan watches in shock and awe as you almost perfectly reenact the big scene where the main character leaps out of the window of a building rigged to explode, before making their escape. And you did just that.

Wow.. he never thought you could be so moved by a story, but he completely understands...

Asmo

How many outfits, Asmo. HOW MANY OUTFTITS WILL IT TAKE TO APPEASE YOU?

He's made you model TWELVE outfits so far, and you swear if you see another ascot, you're gonna lose your mind.

Asmodeus doesn't seem to notice the way the light slowly fades from your eyes, because he's pulling out outfit number thirteen with that cheery smile of his.

"Isn't this one absolutely adorable? Look, this part will look lovely around your waist! This part here hugs your body in all the right places, and this-"

You can't do it. You've gotta get out of here. You'd love to stand around and get mild rug burn from trying on a billion different clothes, but-

Actually no you wouldn't.

You DID promise Asmo you'd hang out with him today, but this wasn't really your idea of a good time.

"-Oooh, just thinking about it makes me want to eat you up~! Here, put it on for me, will you? I'll give you a kiss as a reward!"

You would do no such thing.

You make a mad dash for his ornate window and push it open. He has no time to stop you as he helplessly watches you vault yourself out like the room was on fire.

"MC?! Wh-where are you going?? Come back here! Grass stains are impossible to get out of that fabric!!!"

Beel

He means well. I swear he does. It's just that Beel can be a little... overbearing when he's worried about you. He cares, okay?

But he hasn't seen you eat anything all day! You tell him it's because you've got a stomach ache from who knows what, and you promise you've had little snacks here and there to keep from starving, but he can't accept that!

Eating is important, and you need it to survive. So Beelzebub was currently trying to nudge your mouth open with a pizza slice, while you vehemently refused. "Just one bite. And then another after that. You have to eat, or you'll go hungry... and I don't want that."

Beel knows the true pain of being hungry, and he’d never wish that on you! So just forget about your stomach ache for two seconds and open up-

Not that you really can. The aroma of that pizza was not sitting well on your stomach, and you were pretty sure you needed a fast escape or you'd risk losing your lunch. Greasy foods didn't exactly mix well with sour stomachs...

Beel still won't let up. He has a strong hand planted firmly on the small of your back, as if trying to prevent you from leaning back any further in your attempt to escape the pizza.

"If you eat this, I'll treat you to dessert at Madam Screams," he says, as if bribing your refusal of food USING food will somehow work out.

You can't break his heart, but you seriously can't eat that! Your head is spinning, thoughts racing, face becoming greasier and greasier from the pizza pressed against it, and-

You snap. In a sudden burst of strength you break free from Beel's grasp, and sprint toward the nearest window. All you see is your chance for freedom, and you're taking it.

You leap out and tumble into the ground, all while Beelzebub wonders what?? Just happened???? Did you really hate pizza that much...?

He never knew you were such a picky eater... To think you'd go so far as to jump out of the window though...

Belphie

You thought it was cute at first, when Belphegor wanted you to join him for his naps. And you didn't mind much. It was the weekend, you were tired, and he makes a pretty good body pillow.

But you didn't realize he planned for this to become an everyday thing. The youngest might not act it, but he sure could be spoiled.

But seriously, if you slept any longer, you might never have a normal sleep schedule again! It never occurred to you just how often Belphie sleeps.

He's definitely not human, because there's no way you can keep up with that, and maintain a normal lifestyle.

But the way he quietly, gently grabs your sleeve to cue your next nap session makes your heart clench. Why was it so damned hard to say no to this gremlin??

You were trying your best though, but the words always seemed to get caught in your throat. Belphie picked apart your excuses, doing everything in his power to take you back to the attic.

"You can study when you wake up." "Mammon wants to go shopping? Reschedule." "Lucifer told you not to be late to the board meeting? Just hide."

You're starting to get sucked into the sleepy lull of his voice, and it feels like your entire body is becoming heavy with fatigue. But no.... you resist!

Since there's no escaping this through words, you have to think fast. Fortunately, your fast thinking has led to an amazing solution!

Jump out of the window, baby

Belphie is just??? Did you fuckin???? Are your legs okay??????????????

He probably stops asking you to nap with him for a while, since you're willing to almost break your legs just to get out of it. You're gonna make him have weird dreams....

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter Four: Waylon]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault plus everything already in the game; eye gore

Waylon hopped out of the vent into a tiny, mostly bare room. A Variant sat in the corner, hugging his legs with his face buried in his knees. A metal storage crate barricaded the door. 

“You mind if I move this?” Waylon asked quietly. 

The man shook his head. 

Waylon swallowed and braced himself against the crate. His weak muscles trembled and strained as he pushed. Holding back a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut. When it was finally out of the way he shook his hands out and sighed. 

Poking his head into the hall, he bit his lip. It was empty, the walls covered in plastic, emergency lights still blasting. The rest of the lights had gone out. There were several dead bodies littering the hall, blood smeared on the plastic. One body was completely ripped in half, torso from legs, guts spilling into the floor. 

He snuck into a security room and shut the door behind him. Through the window to a decontamination chamber, a man in scrubs pressed his hands to the glass. 

“Help me, please!” He cried. “I’m a doctor! I need to get home to my…” His eyes widened. He spluttered for a second, then said, “You’re not security. I was… I’m a patient,” he said carefully. 

Waylon stepped closer, brows furrowed. 

“I stole these clothes from a… dead body I found. You gotta let me out of here. Please. Just push the button, open the door. We can get out of here together!” 

Waylon hesitated. He wished he’d recognized the man—if it were really a doctor, he’d leave him to rot, but he couldn’t risk hurting a patient, could he? Fuck. He slammed his hand on the button. 

The doors slid open, and a Variant with a grimace and a red face stepped inside. The doctor/patient gasped and stepped back. 

“No, no!” 

“All of you,” the Variant snarled, grabbing the back of the doctor/patient’s head and slamming it into the glass. Waylon stepped backwards with wide eyes, “doctors and liars.” 

He slammed the man’s head into the glass, over and over and over and over again, thunk, thunk, crack, thunk, blood spurted everywhere. Slipping out of its socket, the eye was crushed against the glass. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose and eyes. Crack! Thin lines stained the glass like a halo. 

Waylon felt sick. Gagging, he backed up until he was pressed against the door. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

The Variant thanked him, then left. 

He’d never seen a man die before today. Never seen a dead body outside of a coffin. Dozens in the last few hours, murdered and worse. The look in the Variant’s eyes, the raw anger, as he crushed the man’s skull… There was no real difference between the doctors and patients now. They were all crazy, all sick. 

And what was Waylon? He watched a man die and only thought, it’s not me, thank God. 

He knew he’d die someday. He didn’t want to be murdered. 

Waylon stumbled out of the room and made his way to the airlock. It sprayed him with that awful-smelling green gas, then let him through. The corpse watched him as he left. He crept through to the closest exit he knew of, but it was jammed and blocked. Dead Variants littered the ground. 

A file caught his eye. He picked it up with shaking hands. 

 From: j.blaire@murkoffcorp.us.com

To: h.grant@murkoff.us.com

Subject: Resignation for Mental Health, CC 8208 

Ms. Grant, 

 You may receive requests for information from a Mrs. Lisa Park, of Leadville, CO, in the coming weeks concerning the resignation and hospitalization of her husband, Waylon. If so, please forward them to my personal attention. 

 Waylon’s stomach lurched. Lisa? Oh, God… 

 Waylon Park (former consulting contract 8208) resigned due to previously undiagnosed mental illness. I personally visited Mrs. Lisa Park and her sons and broke the news to them, with the “silver lining” that Murkoff Psychiatric would be graciously providing treatment. 

 Mrs. Park had some less than charitable things to say about myself and the Murkoff corporation. I assured her that with her power of attorney she could try to fight the doctors’ diagnoses of her husband’s illness. 

 However, if it were discovered that he resigned under false pretenses, his insurance would be cancelled and the family would be saddled with not insignificant healthcare debts. 

 The paper crunched in Waylon’s fist. 

 Hopefully she understood. 

But if she insists on making a nuisance of herself, or tries to get around me, please let me know. This is one I want to take care of personally. 

 Yours, 

Jeremy Blaire

 Waylon shoved the paper in his pocket. Please say she let it go. Please let her be okay. 

 Blaire’s voice echoed in his head. 

“Somehow not smart enough to realize that the last thing a fly ought to do in a spider’s web is wiggle.” The laptop cracked on the ground as Blaire dropped it. “Somehow dumb enough to think that a borrowed laptop, onion router, and firewall patch would be enough to fool the world’s leading supplier of biometric security.” He tapped his forehead. “Stupid, Mr. Park. More than stupid. In fact, that was crazy!” A sick grin spread across his face. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to have you committed. Mr. Park, will you willfully submit to forced confinement?” He glanced over his shoulder at the three armed security guards that followed him. “Did you hear that, agent?” 

Waylon’s heart slammed against his chest, his fingertips. The fear burned hot in his abdomen, sweat gathering on his brow. 

“He said ‘yes,’ Mr. Blaire.” 

“Great!” Blaire waved his finger. “Oh, and… did I just hear Mr. Waylon Park volunteer for the Morphogenic Engine program?” 

“That’s what I heard, Mr. Blaire.” 

“That was brave, indeed, Waylon. The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery… and sacrifice. Maybe you should administer Mr. Park here a light anesthetic?” 

“Gladly.” The front guard stepped forward and wound his arm back. 

Waylon raised his hands. Blinding pain rippled across his face, and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

Waylon ground his teeth together so hard something cracked. He would get back to Lisa and the boys if he had to tear through the entire asylum. 

The next airlock was broken, so he climbed atop a stack of crates covered in a blue tarp and dragged himself on top. Army crawling across, he jumped to the ground. It was pitch black in the hall. He raised his camcorder and flicked on the nightvision. 

He found himself in the cafeteria. Body parts were strewn across like decorations. Someone hummed and mumbled nearby. Bodies hung from the freezer’s ceiling like cured pigs. Flesh teared in the cafeteria, munching. Hands shaking, he crept into the kitchen. 

Waylon gagged. Blood boiled on the stove like someone was making fucking spaghetti, an arm and a hand poking out of the bubbling warmth. He entered the dining area, and behind the glass of the bar, blood splattered across the copious amount already caked on. Around the corner, then he zoomed in to look through the glass at the naked, bearded man sawing into a corpse. 

Keeping his camera up, Waylon’s eyes watered. He stepped forward. 

POP!

The microwave beeped and the head inside exploded. 

“Oh, God,” Waylon choked out. 

“Don’t you look at us,” the man snapped. “I love him.” He pulled out an organ and dropped it into his mouth. 

He chewed with his lips open, blood spurting, tissue tearing. Waylon stumbled back and hurried out of the room. He doubled over and gagged, choked, trying to vomit but nothing coming up. 

Sitting on the ground, he set the camera down facing him. “Don’t ask to see my body, Lisa,” he choked out. “When I die, when you finish the lawsuits that let you pry this footage from Murkoff’s army of lawyers and corporate hitmen, don’t make them show you my body. Just bury it. Or burn it. Let my sons remember me whole.” He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. “That man is eating human flesh,” he whispered. “He looks at me and I see anger. A little desire. But more than anything, hunger. Please don’t make them show you my body.” 

He grabbed the camera. He didn’t plan on dying, but he would not risk not warning Lisa. 

He passed through a locker room and into a hallway, towards a grated door. A corpse hung by the wrist to set of handcuffs, looped through the grate, holding it closed. He had to get through there to get to the prison, get to the radio. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, yanking at the handcuffs. He’d have to find the key. There had to be a security guard around here somewhere. 

Across from the grate was a boarded up door. The glass above it was broken. He climbed atop the desk resting there and pulled himself through the broken window, hissing as glass cut across his thighs. 

Keeping an eye out for the key, he crept down the hall. Bzzzz! 

Waylon dropped to the floor as the cook came into the hall. His eyes glowed in the infrared, slowly surveying every inch of the blackness. There was that desire in his eyes, that hunger. Waylon kept the camcorder up and swallowed, his skin crawling. Out of all the people in Mount Massive, he did not want to be in the hands of the cook. 

He thought about turning around and finding an alternate way to the prison, but it would take too much time. He’d just have to be careful, quiet. He crept forward. The hall went forward and then to the left, with a room to the right. As the cook disappeared into the room to the right, Waylon hurried forward, still low to the ground. His eyes were on the corner. If he could just get around the corner, maybe he wouldn’t be seen. 

His foot crinkled on a sheet of plastic hanging off the wall. He froze. 

“I can smell you!” 

Shuddering, Waylon crept further into the darkness. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

The saw buzzed, bzzz! 

Just keep moving, Waylon. 

He crawled forward in the hall and turned the corner. The man was still busy in the room to the right. In the turn of the hall, the walls were lined with wooden doors. He crept into the first one just long enough to catch his breath. It was bare with just a stack of mattresses on a metal bedframe, no key in sight. He stood up halfway and peeked open the door. 

The hall was empty. He swung the door open and snuck out. 

“MINE! You are mine!” 

The voice was right behind him. He broke into a sprint, just in time for the buzzsaw to catch the hairs on the back of his neck. 

“Fuck!” He gasped, skidding to a stop at the blocked end of the hall and slamming his fist into the door as he barged inside. 

He ran straight across the hall to the next door, barging through that one as well, leading him into a room full of storage shelves and crosses on the wall. A dead end. He looked around wildly, a place to hide, a place to escape. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

Waylon whipped around. The cook grinned, blood glinting on his teeth, white in the night vision. He swung the buzzsaw and Waylon leapt backwards. Tripping over his own feet, his back smacked against the ground. The saw came over the cook’s head, and Waylon rolled out of the way, only for burning pain to rip through his leg. 

“FUCK!” He staggered to his feet and felt frantically at the blood dripping down his calf. 

Another swing, Waylon brought his hand up, a slash down his palm. He whimpered and stumbled backwards. 

Then he saw it—an open vent sat above a desk. He ducked another blow and dashed for the vent. His collar caught and he choked, his eyes watering. The cook dragged him backwards and threw him into a shelf. His chest and knee and elbow slammed into the corners. Wheezing, he made another break for the vent. He shoved past the cook and leapt onto the desk as all the lights flicked on. 

The buzzsaw caught the bottom of his foot as he dragged himself into the vent. He curled into a ball and hissed through his teeth. His blood smelled of iron, it was all he could smell, all he could think. He sat up as best as he could, cramped in the little square space, and looked for a seam to rip with his teeth. The cook grunted and cursed as he tried to get into the vent, only to turn and leave the room. 

“I’ll find another way…”

Waylon found a seam in his pants and ripped off what fabric he could. It wasn’t even or clean, but it was long enough for him to wrap around his calf and tie tight enough to hurt. He ripped off another piece for his foot, and another for his hand. 

He was shaking when he dropped to the ground. His foot burning, he bit back a whimper. 

A Variant stood in the corner. He was dressed, thank God, but bandages wrapped around his eyes. 

Waylon held his hands up as the Variant stalked towards him. “Hey, hey… What’s going on, man?” 

“I have an itch.” 

He cringed. “I can’t help with that. Want me to get those bandages off?” 

The Variant shook his head. What could be behind the fabric? 

Waylon swallowed. “Your clothes… you come from upstairs?” He wasn’t wearing the standard jumpsuit the Morphogenic volunteers wore. His clothes came from the Male Ward. 

“Yes.” 

“So you can get around safely, you know how to not get caught?” 

The Variant hesitated, then continued forward. Waylon stepped back. “I can move around.” 

“I need you to find someone for me. Can you do that? I can switch out your bandage for something cleaner.” 

“...okay.”

“There should be an investigative journalist running around here somewhere—”

“Miles Upshur.” 

Waylon blinked. “Y… yeah. How’d you- how’d you know?” 

“He’s been… talking to everyone. Trying to. In the abandoned sections. Headed to the basement, last I saw. Why do you need him?” 

“Find him,” Waylon begged, “tell him Waylon Park, the whistleblower, is headed to the prison. I’m going to get help.”

He stopped walking. “You’re the whistleblower?” 

“Yes,” Waylon said uncertainly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” 

Waylon found a seam in his shirt sleeve and ripped it free. He carefully pulled the bandages away from the Variant’s face. In the sockets, the eyes were completely eviscerated, nothing but bloody pulp. Waylon felt like gouging his own eyes out with a spoon. He bit back a gag and pulled the new bandage around his eyes. 

“Get those clean,” he mumbled, then patted his shoulder. “I need to go.” 

Waylon was back towards the labs, plastic lining the glass walls and laptop carts clogging up the halls. He wasn’t sure if the handcuff key would be around here, but he was just grateful to be away from the cook. 

He looked around for a tense couple of minutes, stepping quietly and keeping an ear out for any buzzing, before he finally found a bathroom with a dead security guard. He snatched the key from the man’s belt and sighed in relief. 

All he had to do now was get back. 

He found his way back to the main hall and stuck his head out the door. The cook grumbled to himself, peeking inside a room, saw buzzing beside him. Waylon swallowed and crouched. He crept into the hall and around the corner. 

If he comes this way, I’m fucked. But the barred door he originally jumped over was in sight. The cook was not agile, couldn’t follow him. It was Waylon’s only strength here. 

He cursed himself, then broke into a sprint. 

“MINE!” 

His feet slapped the floor as the cook raced behind him. Vaulting over a turned over bed and leaping onto a desk, he scrambled up through the window again, the broken glass making more cuts across his thighs. 

Waylon stumbled to the ground. His vision blurred, his head hot. Panic? Blood loss? Both? Whatever. He got the key. 

Unlocking the handcuffs, the corpse’s arm slipped out and thunked to the ground. With shaking hands, Waylon pulled the handcuffs out of the lock and swung the grate open. 

It led into the crematorium. He headed down a short staircase and crept into the room. His heart was still racing, his legs still equipped to run. Something banged on the nearby door as he passed the ovens. He nearly jumped out of his skin. 

Backing up, he watched the door shake again, then stop. He hesitated. 

I have to go this way. 

He watched his steps, stepping over broken glass and litter. The second he passed the door slammed open. The cook grabbed him by the neck and threw him onto his back. Waylon wheezed and kicked, the wind knocked out of him. The cook hauled him onto a wooden slab and raised the buzzsaw. 

“This meat is mine,” he cackled. 

He brought the buzzsaw to his chest, slowly inching forward until red splattered. Waylon threw his head back and screamed. Then the cook pulled the saw away. 

Grabbing Waylon by the legs, he shoved him backwards. The heat of the oven burned the back of Waylon’s head. 

“You stay there,” he grinned, “and cook!” 

Then he threw Waylon into the oven, and slammed the door. 

@wasnt-hiding-in-cuba-for-7-years asked for waylon torture porn so here’s me delivering the best i can this early in the story. more whump later, hope you enjoyed lol 

[kaibacorpbros]

In with the New

Mokuba was a tolerant person. Even to a fault.

But there were still certain lines, ones he wouldn’t allow to be crossed.

Which was why this kid sitting near his table badmouthing Kaiba Corp for a solid hour had Mokuba as tense as a bowstring in his seat.

It wasn’t his business. Besides, probably a kid of someone that got kicked out when the KC switched to a gaming company. Kid looked like he could have been old enough to remember that many years ago.

Mokuba shouldn’t get involved.

“And Kaiba himself is sketchy. Ya know how he took over? His predecessor died. But all that news was swept under the rug like no one’s business. And he doesn’t give a shit about his employees. Threw my old man out on his ass over nothing—”

And then one of the members in the little posse said what Mokuba assumed was the name of the kid’s dad. Saying how nice the man was. But there was something that sounded familiar…

Mokuba didn’t even realize he had crossed the distance between him and the other guy. He knew who the kid’s father was. Seto had kicked the man out because he was a traitor. A lingering supporter of the Big 5 that was part of the employee purge Seto conducted. What kind of story did the guy give the family!? Not the truth by a long shot.

“Who the hell are you? We got a problem?” the kid barked.

Mokuba pushed the other boy out of his chair, and his fist collided with the other’s cheek. A couple of people around them started screaming. But this boy was much bigger than Mokuba, and after the initial shock, it didn’t take long for him to strike back.

It got messy, and eventually, the bystanders managed to pull the two apart.

Thankfully Mokuba had his hair up and a hat and scarf on, so it didn’t seem he was recognized. But looking down at the flecks of blood on his knuckles, a bit of the other boy’s and his own, the gravity of what he’d done settled in, and he bolted.

_____

“Ya don’t look like the brawling type,” the cashier at the gas station Mokuba had ducked into remarked as she rang up a bag of ice.

“I’m not, I—” but no decent explanation could leave the younger Kaiba’s tongue.

“It’s whatever dude, just try not and make it a habit, especially not around here, I was just about to close.”

Oh great. Oh great, it just kept getting worse.

“S-sorry…”

Mokuba handed the cashier a twenty and told her to keep the change as he pressed the ice to a bruise on his face and turned to leave.

“Hey! Don’t leave like that, all that blood on your knuckles is just gonna make a mess if you don’t patch it up.”

The young lady who’s nametag read “Riley" had taken her own backpack out from under the counter and within a few moments flung a box of band-aids at Mokuba’s face.

“Go outside and start opening those up while I lock the doors. But don’t put them on yet—I got some medicine somewhere in this thing, just gotta take a minute to find it.”

“R-right, on it.”

_____

“And I honestly don’t even know what came over me. I don’t usually get angry, nor do I even have much of a reason to be defending him after everything. Hell, I felt conflicted enough by shipping him a gift for New Years this morning.”

Was it wrong to be venting so much to a stranger he just met over hot cocoa in a twenty-four-hour diner? Probably. This lady wasn’t a therapist—but honestly with how she listened and discussed as the younger Kaiba babbled could have fooled him. But then again, maybe it was largely due to the fact that he hadn’t stopped for very long enough to really get a read on what opinion Riley had on everything he was info-dumping.

“Really? What’d you send him?”

“Just an outfit I designed, more lowkey than his usual stuff because I heard he’s been leaning that way anyway.”

Riley dropped another handful of marshmallows in her mug.

“That’s not exactly a low-effort gift, Mokuba.”

“O-Oh! I didn’t sew it all myself or anything—I can do a bit, but I had some friends in the theatre crew I’ve been working with help me out. Ha, pretty simple compared to what they’re used to.”

“What’s on their usual to-do list? Costume with exploding fake head?” Riley asks with a smirk.

“Well….”

A marshmallow gets tossed at Mokuba.

“Now you’re just pulling my leg.”

“It was worth a shot,” Mokuba says with a cheeky grin. “But we did an exploding dummy once. Or…several.”

Light laughter lays between the two before Riley carefully considers her next words. She didn’t want to kill Mokuba’s mood more than it already was unless he wanted to truly hear what she had to say.

“Do you want my honest opinion?” The tink of a spoon hitting the edges of the cup as she stirs seems to be the only sound in the building.

After a moment of deliberation, Mokuba nods.

“I think…you’re so used to caring for your brother that you can’t imagine not doing so. But going how it sounds, it seems this isn’t a new thing. And I don’t think people like that change. No usually anyway.”

The expression Mokuba now had on his face made her want to backpedal. It felt like kicking a puppy.

“Of course not saying it’s a sealed deal or anything just—you know.”

Mokuba took to picking at the Band-Aids on his digits.

“No, I know—get what you’re saying. I…I’ll keep that in mind.” He clears his throat with a cough.

“I’d like to change the subject though. You uh, been working here long?”

“Ha! That old place? Nah, just a placeholder.”

Like every job was.

“I’m going east after this, everything’s too crowded here. And the prices are insane, I don’t even want to know how you’re getting screwed over by the conversion rate.”

Oh, Mokuba had an idea. And he was sure Seto was seeing that loss.

“Very. You traveling too, huh?”

Maybe they didn’t have to say goodbye so soon.

 _____

Front or back? Seto wondered as he fiddled with his scarf hanging down his front. He’d grown used to wrapping it loosely around his neck and fall over his back so the eyes on it stared out behind him. But the design sketch for the outfit he’d gotten from Mokuba had it just hooked over the back of the neck down the front of the coat.

Turns out, he wouldn’t have time to debate over it anymore as the door to the apartment he was standing outside opened.

“How many white coats do you have?” Diva asked.

“I’ve…not really stopped to count.”

Maybe he should do that sometime. But what could he say? Blue white and black were his colors.

He gave a half turn. “Mokuba designed it.”

“How do you know? I thought—”

“He’s the only one who sends me clothes. And he has a style I can recognize. But no, there was no letter or anything like that.”

Diva held out a hand and after Seto nodded, straightened the scarf, so both sides were a bit more even.

“He has one I approve of,” the ex-Plana said with a small smile as the two-headed out together for the night. _____

// this is a hella late new years/holiday thing thanks to my lil hiatus rippp. Anywho, hope everyone had a nice holiday/winter. 

The outfit that Mokuba designed and made was the one Kenjiro-san had for the Duel Opera! I’m sure you’ve seen fanart of Kaiba in them-- it’s all the same sans he’s got the previous blue chaos max themed scarf instead.

Also introduced and OC who may also be a bit of an NPC over on this blog for interactions with Mokuba. But mostly Riley will be over at @pledgedsouls

[charles-among-us]

Story was written by Ellis Skylar on Quotev {Mentions of Death} I'm a Valiant Hero?▼ "Stop running away from me!!" The Toppat mook I was chasing sneered. "Stop chasing us then, Charlie," he taunted. "Why would a cat chase a mouse with a teleporter?" "Oh no you don't!" I drew my pistol and picked up speed. "You're not getting away from me again! Victory is mine this time, Toppats!" The mooks shot at me a few times, forcing me to dodge (and therefore slowing me down). This gave them them time to call on their teleporter and blip away just as I caught up. Aw, crud. Sighing, I glanced up at the sky-then froze for a second. Was that my imagination, or did I just see... "Henry?" My old friend smiled and nodded. I grinned and practically ran over, stumbling slightly in the snow. "Henry, I heard you died!" Henry shrugged in response, then motioned to the bar behind him. "Why don't we get caught up? I'll try and explain everything." "Hey, anything to get outta this cold!" Henry laughed a bit and led the way inside. I couldn't bouncing a little as we went. Henry and Charles, back together! The troublesome duo, as the general liked to call us. Or...He did. Back before Henry was...Well... Henry whistling snapped me out of my thoughts before they could go any farther. He held up two fingers when the bartender looked over before turning to look at me expectantly. I got the hint pretty quickly. "The Toppat Clan's been causing a bunch of problems for me lately," I started. "Yeah, ever since they got that orbital station set up, they've been suuuper strong." Henry tilted his head slightly, giving me a sympathetic look, though I'd stopped paying attention. I think I have another plan. "Now that I think about it...You and I made a pretty good team in the past." I put my hand on his shoulder. "I bet we could take 'em out. It's starting to get personal." Now Henry looked a little taken aback. I guess I looked angrier than intended, but it was true. They even know my last name now for crying out loud! I pulled my hand off him and tried to lighten up. "Well? Whaddya say? You wanna help me take 'em out for good?" There was no hesitation. Henry gave me an evil grin and a thumbs up, making me break into a smile. I missed that look! "Awesome!" I stood up and grabbed his arm, pulling him along. "Follow me, I have a way we can get into space!" The drive to the main base was quiet...Quieter than usual. Henry didn't usually say much-he could go through missions without saying anything at all, if you can believe it-but this was...Different. Sadder. Like he was holding something back. I'm not about to let my friend be blue on our first mission back together! "What's up, Henry?" I lightly punched his shoulder. "You look like you wanna say something." Henry started to speak, then seemed to change his mind and shake his head. I gave him another playful punch. "Come on..." He gave me a glare. I went to slug him again before he shoved my hand away, making me laugh. "Okay, okay, I won't push anymore." He gave me a thankful smile and looked out the passenger side window. I watched him for a moment before turning back to the road. It just crossed my mind that it was never really said how he died. "Escaping the Complex" is all they said about it. What happened between the last time I saw him and now? "Henry?" He flinched a bit and looked at me. I gave him a little smile. "It's good to be by your side again." He's staring out the windows again. Well-window, I should say. It's more like a dome instead of a window, too. "Secret government prototype," I called back to him. "Whaddya think?" He gave me an excited grin in response. I don't blame him-it's not often you get to take a ride in a perfect replica of a UFO. I'd be elated too if I was in his position. But I'm in an even better position. I'm flying the thing! The urge to go into hyperspeed is overwhelming but I can't risk drawing attention to myself. Not with no backup plan, at least. A satellite-looking spaceship finally came into view, making me slow down my UFO. "There it is," I said aloud. "How do you want me to bring you in?" I heard rustling noises as Henry did something in the seats behind me. I couldn't help starting to wriggle. "Ahahaw, this is so exciting! It's just like last time!" Someone tapped me on the shoulder, making me look up. Henry shook his head. I pulled my headset back a little. "What, you can't think of anything?" He shook his head again. I spotted a big green ball of something and had an idea. I pushed him back towards the seats and flew the UFO over to the ball a little faster than I probably should have. It's a ball of trash. 'Perfect.' I dug around in the area behind my chair for a moment and whistled to get Henry's attention. He looked over at the same time I finally freed the space suit tucked away. "Put on this space suit and hide inside the ball of trash!" Henry looked at me like I was nuts. "What?! It's a good idea, trust me." He shook his head rapidly. I tossed the suit at him. He rolled his eyes and finally put it on, then gave me the thumbs up to open the hatch. I watched the green ball of gunk (now with Henry in it) float over to the space station undeterred. None of the Toppat's sensors even gave it a passing glance. I waited until I saw the figure of a person on the station before cheering. "YES! See?! I told you it was a good idea! The Toppats have no clue you're there now." "I'm gonna stick back here though so they don't detect me," I went on, leaning back and popping my feet up on the UFO dashboard. "Should still be able to help you get inside from here though." I watched the figure of Henry from afar, then my eyes drifted back towards the button for hyperspeed and my fingers started getting twitchy. It's so enticing. I've always wanted to help out by ramming something with a vehicle, it sounds like so much fun... But I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. Besides, who knows how much gas it could use? If we get stuck with no way to get home it's all my fault. But this is just a prototype and barely has any gas anyways. So I should save it. But it'd be so much fun. But I'll get in trouble. But I think Henry's stuck. "Y'know what? Naw." I pulled my feet off the dashboard and dusted off the dirt left behind. "This calls for some bold action. I'm the bold action maaaaaaan~!" I slammed my hand on the hyperspeed button and held on tight. The UFO shot off so fast I almost missed the space station. Luckily for me, I had a target. Unluckily for Henry, it was him. I hope I didn't hit him too hard. We smashed into the core, if the robotic voice that started talking is anything to go by. I dropped to the floor harsher than intended and coughed to get smoke out of my lungs before looking up. "I've always wanted to do that." Henry rolled his eyes slightly and we both stood up, my friend pulling off his spacesuit as he did so. (It looks like it's padding took most of the ramming damage. Phew!) I fixed my headset to avoid looking him in the eye. "Anyways, should probably find a way off this spaceship before it explodes..." I led the way down the first hallway I saw. Henry and I were stopped immediately by a door that was half open and half closed. I pressed the button on the number pad next to it and got an "ERROR" message on the screen. "Looks like the door's jammed. This is the only way through." I stepped back to let Henry have a look at the keypad and flinched when I backed into one of the hallway vents. I knelt down and found it opened easily. 'Aha!' "Hey! Henry!" I waved to get my friend's attention. "I bet this vent leads somewhere...On the other side." Henry brightened up and joined me again. I took the lead again and started crawling. An explosion happened not even halfway through and made me grind my teeth. "Oh man. We're running out of time." For some reason, this was enough to make Henry speak up. "Charles?" "Yeah, buddy?" "I, um..." Henry coughed a little. "Sorry. I wanted to ask you something." "Ask as much as you want, as long as you keep moving." "What happened to the, er...The diamond and the ruby? After people thought I was dead?" I shrugged, then remembered that he couldn't see me with how dark it was. "I dunno. I think the diamond was returned and the ruby auctioned off." "Aw, mother..." "Yeah. Sorry." He was quiet for a bit. I saw the other end start coming up and was about to relay this to him when he spoke up again. "I'm sorry." That caught me off guard. "What?" He didn't answer. I decided to drop the subject and ask him about it later on. A group of Toppat mooks ran by the opening when we arrived, making us have to wait for a second. There was a body out in the hall when I checked the coast after they passed, but that was it. Another muffled boom made me shiver. "We've really gotta move!" Henry took the lead this time, running down the hall and following the arrows guiding us to the escape pods. The question of his apology came back to mind. "What're you apologizing for?" He gave me a curious look. "You know, in the vents! You said you were sorry! For what?" "Oh." He flinched a little at the question. "For...A lot. I keep betraying your trust and you keep coming back to help." "Aw, hey, it's noth-" "Why do you come back?" I shrugged. "Usually it's timing, usually it's coincidence, usually it's a bit of both. I never regret running into you again, though. Even if you're a 'wanted criminal'...I like you." That got him to smile. I grinned back and we dropped the conversation in favour of running for our lives. We eventually came across the escape pods' hallway just as a few members of the Toppat Clan rushed inside one of the three pods left. The other two were one marked "LUXERY" and one with a cracked window. Henry went for the one with the broken window, for some reason. After he karate-chopped the stuck open button, we were in. I slumped into the bench across from him. "Ah...Well that was intense." Henry nodded in agreement. I crossed my arms behind my head and settled in. "I can't wait to go ho-" Someone suddenly grabbed the front of Henry's shirt and yanked him out of the pod. I followed the two out, shoved the Toppat mook off Henry and pushed him inside before the escape pod door closed. The mook almost went for the door opening button again before I grabbed him and pinned him to the door. "Don't worry about me!" I shouted to Henry. "I'll find another way!" The pod zipped off before he could respond. The Toppat mook nailed me in the gut to make me let go and watched in despair as his escape sailed away. "NO!" He screamed. "That's my way home!! Now I'm stuck here!!" "You and me both, pal!" I snapped. "We both could've come out of this alive had you not tried to kill my friend!" "I'll kill YOU INSTEAD!!" He jumped on me with that, trying to get me on the ground. I'm not a trained fighter but I'm proud to say I stayed on my feet and even nailed him a few times before the gravity of his situation sank in and he broke down crying. I pushed him off me and rested against the wall for a moment when I realized Henry must be panicking. Smacking my headphones to see if that would make them work again, I turned them on. "H-Henry? You there?" "I'm here," he said, his voice shaking. "Man, that roughed me up." I slid down the wall to sit down as I spoke. "Got 'em, though. Gotta be another escape pod around here somewhere..." The ship started shaking as the alarm blaring stuttered. I knew I wasn't going to make it but I gotta try to save face. "We did it though," I repeated. "We got 'em. It was the perfect plan." "Might even say it was the greate-"

[dailyaudiobible]

12/22/2020 DAB Transcript

Zechariah 2:1-3:10, Revelation 13:1-18, Psalms 141:1-10, Proverbs 30:18-20

Today is the 22nd day of December welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it is awesome to be here with you today it’s awesome to be here with you Christmas week. And, yeah, a couple days and we’ll be at Christmas day. So, we’re pressing into it, pressing into the season. I'm sure you are as well. And I pray that you are experiencing moments of Christmas joy, something that's been in a little short supply, maybe a lot short supply this year. But anyway, we have come to center ourselves in the Scriptures, to exhale all that's going on around us and just warm ourselves at the Global Campfire as we take the next step forward in the Scriptures. And we began the book of Zechariah yesterday and I mentioned then that Zechariah will take us all the way until a couple of days before the end of the year. Zechariah is the second to the last book in the Old Testament. And yesterday when we began Zechariah, we just gave some context and one of the pieces of context was that Zechariah contains eight different night visions and we will begin with the third one today. Zechariah chapters 2 and 2. And we’re reading from the New English Translation this week.

Commentary:

Okay, we were talking about this being Christmas week at the beginning today before we read the Scriptures. And, yeah, this is Christmas week. The day after tomorrow is Christmas eve if you can believe it. And, so, we’re in it and we’re trying to finalize and get everything together and figure out how we’re gonna do everything and…and we’re also likely to be around family, whether that is immediate family or we have extended family, whether we’re getting in a car and traveling, whether we’re gonna get on a plane and travel or whether that's gonna happen where people are traveling toward us. Likely, whether we’re having a very very large family gathering or whether it’s going to be really intimate we’re going to be together with…with our family and when that happens all kinds of really really wonderful, joyous things can happen. Hearts can be united…just the love for our family and the people that we grew up with or the people that we've known our whole lives, it just emerges and we…we feel that warm cozy spirit of Christmas but, you know, in that situation, it…it’s just warm and cozy and dry and one match thrown into the middle of that can just…it can just blow the whole thing up. Like one person who decides that they need to vent about their political views in the middle of all that or one person bringing up some kind of scorn or something from earlier years, any little thing can make a volatile situation explode. And it wasn't that long ago that we read the book of James or the letter of James, in which he talked about how we can bless people and curse people out of the same mouth and surely that's not right. And, so, right now is a good time to kind of put some of this that we've learned about our mouths and how powerful they are into our pocket and carry it around because usually when the volatile things happen they just…they happen randomly. I mean we know…we may know who’s the likely one to start something. Maybe we’re the likely one to start something. And maybe this year it should be a break for everybody. Maybe we should bite down on our tongue instead of waggin’ it. I mean because we can be the giver of joy. I mean, when we think about Christmas spirit and Christmas joy and we think about how it's affecting us, like are we feeling it? But the thing is, we can give it, we can build each other up instead of tearing each other down. And, so, we turn to the Psalms then today and we read these words, “O Lord place a guard on my mouth. Protect the opening of my lips. Do not let me have evil desires or participate in the sinful activities with men who behave wickedly.” We should put that in our pocket too as we go into these next few days and determine in advance, if somebody lights the match and throws it into the middle of everything that doesn't mean that it's compulsory that we participate. It can be a situation where our…our unwillingness to participate and amp things up is saying a lot without saying anything. If we find that our words that we have determined that we will only build up and not tear down, well that would be quite a Christmas gift to give and it would change the atmosphere. And we may not be able to stop the kinds of things that happened from happening, but we do have control over ourselves. And, so, let's just remember, yeah, it’s family, yeah, it's presents and gifts and festivities and Christmas music and lights and it's just wonderful but what we are honoring is the arrival of the presence of peace. And, so, if we’re not going to actively participate in peace on earth, especially at Christmas…well…there's a disconnect somewhere. Let’s put our faith into action in these coming days because these are days of great joy.

Prayer:

Father, we invite You into that. Joy…joy flows from You. And when we experience joy, we are becoming aware of Your presence. And this is a joyful time in the midst of a very trying season. And, so, may we experience Your joy and then in turn give Your joy, build one another up, not tear one another down. We pray the Psalm, “Lord place a guard on our mouths. Protect the opening of our lips. Don't let us have evil desires or participate in sinful activities.” Come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, it's the website, its where you find out what's going on around here. You can find out what's going on around here using the Daily Audio Bible app just as well by pressing the Drawer icon in the upper left-hand corner.

Of course, we’re days away from Christmas. So, that's what's going on around here. So, check out the Christmas resources that are available, especially the musical ones. The Family Christmas album, which is an instrumental…just a beautifully contemplative album for the Christmas season, the kind of…it’s the kind of one that you want when you…when you're trying to wind down. You gotta a cup of cocoa or whatever, you got the lights on, maybe the Christmas lights and nothing else, maybe a fire in the fireplace. It's that kind of record. So, check that out. You can stream it on Spotify or Apple music or YouTube music or Google play, whatever, You can buy it there at the iTunes Store or wherever you get your music.

And the other…the other Christmas thing is “O Holy Night” that Jill and I put together a couple weeks ago in preparation…she's gonna sing virtually at a Christmas eve service this year. And, so, we’ll put links up to that on Christmas eve on our social media channels in case you don't have a candlelight service that you can attend. But she sang it with such heart and passion, and we were just…we were like wow, we should release this. And, so, we did, and you can stream that on Spotify or Apple music or wherever or buy that as well. Just look for Jill Parr and O Holy Night and you will find it. So, check those…check those out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible here in the waning days of the year, thank you humbly and truly from our hearts. Thank you for your partnership. I’ve said it…feels like I’ve said it like 360 times or whatever this year. We wouldn't be here if we weren’t in this together. That's a fact. And, so, we are profoundly grateful that we are moving through another year. And thank you for your partnership. So, there is a link on the homepage. If you’re using the app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner, or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And as always if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, which is the little red button at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family this is June in Maryland I am calling to give a praise report. I am just praising God for bringing me through this year. This year started off really rough with some heart palpitations that had me out of work for almost 2 months and then I went back to be a Covid nurse and once I returned to my psych unit, I got Covid. All the while I was still trying to finish school which I did. I graduated with my Bachelor of Science in nursing on December 5th. So, I’m very thankful to be alive, to be able to breathe, and to have been able to complete this degree despite all of the obstacles and frustrations. So, yea God. Thank you, God. Nothing is possible without God but with God all things are possible. That’s all I have for today. I’ll call back another time. Love you all. Have a blessed day.

Hi this is Sarah from South of England this is my first prayer request and I really need prayer. How to make it brief? I have __. I’ve had a recent relapse after 20 years of…of pretty severely…being pretty severely affected and I just feel devastated because I…I’ve lost so much of what I could do, particularly…mainly with my arms and needing a lot more help. And it’s…it’s just complicated with social services and carers and things. And apart from that I…I can’t do the greater things that…that I most love, that I’ve always felt, you know, that what God made me for really. And I’m…I just really need companionship. It’s just not because of the Covid, but obviously that hasn’t helped. I’m single and I’m 52 and…and wondering if, you know, I’ll ever be able to…to find someone to share my life with. And even if I could socialize and…and have lots of friends, that would…that would…would be okay but I can’t do that. And…but I know that ultimately, I need God to be my everything…to not…to not demand that recovery is the only answer for me. But he can heal me as well. I know that. But just to find peace in him, to find my joy in him because I know he can bring joy no matter what’s happening to us and I need that, I need that desperately. I need to…to get back to that place of…of being at peace with him and trusting him no matter what my circumstances are. So, thank you.

Hi, my name is Jay I’m from Georgia from Rome Georgia. It happens that I lost my job this past Monday and I there’s an appeal process an appeal’s process that I’m undergoing and a few other things that might help but most of all I just want to come to the throne of grace, and I want to ask if all of you can help me pray that I get my job back. It’s hard. It’s a hard time because my…my husband is going to school right now and I was the one who supplied. But God supplies all my needs according to his riches in glory. And I would ask if you would stand with me in faith and ask that God would lead me and guide me. God bless you all.

Good morning DAB family this is Sally in Massachusetts. We’re in the midst of a beautiful snowstorm today. I had to chuckle Little Cherry when I heard you describe getting ready to go to the sunrise. It reminded me of the eight years I lived in Saskatchewan. Mighty cold but I loved it. I love the sunshine. And…and thankful. Lord I’m so thankful for our brothers and sisters scattered all over this world. It’s wonderful to hear from all the different states from…from places like New Zealand and Australia and Singapore and South Sudan and Germany and India and Eastern Canada and all the states that we hear from. Lord, we are so blessed to have You bring us into the family of God scattered over the world. We thank You so much for the DAB that brings us together. Lord I lift up Margo and her husband as they prepare to go back to Liberia. Please strengthen and guide them. Please provide their needs physically Lord, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, financially. Lord we just pray for the wisdom that he needs as he prepares information to be a better pilot and to care for his plane and pray for Margo Lord. Just guide her as she gains insights into being a better nurse. Oh God and we just thank You for the love for the lost, their desire Lord to make You known. We pray Jesus that You would just bless them and guide them. Thank You, once again great and holy God for all You’ve done and all You’re doing as You bless Your church around…

Hi DABbers, this is Alina Jesus Worshiper from Delray Beach. I’m actually calling with a praise report and I wanted to thank you so much for praying for me and my husband. More than a year ago my husband told me that he doesn’t want to be with me anymore and it was a mistake that we got married after like almost 10 years of marriage and it was really painful for me. All of this time we’re separated but together under one roof and I was praying for his salvation. And I’m not sure, I don’t think that salvation happened yet, but God is changing my husband’s heart. And recently my husband came back to me. He came back to be my husband and now he would like to have family and he would like to have kids and he talks about God all the time and I know that God is…God is calling him. And I’m just so excited to share this with you…this journey. God is so faithful to everybody who is struggling in their marriage. I’ve waited for one year to every relationship with my husband. It was so painful and with all this other things that people were talking and 2020 nothing was as hard as just being in the same house with somebody who says every day that he doesn’t love you anymore. But, you know, God is so faithful. God is so faithful. When I was struggling, and I was without my faith he was putting me up and Daily Audio Bible family helped me out so much being connected to the word every day. I want it or I don’t want it. It became my habit after like two years or so. So, I wanted to thank everybody for praying and I pray for you today in Jesus’ name to experience this, the same thing as I did. Amen.

[nyx-9com]

03 June 2000, Bradford UK, 23:22, Male. Would leave a reading

Capricorn ASC + Gemini Sun + Cancer Moon

4H Saturn + 5H Sun + 6H Moon

What a babe. I mean seriously, you must have a ton of admirers. Capricorn on the ascendant is said to give differing appearances with a lot of them veering toward the negative. I think this is based on the fact that Capricorn is ruled by Saturn, traditionally viewed as the Greater Malefic. He was revered and reviled around the time that Hellenistic astrologers were beginning to describe the countenance with the sign on the ascendant. In actuality, Capricorn on the ascendant tends to give dark hair, dark eyes, a paler range of complexion, and fantastic bone structure, particularly when Saturn is in good shape. Your Saturn is angular and exactly conjunct the Greater Benefic, Jupiter in the Venus-ruled sign of Taurus. I’m sure you’re quite handsome. You may not be as thin as your average Capricorn ascendant due to this conjunction in Taurus, but that just means there’s a little more of you to love. Weight may tend to creep up more as the years go by. As an aside, this means you were born during the last Great Conjunction. There’s going to be another Great Conjunction this year in the sign of Aquarius.

When I mention admirers, however, I’m not talking about strictly in terms of your appearance. Saturn as your ruling planet conjunct with Jupiter gives you shades of realistic optimism. You have ambition but are pragmatic. You want to make a positive impact on your environment and you’re absolutely capable of it. Sometimes you might bite off more than you can chew, and that can cause depression because you’re not used to failure, even under circumstances when most would fail. You love home and family, your roots are everything. You likely have a large family that is very serious when it comes to family values, this has given you a strong base in life. You’re a reliable, affable person- though you do very much like to have things your way. In fact, you may not give others much of an option with this. The way you go about it however, doesn’t usually provoke much opposition. This is all very apparent to others when you interact with them. Now I will say that there is an element of self-sabotage in you that probably don’t fully understand yourself. There is an element to your personality that you are out of touch with which is erratic, neurotic, anxious, and sometimes just fucks shit up purely to be disruptive. It’s like a short fuse that goes off every now and then, it gives others whiplash. This puts strain on you too, as you like to be seen as orderly, responsible, capable. Flying off the handle at completely unexpected intervals doesn’t really lend to that, but you return to regularly scheduled programming in a reasonable enough amount of time and stay that way long enough that others would probably only see you as ‘occasionally unpredictable’. The issue really is that your true nature is quite a bit more spontaneous than perhaps you’d like to be viewed. The repression of that spontaneity can result in an internalization of anxiety which effectively turns you into a pressure cooker. Gotta let the steam off somewhere, because if you don’t actively choose to vent this energy, it will explode. Unplanned and uncontrolled explosions rarely do anything productive in the scope of our lives, wouldn’t you agree?

An effective way for you to vent this is through creative pursuits, hobbies (which you probably have a ton of, there may be several sports you are good at also), interacting with children, and romance. You’re actually a super romantic guy, although your attentions are numerous and probably quite fleeting. The 5th house Venus-Sun-Mars conjunction in Gemini shows someone whose identity is flirtatious and loves to spit game. You’re charming and others find you attractive, that’s just how it is. It’s just all-around fun for you to play the field and it takes a lot of mental engagement to hold your attention. You’re probably seen as someone who very actively pursues various interests, possibly at the same time. But that Cancer moon belies somebody who isn’t just a player. You’re a very sensitive, caring individual at your emotional core. Helping others gives you genuine satisfaction. You show others you care by helping them accomplish things and fussing over their health. You’re seen as a super caring employee—perhaps a bit too sensitive at times—but typically you are viewed as alert and intelligent. You could be prone to sulking when you don’t get your way. You may also be prone to ups and downs with your health and you probably have a touch more of hypochondria than most. Your health is dependent on minimizing your nerves and keeping your emotions level.

I had mentioned children before- they are likely to figure prominently in your life. You will probably have several- it’s (loosely) possible you will have twins. Ultimately, you pursue romance for the purpose of finding your soulmate. With your North Node in the 7th house, marriage may be the destiny (although the 7th house also has themes of working with the public, the law, contracts, etc… North Node in Cancer may also denote fame with the general public). With Cancer on the 7th she’s going to be a very feminine woman, someone to be the mother of your children. She will make you work hard for her affections and this will draw you in further and breed your respect for her. (In the case that you are not attracted to females, this will still manifest as a search for a nurturing, motherly partner. You will fulfil the more paternal role between the two of you.) Now it seems like I’m digressing from the ASC-SUN-MOON description here, but I mention all of this because this is paramount to your emotional makeup as your Moon sits in Cancer, ruling the 7th cusp from the 6th house. With the Moon owning this cusp and the North Node, it shows that this relationship alone will most likely provide you with the majority of your emotional sustenance.

But again, we have a disconnected element of the personality that is causing trouble at times while your conscious mind is elsewhere. You suck the wind out of your own sails and do not always actively pursue what you know would make you happy. It’s possible you may struggle with alcohol or drug use which sabotages your search for your partner. It could cause you to feel badly about yourself and think poorly of yourself. You may not understand why sometimes you slip into self-destructive habits wherein you make yourself appear to be less reliable than you truly are. You want your partner to want you for representing the ‘provider’ archetype. Strong, authoritative, reliable, a protector. And yet you choose to do things that don't allow you to represent yourself in this light at times. Alternatively, it could be the very fact that you pursue many interests—a romantic/sexual “addiction”, in effect—that is somewhat sabotaging your ability to find the type of partner you want. The type of partner you want is looking for someone committed, remember? Even if you are not in a relationship at the time, a potential partner witnessing an endless stream of romantic trysts could have them writing you off as effervescent and noncommittal; halting the possibility of a relationship before there was a chance for that possibility to truly exist.

This impulse is related to the very same disconnect as I indicated above: You are a deeply sensitive and empathic person, but your inability to consciously exert control on this aspect of yourself can cause it to wig out in detrimental ways. Your system can’t always handle the excess of emotional and environmental information it receives, for many this results in attempts to stave the flow. This is frequently achieved by pursuing illusion and numbing the senses with drugs, some can also overuse the physical senses as way to drown out empathetic reception. You should channel your deep sensitivity into affecting structural, societal transformations which will liberate others. I would point out too that right now others are very aware of your tendency to self-sabotage in both capacities I’ve mentioned- however when you manage to direct these energies effectively, you will cease to be seen this way. People will view you as humanitarian, idealistic, compassionate, transcendental, and revolutionary. It looks like that 7th house North Node really is about caring for the public, doesn’t it? I hope and pray that you choose to use your gifts, the world needs them!

[k-liight]

kind of a vent but I also kinda need some advice

okay so I'm gonna go out on a limb here and throw out some of my personal life frustrations concerning my future. I really don't know where I'm even going to start, but I need to get it all out there before I explode, and I would appreciate it if anybody who has gone through college and transferring struggles to help me out here.

as you may know, I've been attending community college for about three years now. I took a gap semester after graduating high school in 2016, went part-time in spring 2017 and again for the first half of the summer, then switched to full-time in the fall. then 2018 was a normal year, full-time spring and fall and nothing in the summer. well, I goofed around a bit during my first few semesters, so I had to go an extra year in order to meet the requirements for my associates. which I was cool with, since I still hadn't decided where I wanted to transfer. well, now it's May 2019, and I still never fucking figured that out. I mean, I've looked at a few places, but I never did make any decisions. and yeah, that's probably my fault. I've always been a terrible procrastinator. even this journal is last-minute; I had intended to put this out like a month ago. but, better late than never, I suppose. anyway, for the entire time I was attending community, my intention was to transfer to a four-year institution after completing my associates, preferably one out-of-state. but, now I'm not so sure I want to do that. I'm really tempted to just be done after community. because honestly, I was ready to just be done after high school, and the only reason I even went to college is because I didn't see myself getting anywhere with my life if I didn't. and it wasn't even so much about getting a nice job as it was just being able to live someplace else. because I've literally been living in the same town--hell, even the same goddamn street-- my entire life, and because my family's poor, we've hardly ever taken any vacations, and also I've had very little freedom growing up because my mother has always been overprotective and still is. so, you can probably imagine how much I wanna get the hell out of here. I figured that going to college and living on campus would be the easiest way to start out on my own, and then once I was done I'd settle down somewhere nearby. but now my dad is planning on moving to Georgia as soon as possible, and I'm really tempted to go with him. he already said he'd welcome me to join him. there's plenty of pros to going down there: the winters are nowhere near as bad, the scenery is a lot better, I'd be closer to my good friend and have a better chance of finally meeting her in person, and there's apparently a lot of opportunities for artists there according to her. but there's no guarantee it'll ever even happen. my dad has his heart set on this, but you never fucking know what could happen to prevent it. but the thing about transferring is that they make the process so goddamn complicated. you can't just apply for everything overall and be done, you gotta apply just to get in and then for your specific program and for housing and everything else individually, plus you gotta pay a fucking fee just to apply, which I think is pure evil. so with that being said, what if I got into a college but didn't get accepted into on-campus housing? there's no way I'd be able to find my own place off-campus. I wouldn't be able to actually attend the college unless I wanted to be homeless. (the only exception to this is a private college that's an hour away from where my dad's planning to relocate, if this situation happened with them I could just live with my dad and an hour drive would be no big deal. plenty of people drive an hour to my community college. but again, there's no real guarantee he'll even be able to pull it off.) plus, you gotta have all kinds of transcripts and shit from your previous institution, further complicating things. there's no way I'd be able to do it without help from a counselor. which I was starting to think I was too late for, since my last day is on Tuesday, but just today I found out that apparently, all this time, I needed a physical science class before I could complete my associates, which...I'm pissed off about, because real fucking nice of them to tell me that NOW instead of when I was signing up for this semester's classes. straight up, when I was figuring out this semester's classes, I told the counselor that I was planning on finishing my degree and graduating after this semester, she told me all I needed was one more humanities class and everything else was elective credit. oh, but all of a sudden they just now found out I still need on more science class too. what the fuck. man, I was really ready to just be done with school now. but at least I'll have some more time to speak with a counselor about transfer shit now, if I decide to do that. and even if I do, I was gonna take the fall off beforehand anyway, because that's what I did after high school, and it's nice to take a break from school and be able to work more and get more money lmao. but after this stunt, I really doubt I'm going to feel like doing any MORE college now. hopefully I can get that one last class over with during the first half of the summer, but with my luck all the slots will be filled. I don't know. I guess I'm just asking if maybe somebody who's been through similar situations can offer any advice on what tf I should do here. because one thing's for damn sure: I do NOT want to be stuck here in shitty north-central Illinois for the rest of my life. I know I'm never gonna find happiness here, I've been living here all my 21 years of life, if there was happiness here for me I'm pretty sure I would have found it by now. I need to get out. I'm willing to spend the rest of 2019 here, but after that if I don't find a way out soon I will literally lose my goddamn mind. I need to get the fuck out in the world, get an actual life, get a change of fucking scenery, and at this point, I do not even care where I go or what the weather's like there or if I'm continuing my education there or if one or both of my parents are with me. the goal is to just get out. so yeah. hopefully I'll be able to discuss my hopefully-not-forsaken future with my parents soon, but in the meantime, thanks for reading this, and I hope y'all will pass your finals if you're taking them.

[maedaeme]

oof i am finally home so! time to vent about a book NO ONE has read lmao

feel free to skip/scroll/etc--hopefully the readmore works

preface: i know mtg lore has taken a huge backseat for a long time, especially since they stopped frequently publishing books. no one is involved in mtg for the lore anymore except me. this is entirely just to get a bunch of my feelings about it out because i’m used to being Disappointed with it lately and i gotta VENT

preface pt 2: i am very negative in this whole thing but the book was entertaining as a whole if you just take it at face value, which is that it’s just a big excuse to have all your favs show up at the same time. i’ve just got beef.

things i’m not annoyed about:

dack fayden is back and he’s such a trope but boy i love him

ral’s still my fav. i guess he has a boyfriend now so that’s kinda cool

teyo and rat’s dynamic is pretty fun and i like teyo more than i thought i would. rat is super cute

kaya gets to be cool and doesn’t appear to have the same ‘i immediately think about how attractive and/or cool gideon and/or jace is when i enter into the immediate vicinity’ that a lot of the other main gals have

and the negative stuff i need to get OFF MY CHEST:

the pacing is so bad

why is dovin baan still working with bolas? he was lawful neutral until someone decided he wasn’t, i guess! 

like ok i could SORT OF understand it when they were like ‘dovin baan felt he could bring order to ravnica and couldn’t pass up the opportunity when bolas offered it’ but like?? bolas is clearly destroying it. what the fuck is dovin’s motivation at this point other than just being evil 

like literally NONE of bolas’ other allies are his allies because they want to be there. there is no reason to side with bolas except maybe ‘i don’t want to get murdered.’ even then, you KNOW he’s probably going to murder you. there is no reason to make this level of a villain out of dovin baan.

i’m pissed about a interesting character’s wasted potential counter: 1

ob nixilus just shows up because he’s a planeswalker and they had to put him in the story somewhere, and everyone immediately tolerates him for some reason

like i’d believe it if someone at least saw him and like. immediately tried to punch him in the face before being like ‘oh yeah, bigger problems’ but nope. he’s just kind of there

chandra only does 3 things: think about how cool gideon and/or jace is, make rash decisions, and get yelled at. sometimes she’s allowed to do a cool thing among those other things

sorin just shows up. there is no explanation as to how he escaped imprisonment outside of gideon going ‘wait wasn’t sorin stuck in a wall’ and as someone who has been hoping sorin would return for a long-ass time i’m ANNOYED

i’ll forgive the fact he and nahiri totally just abandoned the fight with bolas to throw down with each other though. that’s hilarious. they are both useless and i love them

i’m pissed about a interesting character’s wasted potential counter: 2

literally every planeswalker is summoned by the pull of the beacon, and gideon even talks about how hard it was to avoid the pull and go to kaladesh first, but vraska just... doesn’t go... because she doesn’t wanna. she wants to get drunk on ixalan. why does she have this power? who knows

i know she shows up later but at that point the beacon was OFF

grown-ass people keep blushing. in life or death situations. this is a nitpick but oof

tezzeret shows up for like 2 pages, gets his chest abruptly exploded, laughs and is like ‘good job! i hope you kill bolas because then i will be the strongest!’ in the most canned, tropey villain move ever before completely exiting the story. it genuinely feels like they were like ‘well SOMEONE’s gotta guard the planar bridge and we don’t have time to actually write out a fight’ and shoehorned it in

i’m pissed about a interesting character’s wasted potential counter: 3

there was no way gideon wasn’t going to die after all of their emphasis on him being unkillable so that’s a thing

‘oh it’s better for us to not murder nicol bolas and instead imprison him’ yeah because that’s not going to obviously go wrong

i have more opinions but i’m tired and everything from chapter 46 onwards is kind of a blur so i’m just gonna stop here for now and take a NAP

tl;dr - (grabs ral and dack and shoves them under my arm before running full sprint out of the lore) everything lorewise recently has just utterly wasted the potential of so many characters and character arcs in the favor of one-dimensional and nonsensical plot ‘’’’twists’’’’ including forcing characters to play roles that are completely against established morals with no actual reasoning. the book was entertaining, sure. but lorewise? yikes. big yikes. big disappointment. maybe they only had like a few months to work on it i don’t know but oof

[bigskydreaming]

I’m three seconds away from a full on mental breakdown on any given day, every given day, and literally the only reason I haven’t yet is because I know that I just fucking fundamentally CANT AFFORD TO, like, that’ll be it, I just can not fucking afford to just collapse in bed and curl up and just.....let myself buckle under the constant pressure and stress I’ve been under for god knows how long, because even a fucking DAY for that, let alone two days or three, like....that’ll just be that much more in the way of expenses I can’t even pay NOW let alone if I miss one or more days of potential work. 

And so I keep going and keep going and I haven’t slept in like two days as is because I’m busting my balls trying to make all the money I need this week even though I KNOW damn well I can’t POSSIBLY do it, that its an impossible goal, like its not even that much money in the grand scheme of things but it might as well be thousands more considering the likelihood of me actually being able to make it and yet I keep burning myself out, using up everything I dont even HAVE to use as it is because I literally cant do anything else like there’s nothing else to do, my only other options are that or just...stopping, and I just cant do that, its not in me. And so I spend every hour of every day tired and stressed and pissed off and pound out a few angry posts on tumblr every time I take an hour or two off from work because I HAVE to, because I’m so stressed and angry my hands are literally shaking and I can’t focus on work because I keep getting distracted by how fucking much I just hate everything right now and I gotta just vent SOMETHING out before I can even get back to work because I feel like a slow pressure cooker that’s been building up pressure and steam and whatever for twenty five fucking years and I have to relieve some of that pressure, I have to vent it to try and keep it from getting to be too much but its not enough, its never enough. And the punchline is it really does feel like there’s this sense of urgency, like Im running out of time, but its not cuz its like all building to some kind of dramatic finish, its not like I’m gonna just fucking EXPLODE at any point once the pressure finally builds up too much, Im not gonna DO anything, its like the complete opposite. Its like...Im scared that one day I’m just gonna wake up and just be like...done. Even though I dont want to be, like Ill still want to get out of bed and work and try and do all the things I need to do and FIX shit, do the stuff that I’ve spent all this time working towards so I can finally have some kind of LIFE something thats not just a never ending cycle of get up, work, eat, sleep, 7 days a week, 30 days a month, over and over....I just won’t be able to. Like I’ll be all used up, nothing left, I’ve tapped it all, no more fuel in the tank. That’s what I’m afraid of and that’s why I’m so. fucking. mad. all. the. time. because I dont want that, its the last thing I want and Im afraid nothing I can do can stop that from becoming a reality and that just makes me more pissed off and like...fuck. I dont have big asks, I dont have big dreams, I dont want that much, and it just makes me more mad how pathetically small my wildest fantasies are right now and how unreachable they are anyway, even when, haha, funny joke, they’re all things that aren’t inherently impossible or out of reach they’re just ENOUGH out of reach that its like the universe fucking mocking me with what I want but will never get. 

I want a fucking jaw that works. I want a day where my head doesn’t feel like its gonna split out of my skull. I want to be able to watch or read something and just ZONE out and relax for the hour that takes without being distracted half the time anyway because shouldnt I be working right now, I want to not have to worry every. fucking. day. about having a roof over my head tomorrow, if this will be the night I end up sleeping on the street again, I want to not have to have a friend check I’ve eaten every day and not gone a couple days without eating just to have an extra twenty bucks towards rent, I want to be able to walk in a straight line without falling over, to be able to go outside and TALK to people, to fucking exercise again, because fuck, I never went to the gym because of muscles, exercise is one of the only non medication things that actually gets my brain working right, keeps me motivated and my stress down and without it Im stuck relying twice as much on medication that gets less and less effective every day because of my stupid fucking metabolism like hahaha great I have a skinny waist, thats really helpful in my celibate hermitage you know what I’d like even more though? 

BEING ABLE TO FUCKING USE THE MEDS THAT MAKE MY BRAIN ACTUALLY PRODUCTIVE FOR MORE THAN THREE HOURS AT A TIME BEFORE THEY WEAR OFF AND I GOTTA POP ANOTHER ONE. I have all these things I want to do and NONE of them are big, none of them are OUT there, like, I just want to fucking be able to write and tell stories and go to the movies every now and then and I cant fucking do any of that because my entire fucking goddamn life is nothing but a never ending cycle of spending every waking moment and every ounce of energy and willpower on just fucking staying alive, and not even so I can do any of those things, do anything that matters, no, just to KEEP doing the same shit over and over and over without actually going anywhere, getting any closer to my goals, like I’ve stalled or made it as far as this fucking anchor around my ankle will let me go or there’s just this fucking wall in my way and that’s it, doesn’t matter how far I acme to get here thats as far as I get, everything I try to get past it, to keep going, it all just ends up being just barely enough to keep me right where I am, treading water, not dragged back and having to do it all over again at least but what difference does it make when this is as far as I can get and Im fucking STUCK and THIS, HERE does me no fucking good, like what the fuck is that even? 

And I know that there’s no answer to that, I know there’s no fucking point, it just is what it is, things just happen and that’s all, that’s the entire punchline of my entire fucking goddamn soap opera trainwreck of a life and every stupid fucking thing thats ever happened, there is no point, there is no WHY, it just fucking HAPPENED and if I had the tools to get past that fucking wall, I could DEAL with that, I could make my peace with that, but stuck on this side of it not being able to go any further I just can’t wrap my head around it, I cant accept it, I cant be okay with something thats true whether or not Im okay with it, and I KNOW all that and so Im stuck. Im stuck being tired and Im stuck being angry and Im angry I’m tired and I’m tired of being angry and it just keeps going and going and Im afraid thats all its ever gonna do, is keep going and going and going until I just...run out of steam. Dont reblog please. I just needed to fucking scream this somewhere other than my head so my head can maybe shut up about it and try a new song for a change.

[twitchesandstitches]

Many years ago, the galaxy of the day had been a slightly different place.

For one thing, it was full of much more murder. Up until about the point that the fleet had arrived and rammed into the local splinters of the Imperial Commonwealth with the same effect as a jet plane dropping into a toy truck, with many more cries along the lines of ‘SCREEEEW YOU’.

Grimlock stood in the midst of a large street, his huge and powerfully built exoskeleton venting steam as he contemplated it all in grave thought. About him, all the buildings were variously on fire, hollowed out, or crumbling to pieces. He had not done that, nor had the fleet. It had been like that before they got there, to end the killing.

The Commonwealth was responsible for the bodies piled up and burned. Small signs indicated the crimes. He’d paid little attention to them; the dead were what mattered, not the reasons the Commonwealth decided they deserved to die. Most of them were human.

They were butchering their own people. For ideological bullshit. It reminded him too much of being young, and the sounds of screaming beneath shiny streets, and perhaps that was one reason why he did what he did that day.

He turned towards the street, against the Imperial Commonwealth armies still fulfilling their commands - riding on their jet chariots and their servants desperately powering it with their very lives, disembodied stone faces flying at him and firing off telekinetic blasts to rend the air, and the infantry to die in their droves, and he thought himself that he would be taking no heads today. Trophy taking was for things he wanted to remember.

Little honor here, on this day.

And so he fought, and then where the street had been full of smoke, it was then full of blood and fire instead.

It was over, it seemed, in seconds. His claws rained bits of meat and blood, his feet came down like the wrath of Primus, and as he transformed into his true war-form, assuming the shape of a robotic Tyrannosaurus Rex, his belly blazed with all the sullen anger and hate, the sheer bloody pointlessness of all this death-

A new sun dawned in the street. And there was no more army there.

Grimlock panted and mostly for effect at that, his heavy armor dented and nicked by the wounds they had managed to inflict, and took note of one more notable enemy: one of those grotesque war idols. A forty foot tall simulacrum of the human body in fleshy marble and veins of gold, every bulge of muscle so realistic it would turn the stomach, a lurching thing testament to why realism wasn’t always a good idea in sculpture.

Instantly, he transformed into robot mode again, rolling underneath its strike, and when he rose up, a heated blade was in his hand, and he was already striking. It took another step before falling apart and shit, even its insides were photorealistic, WHY.

He growled and started to walk off, and then a voice caught his attention:

“Filthy toaster.”

He froze in mid-step.

by this point, back up had arrived. From the corner of one of his rows of eyes, he saw Bismuth stomping forwards, the tiny shape of li’l Hal on her shoulder, and a small army of many other beings from the fleet; krogan and asari, viera and beastmen.

He didn’t see them, he just saw the soldier half-dead beneath the rubble of the war idol. Hard to make out anything beneath the blood and white remnants around her, but he took note of an imperial uniform (fairly high ranked, from the size of the fallen hat nearby), and it was ludicrously, obnoxiously ornate. Gilt-y, he thought.

He didn’t know that her name was Josie Beller. Then again, she hadn’t known or cared about the aliens she had murdered. Turnabout's fair play.

“‘Ey, big guy!” Bismuth waved a heavy hand almost literally designed for reshaping the land. “Looks like you already gotten it taken care of for us! ...Uh, Grimlock? You okay there?”

He glanced back at her, and then returned staring at the fallen human.

All this death, and now… that. His claws flexed on their own, and he longed to feel them tear. Blood run down his claws, hear a scream that needed to happen…

She coughed, spitting up a small amount of blood. She glared at them through one good eye. “Animals,” she croaked. “You… you murdering xenos abominations. Aliens and machines…” she gasped in a painful breath. “Someone, answer me… someone, kill them…!”

“...Whatever.” He tried to force down the extremely strong urge to just bite her head off and call it a day, and began to stomp away. “We’re done here. Gotta move on. Bulk of their army is somewhere else.”

Bismuth glanced around, staring at the burning bodies mounted by the soldiers they had come to stop, and at the human commander in the rubble. She may not have ordered it, but then again, she might have. And she was a commonwealth commander. This meant she was a murderer of some variety, whether endorsing the genocide of all that wasn’t human or actively taking part in such campaigns. “Get to it, then.”

Grimlock nodded at her, looking past her impressively massive bust size to meet her burning eyes, and began to move on.

“Get back here,” cried the human on the street. “Come back here and finish it, you monsters!”

He froze, every servo in his body tensing like an engine about to blow and instantly ready to explode into terminal violence.

And every single fleetmate there with even a passing knowledge of old Cybertronian social dynamics freezed up as well. Tension cranked up, and they knew this probably would not end without bloodshed. Well, more of it, anyway.

Grimlock heard, distantly, old things echoing in the scarred parts of his processors, into the scars where they tried to burn out the part of him that could say ‘I am’ and ‘no’. Old things, stinging as deeply as acid poured onto a living brain, seemed very loud indeed:

You’re not a person at all. People turn into useful things. Not an animal.

Not even a real Transformer at all. Just a beast, pretending to be alive.

You are not built for war. Tanks are warriors. Helicopters are warriors. Even trucks can fight, in a pinch. But teeth and jaws are meant only for killing.

An abomination. Another abortion of the demon Onyx.

He’s from Simfur. The land where beasts talk and pretend that they’re people.

An animal; disgusting, depraved, playing at thinking his spark really burns. Just a filthy beast!

You’re not a fighter. You’re designed for killing, Simfurite.

You’re not a Transformer, you’re an animal

You’re a beast

And in the pit of his soul, the thing that echoed louder than the way they always said animal, the sound of ‘beast’ becoming a slur to his morph-kind, was the word ‘monster’.

“What,” he snarled, head whipping around like a bird sighting prey. “Did you call me…?”

“Grimlock, hang on!” A viera canooner said form Bismuth’s shoulder, her massive cannon bouncing and banging up against her barrel-sized breasts. “She’s already going to die. Don’t waste yourself on this-”

“Alien scum!” the human in the dirt railed. “Abominations! Freaks! Machines!” Li’l Hal bristled at the way she said that last word like a curse. “I can still fight! I’ll kill you all!”

“Tough talk,” Grimlock rumbled, a dangerous air to his voice. “From a piece of meat lying on the ground.” He indicated the city. “You butchered your own kind.” He slowly reached down. “You don’t deserve to die with them.”

His claws punched through the rubble and plucked her up, out of the ground, and there he carried her a short distance away. Bismuth and the others followed. Bismuth cooly, waiting to see what would happen, the others with trepidation. Only Li’l Hal seemed intrigued at what would come.

They came to burned grounds, where there had been a forest before the Commonwealth had come. She railed and screamed terrible things; that their people had stolen land that belonged to humanity, that they would all die screaming, they were impure, weak, empty things, soulless monsters and machines… it was not pleasant permitting her to continue living.

“Grims, if you don’t kill that hominid right now, I’m going to do it for you,” Li’l HAl said thinly, an optic notably blinking in and out in anger.

“Won’t take long.” Grimlock leaned down and deposited her in the soot. She tried to crawl, reaching for her weapons in a last ditch attempt to hurt something-

And at this point, Grimlock’s foot, approximately the size of several city buses chained together and wrapped in big spiky claws, came down on her arm like a vise.

She screamed, and his burning gaze was pitiless.

“Shut up!” He lifted his foot up again, she tried to roll away, her arm a useless length of ruin, and his foot came down on her other arm. “You don’t get to scream! Not after what you did!”

His foot came up.

“Not after what your people have done!”

It came down again on her legs.

“You don’t get to just walk away from this. So…” his foot pressed in, further, to the sound of sickening crunches. “Making damn sure you won’t.”

Bismuth watched. Cold, and approvingly. Li’l Hal crossed his arms and seemed to smile, with a vicious edge. The others withheld their own opinions, and occasional nausea. That was just a problem when you fought alongside Grimlock.

“Not killing you today,” Grimlock hissed, his eyes slowly shifting shade from pale yellow to a deep and terrible orange. They glowed like fire, and at that, Bismuth did look up in alarm. Her hands began to extend into restraining hooks, just in case. Grimlock ignored this, and to be fair, would have wanted her to do so regardless. He trusted few, least of all himself. “You don’t deserve the honor of a good death. You get to live.”

He raised his foot up once more. This was a bad thing he was doing, he knew-

Josie Beller stared up, her gaze filled with even more hate than Grimlock could manage on his meanest day. “You are a machine,” she snarled, genuine and horrific malevolence twisting her face into something far more inhuman than anything she lived in mortal fear of. “Machines break. Someone will break you, xenos.”

-But on the other hand, sometimes it just felt so damn good to be a bastard to someone that really had it coming.

“Then let’s check what sound your bones make when I pop them, and we’ll see who else breaks around here,” Grimlock said, and he stepped down.

Hard.

As it transpired, human bones break just as much as metal does. More easily, too.

But he made sure she wouldn’t suffer organ failure… somehow. Nor did he break anything above the next.

With medical treatment, perhaps she might still die. But it was on her society to be semi-decent to their soldiers, he thought, leaving her to bleed in the ash.

She wasn’t his problem, he thought, vindictiveness rising like magma out a vent.

He continued to think this, until many years later, and it came to pass that he was enjoying some beryllium baloney aboard a ship cafeterium. In the vast space, countless other people in the fleet were having meals (many of them drinking dairy products derived from the productive bosoms of the mothers of the fleet, and some of them skipping the middleman entirely in open view, a common arrangement in the shameless sub-culture of the fleet), and big screens above showed various entertainment shows the fleet had tapped into, and important news the quartermasters thought was relevant to people.

“...And then i says to him,” Grimlock said to Pearl, a bit miffed that her breasts were so heavy and over-stuffed that they were making the table lean her way, which she was probably doing on purpose to annoy him. “I says, ‘Reading’s overrated, ya nerd!’. And then he punched me in the face. Mind you, he was barely bigger than a human back then, so I was kinda impressed.”

“And that’s how you met the mighty Optimus Prime, leader of your people and the chosen prophet of Primus?” PEarl said dubiously.

“To be fair, he takes readin’ real, real seriously.”

“Yes, well, he’s not entirely wrong- oh!” PEarl leaned up, her breasts buoying her upwards like a carry-on superbed. ABove her, the screens flickered, and various mugshots were visible, along with a list of crimes, personality traits, weaknesses and last known location: everything an aspiring bounty hunter needed. “Ah! The new bounties are up!” She looked pleased. “Perhaps we can bring some more wealth into the fleet. And I was feeling a tad rusty.”

“Yeah, sounds like fun. Ya wanna team up on this one or… or….” he stopped, staring at one particular bounty.

“I am fine partnering with you, unless you have an alternative.” She waited for the usual playful jibe, but not came. He just continued staring. Pearl blinked, glancing down at the, to her perspective, small but much broader Dinobot, who was still gaping at the monitor, his helm-like beak-mouth splitting into several shocked mandible sections. “...Grimlock? IS something wrong?”

He jabbed a claw at one bounty. “That can’t be. What the hell, I know I put her down!”

Pearl looked. “Hmm?” It was a human woman; blonde a frizzy halo, presumably north European from her features and skin tone, and with the coldest, cruellest expression of pure maliciousness Pearl had ever seen. From the next down, she appeared to be wearing a complicated harness of electromagnetic batteries hooked into crude power armor that was nonetheless quite revealing.

“Circuit Breaker,” Pearl said aloud, eyes widening. “Oh… oh my.” She read the crime sheet, and shuddered in disgust. “That is… a lot of murders of sapient robots. And many codes of attempted genocide, and actual… oh. Yes, we should definitely attend to that.”

There were several quotes from her, to giving hunters an idea of the kind of person they would be dealing with, and all her quotes were not things that needed to be heard. They were mostly along the lines of the fundamental soullessness of all robots, the need to kill any machine that believed it was a person, and enough concentrated poison to make all but the most enthusiastic xenophobe recoil.

It made for unpleasant reading. Pearl noted that by this point, Grimlock would have eagerly announced his intention to punch them into a sun or something, but he was eerily quiet.

“I fought that woman,” he said again. “She didn’t have the suit then, but… I fought her. I beat her! How is she still active!? What is she doing here!?”

Pearl understood at once. Grimlock had a certain reputation, and that amounted to ‘for the love of God, if he is mad at you, run and never stop running’. Actually surviving him when he took offense to your evil was an impressive feat. And she regarded the bounty again.

She hadn’t seen eyes full of so much hate since the Decepticons had come to Homeworld and laid it to waste.

Her hand unconsciously tensed, as if feeling for a spear. “I would like to help you finish the job you started, if you are willing,” she said firmly.

Grimlock nodded curtly. For once, no more jokes, no more jibes, none of their playful rivalry. This was serious.

‘Next time I take out a xenophobic dumbass,’ he privately vowed. ‘I’m just gonna kill ‘em then and there. Not wasting any of this poetic justice garbage.’

[rathockey]

The Fallout (2/?)

Summary: The Fake AH Crew are at the height of their career, lead by notorious crime boss Geoff Ramsey of the legendary Roosters, and they’re about to pull off the heist of the century, the Strauss Museum heist. Everything is going exactly as planned until an explosion goes off too soon, just in time to kill Geoff. The Fakes are thrown, and the joy of the heist is cut short. The Fakes retreat to a safe house in the hills to deal with the fallout of the Kingpin’s death. But can the Fakes keep it together without their leader?

AO3

The sun was sinking below the horizon as three cars raced toward the Strauss museum, a motorcycle following behind. The cars split, two sliding into a parking lot rear the Strauss museum with the motorcycle, the other jamming itself into the alley beside the Maze Bank across the street. Ryan slid off the bike, meeting up with Jeremy, Michael, and Gavin. They all wore tuxes, hair combed neat, or as neat as they could make it in Michael’s case, with bow ties hiding mics. Gavin grabbed a backpack from Michael’s car and they snuck around the back of the museum, Gavin bouncing in excitement, holding a grappling hook.

“Team Lads plus Vagabond is in position.” Jeremy said, nodding at Gavin, who fired the grappling hook at the roof. He swung from it to make sure it held.

“Okay, Team OG in position. Scaling the bank now.” Geoff’s voice came over the comms, and they began to climb. Jeremy and Ryan split off, slipping through a small window on the second floor into a bathroom, as Michael and Gavin continued to the roof. They set up by the vent, Michael watching over Gavin’s shoulder as he pulled his laptop out and finished the hack into the security system.

“First system hacked.” He pulled another laptop out of the backpack and started another hack.

“You have to have different laptops for this?” Michael asked. Gavin nodded in reply. “Why?”

“Michael, I gotta focus Michael.” Michael rolled his eyes and turned so his back was leaning against Gavin’s. Michael watched as the sun finally disappeared below the distant horizon, glinting off a few buildings as it slipped into the sea. The city lit up as lights flicked on in buildings and streetlights flickered on. Michael smiled slightly as he looked over their city.

“Gavin my boi. We own this town.” Gavin typed out a few last commands before closing the laptop and turning around, hugging Michael.

“Sure do, boi.” He grabbed his backpack and slid the laptops away, keeping his phone out, where the security feeds were broadcast to. “Both systems hacked. Team Nice Dynamite ready to enter.”

“Battle Buddies are ready to enter as well. Please. This bathroom smells terrible.”

“Alright, Team OG is in position. Go ahead.” Michael and Gavin slid down into the air vent, Gavin leading them from the blueprints on his phone until they reached a broom closet. Gavin jumped down out of the air vent and froze until Michael jumped on top of him.

“Hey idiot, why didn’t you move!” Michael smacked Gavin lightly before looking up, directly into the face of a startled security guard, who started reaching for a red button. Michael snapped to, grabbing the guard’s arm, twisting it up behind his back. Michael kneed him, just below his twisted arm, slamming him into the wall. He grabbed the guard’s head and slammed it into the wall before letting him slump to the floor, unconscious. “What the fuck?” Michael turned to Gavin.

“The blueprints said this was a broom closet Michael! I don’t know!” Gavin held his hands up in defense. Michael shook his head.

“Whatever doesn’t matter now. Let’s get out of here.” Michael grabbed Gavin’s hand and led him out into the hallway. “Battle Buddies, you guys make it to the gala?”

“Uh, not yet. We’re lost. Vagabond here doesn’t know how to read a blueprint.”

“Yes, I do, I followed it. The blueprint is wrong! Why don’t you try to read it? Oh wait, Rimmy couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag!”

“I was drunk! And it wasn’t a paper bag, it was a giant plastic tarp you wrapped me in!”

“Guys. The blueprint’s wrong, Gavin fucked up.” Michael dragged Gavin behind him, trying to find the stairwell.

“Michael!” Gavin squawked at him.

“Shut up, this is your fault. Should’ve checked your sources.”

“We found the stairwell. Meet you downstairs in a bit.”

-

The Battle Buddies slipped seamlessly into the party, Ryan sliding his arm over Jeremy’s shoulders, handing him a glass of champagne.

“Let’s find these paintings. If Gavin’s intel about the layout of this museum was wrong, the paintings are probably somewhere else as well.” Jeremy nodded, leaning into Ryan’s side.

“They’re supposed to be in the next room, because this is the one with the window facing Maze.” Jeremy slid his arm around Ryan’s waist, and they strolled casually through the crowd, all smiles and warm greetings to anyone who talked to them. Once in the next room, they both breathed a small sigh of relief to see the three paintings hanging exactly where they were supposed to. A small crowd milled around them, gazing in awe.

The paintings were recently recovered, as they had originally gone missing during World War II during Nazi raids. They had fortunately escaped destruction, only because the Nazis managed to misplace them. Or so the story goes. The history of the three paintings is mysterious and clouded in controversy, and some claim that they carry a curse. Utter nonsense of course, but the controversy and rarity of the art drove the value through the roof, meaning they were now worth about three hundred million dollars each.

Jeremy stood in awe, eyes full of stars, in front of the paintings. Ryan looked down at him, smiling. “Maybe we don’t sell all of them. Maybe we keep one.”

Jeremy snapped his head to look at Ryan. “We can’t. They’re worth more as a set.” Ryan could see the sadness in his eyes. Jeremy wanted them.

“Ehhh, whatever. We pull off the heist, we get the fame, who needs that much money anyway.” Ryan waved his hand.

“No, we gotta sell them all. I can’t screw the team like that.” Jeremy looked back at the paintings. “Besides, they’re cursed.” Jeremy wiggled his fingers at Ryan, laughing. Ryan grinned and led Jeremy away, keeping him close.

“Let’s go find the back room.” Ryan whispered to Jeremy, who nodded, and they slipped out of the room, just as Gavin and Michael finally made it down the stairs. They strolled into the crowd, Gavin easily plastering on a smile, schmoozing his way through the crowd, laughing and blending effortlessly. Michael shuffled along behind him dutifully, doing his best to look somewhat friendly.

“Team Nice Dynamite in place.”

“Battle Buddies in place.”

“Alpha One in place.”

“Alpha Two ready. Blow it.”

The twelfth floor of the Maze Bank exploded, fire blazing out of the windows.

“Oh my god! The bank’s exploded!” Gavin pointed out the window, his voice spurring the crowd to run to the wall-sized window facing the bank. The guards followed suit, abandoning posts as they rushed to the window, already calling 911. Michael hovered around the back, ready to turn any stragglers to the window. Gavin was at the front, doing what he did best – freaking out. Michael glanced over his shoulder to see the Battle Buddies carrying three boxes out of the stairs and into the adjacent room.

The Battle Buddies placed the boxes on the ground, moving swiftly to swap the false paintings from the boxes with the real ones on the wall. Jeremy stepped back to admire his handiwork as Ryan secured the paintings in the boxes. The paintings were similar enough that it would take time to arouse suspicion, but upon closer inspection would reveal differences pointing to the Fake AH Crew, including Rimmy Tim’s signature in the corner. Ryan placed his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, smiling at him.

Gavin glanced back at Michael, giving him a wide smile. Michael grinned back, watching the flames lick at the bank as sirens roared in the distance.

“I’ve lost Geoff.” Gavin’s smiled dropped instantly, as did Michaels. “His comm went dark when the bomb went off.” Michael whirled around to see the Battle Buddies, frozen halfway out the door, eyes wide. He waved at them, mouthing GO, GO. They snapped to, hurrying down the stairs. Michael turned back to Gavin, who was staring at the fire, his fear real now.

“I’m on the way. Gavin, go with Ryan to the airport.” Michael sprinted out the door, leaving Gavin behind. He sprinted across the street, behind the building next to the bank to avoid the prying eyes across the street. He turned and ran into the bank, running up the stairs, fighting through the smoke. “Jack, where are you?” Code names had gone out the window.

“I’m running down the stairs. Elevator’s shut down because of the fire.” Michael rounded the final flight of stairs, stopping short of the door to the twelfth floor. He could hear Jack a few floors above him. He pulled his undershirt over his mouth, taking a deep breath, before kicking the door in. There was nothing but flame in front of him. If Geoff was in there…

Jack ran up beside him, stopping just shy of running directly into the fire. He held a fire extinguisher. Before Michael could stop him, Jack ran in, spraying the fire extinguisher at the growing flames. Michael stared helplessly through the door, the flames slightly less. A few seconds later, Jack burst out of the flames, dragging a charred body, silver army ID tags around its neck. Michael’s heart fell. Jack dropped the body in front of Michael, who bent down and examined the dog tags.

RAMSEY

GEOFF L.

735-16-7238

O NEG

NO PREFERENCE

Michael sat down, face blank. He shook his head when Jack looked at him. Jack carefully lifted the ID tags off Geoff’s body before holding his hand out to Michael.

“Come on. The police will be here soon.” Michael took his hand, letting Jack pull him to his feet, and he followed him out of the bank.

-

“Gavin, let go of me and go with Ryan!” Jeremy shook Gavin off, who was clinging to his arm.

“But Jeremy, we can’t go! We have to find out if Geoff is okay!” Ryan took Gavin’s hand, pulling Gavin to him.

“He’ll be the same amount of okay if we’re here or at the airport. We, however, will be less okay if we stay here.” Gavin hung his head and followed Ryan to his bike, climbing on behind him.

“I’ll see you guys at the safe house. I’m turning off my comms to meet with the buyer.” Jeremy placed the boxes in the trunk of his car, waving to the other two as they sped off into the night. He slammed the trunk closed and slid into the driver’s seat of his car, leaning his head against the bright orange steering wheel, tears blurring his vision. He clenched his fists, biting his lip, holding back a scream. He tasted blood. He furiously wiped his eyes, starting the car. The radio blared at him and Jeremy punched it. The drive into the mountains was silent, save for the faint sirens Jeremy left behind.

He parked the car next to the black sports car on the mountain side. The cliff was dangerously close. Jeremy eyed it. He slid his sunglasses down, masking his red eyes. He stalked over to the other car, banging on the window. A tall man slipped out. Jeremy scoffed at his suit, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You got the paintings?” Jeremy nodded, leading the man to his trunk. The man opened the trunk, nodded at them, turned around and pushed a gun into Jeremy’s chest. “Thanks kid.”

Jeremy’s eyes flashed behind his glasses, grabbing the man’s wrist and spinning around, the gun balanced over his shoulder, facing the cliff. Jeremy flipped the man over, slamming him onto his back, before kicking him. The man tried to get up, turn his gun on Jeremy, but found his face broken, bruised, and bloody as Jeremy slammed his fist down. Jeremy grabbed him, dragging him over to the cliff. He threw the man down, his head hanging over the precipice. Jeremy pressed his knee into his chest, leaning down so his face was inches from the other man’s.

“You picked a bad day to kill me.” Jeremy pulled his gun from his waistband, holding it to the man’s forehead, his face stone. “Where’s the money?” The man’s eyes were wide as he struggled against Jeremy’s weight.

“There’s some in the trunk. It’s locked.” Jeremy dug his knee in deeper.

“The key.” The man pulled a key ring out of his pocket and threw it on the ground away from them. Jeremy grinned.

“Thanks.” He pulled the man halfway off the ground. “Not enough to save you though.” Jeremy said before shoving him over the edge of the cliff. He stood up, grabbing the keys and striding over to the sports car, unlocking the trunk. He opened the briefcase, glancing over the money. It didn’t look like quite enough, but it didn’t matter now. He had the paintings and the money. He flicked his comm on.

“Any news guys?” His voice wavered.

“He’s dead. Jeremy, he-“ Jeremy flipped his comm back off. He tossed the briefcase in his passenger seat. He sat on the hood of his car, facing the cliff, looking over the city. He ripped his comm out of his ear, throwing it over the edge. He didn’t move until sunrise.

As the sun rose, he slipped back into his car, driving back down the mountain. He drove through Los Santos, glancing briefly at the ruined floor of the Maze Bank. He kept driving, straight out of Los Santos, away from the safe house. Away from all he’d known for the last five years.

[pawsitivelycatty-blog]

just kind of venting

I hate being a diabetic. I hate it because it has been the cause of a lot of my anxieties the past...year or two, mostly because of what the doctor told me after they first discovered it. They asked if I’ve been having any pain in my kidneys and that diabetes can just ruin them if left unchecked...and before then who knows how long I could have potentially had it cause before then I hadn’t seen a doctor in years.

And it scares me, because I’m 25 with no job, and am only on my mom’s insurance until im 26 cause that’s the limit to it...after that nothing, and we don’t have the money for surgery and stuff like that should complications actually occur...and the past few days Ive had some vague pain in my right side and ahven’t really been peeing much i guess and it got me wondering “is this it?”

cause if something happens it more or less puts a countdown on my life and that...that honestly terrifies me. Sure in my states of depression thoughts of dying have come but those are under my control...but the thought of not being given the choice, the thought of having my own mortality thrust in my face terrifies me

I don’t know, I’m just typing this here cause honestly i dont have anyone to talk to about this, and bothering my mom about it would just worry her and she doesn’t need that after working from 4:30am to 3:30. She doesn’t need that.

maybe its just the stress of things getting to me but lately i’ve just been feeling very tired lately, and just not motivated to do much of anything rather than just lay down and sleep, but i can’t because i watch my cousin while she works...and just i dunno. maybe i’m just scaring myself 

If it gets worse I’ll probably end up going down to the clinic and talking about it, otherwise i’ll bring it up in 4 months when i gotta see my doctor again anyways for my bloodwork but...i dunno, its scary to think about.

Like what do you do when faced with your own mortality and basically said “this is how long you have left”

i dunno im probably just over thinking things but this has just been nagging in the back of my head for awhile and figured i need to get it out somewhere before i explode 

i dunno maybe i’ll talk to my mom about it after all...i dunno

this sucks

[what-happened-to-agent-georgia]

GRENADE

I heard it was Femslash February, so I decided to write a thing. Also on AO3.

Pairings: Ohio/Sherry

Characters: Ohio, Sherry, Idaho, Iowa

Word Count: 1707

Warnings: Canon-Typical Language/Violence

Summary: In a base with rapidly dwindling supplies, Ohio does her best to find a Valentine’s gift for Sherry.

When Idaho asks what Ohio’s doing for Valentine’s Day, she laughs in his face, spraying him with water in the process. She doesn’t feel too bad, even as he grimaces and wipes off his glasses, because he’s the one that made her laugh in the first place. So there.

“I’m sorry, my plans?” Ohio manages.

“Yeah,” Idaho says, wiping his sleeve across his face, “Your plans.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but we are literally stranded in the middle of nowhere,” Ohio snorts. “And you and Iowa are… not my type.”

Idaho rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his MRE. They’re sitting in their base’s only breakroom eating breakfast. Iowa has yet to make an appearance, which is slightly unsettling. He never oversleeps, so Ohio’s next thought is he’s got something up his sleeve for Valentine’s Day.

The thought of Iowa surprising her and Idaho wipes the grin clean off Ohio’s face.

“Look,” Idaho says, swallowing. “We both know you and Sherry have a thing, so let’s skip the part where you deny you’ve got something cooking.”

“I don’t know. What you’re talking about.” Ohio tilts her mug back to take a swig of water and remembers she spit the last of it at Idaho.

Idaho opens his mouth to respond but he’s interrupted by—

BANG!

“Uh oh.” Iowa’s voice drifts in through the vent above them, followed by a cloud of black smoke.

“What did you do, Mike?” Ohio shouts at the ceiling. She and Idaho both scramble to their feet, praying the building isn’t about to fucking collapse.

Iowa’s voice echoes through the ventilation system.

“I was trying to surprise you but there’s way more spiders up here than I thought there would be.”

“What was that noise?” Idaho asks, even though they all know the answer.

“I, uh, threw a grenade at the spiders,” Iowa replies. “Yeah, they’re all dead now, don’t worry!”

Suddenly the sprinklers kick in, dousing Ohio and Idaho and soaking the breakroom.

As Ohio pushes away a dripping strand of hair stuck to her face, she figures this is probably karma for getting Idaho earlier. She glances over at Idaho. Water covers his glasses, and he reaches beneath the lenses to massage his eyes, resigned to his fate.

“I’m, uh, gonna go get ready for my date,” Ohio says, and she sprints from the room.

Behind her she hears Idaho slip as he tries to catch up to her.

“I fucking knew it!” he calls out after her.

Pretending not to hear, Ohio skips off to her bunk.

#

Idaho did ask a great question earlier, Ohio thinks, toweling her hair off.

What is she doing for Valentine’s Day? Aside from trading chocolates in grade school, she’s never really celebrated it before. Never had the chance to.

There isn’t anything around the Triplets’ base worth mentioning—no chocolate, no construction paper for making cards, no candy hearts. Ohio frowns at herself in the mirror. God, she sounds so freaking childish. Candy hearts?

“You’re a goddamn adult, Ohio, you—you’re a Freelancer… ex-Freelancer… for Christ’s sake,” she scolds herself, leaning up against the counter and glaring at her reflection. “Think of something romantic, like, uh, shit, diamonds?”

Diamonds are supposed to be romantic, right?

Ohio snorts. Romantic, maybe, but ultimately worthless. And unattainable. The closest thing to diamonds—to gemstones in general—out here is the snow.

And yeah, lots of people do romantic things in the snow—write messages declaring their love, snow ball fights, building snow people, stargazing. If Ohio puts her mind to it, she can definitely think of something to do with the hundreds of miles of snow outside. But it’s too cold to make anything out of the snow, and any messages she might write will be blown away by the wind from hell.

Also, Ohio fucking hates winter, which makes being stranded on a perpetual winter wonderland the worst thing to ever happen.

Of course, Ohio thinks, shimmying into her armor, getting stranded here was also the best thing to happen to her.

“Ugh, there’s gotta be chocolate energy bars or something around here,” Ohio groans. Pulling her helmet onto her still-damp hair, Ohio sets out to scour the base for something to give to Sherry.

#

In the end, there are no chocolate energy bars, so Ohio settles on the last unopened jar of peanut butter. If there was one thing Ohio had expected not to find in the supply crates in their base, it was peanut butter, but the Triplets have absolutely demolished it. People with more self-control might’ve rationed it out, but Ohio, Iowa, and Idaho have never been known for their superb self-control.

On the lid of the peanut butter, Ohio draws a heart in black permanent marker. She frowns, inspecting her work.

A little lopsided, and the lid is green, so the color of the heart is kind of weird, but it’ll do.

With a sigh, Ohio scribbles a little message in the center of the heart, caps the marker, and tucks the jar of peanut butter under her arm.

She switches on her coms and says,

”Idaho, Iowa, I’m, uh, gonna do some recon. Hold the fort until I get back, okay?”

“Recon? Or Reconfession of your love?” Idaho shoots back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ohio scoffs. She’s been saying that a lot lately.

“Yeah yeah,” Idaho says. Ohio can hear the smile in his voice and her face goes hot.

“Remember not to taste anything you find because you might get your tongue stuck,” Iowa cautions.

“Thanks, Mike,” Ohio sighs.

She flips off her coms, grabs her gun, and ventures into the frozen wasteland outside.

#

Heart hammering against her ribs, Ohio makes her way through knee-deep snow towards Sherry’s base. Even in armor she feels anxious, naked, not just because she doesn’t have Idaho and Iowa watching her back, but also because she doesn’t have a jeep. That extra layer of metal and bulletproof glass might not be super effective, but it makes Ohio feel safer.

Oh, and the fact that she’s bringing a jar of peanut butter with a crooked-ass heart on the lid to the woman she has a huge crush on might have something to do with the sudden hike in her anxiety.

“You can do this Vera,” she mutters to herself. “You’ve fought creepy aliens, and, and made it into Freelancer, and survived for like two years on this godforsaken planet. Delivering a message? No problem. Deep breath, let’s go.”

Ohio reaches the foot of Sherry’s base as she finishes her pep talk. She looks up at the cold, metal wall, and swallows. Taking a shaky breath, she starts towards the entrance.

“Hold it right there, hot shot!”

Ohio squeaks and jumps back. Looking up, she sees Sherry, clad in armor, aiming a sniper rifle right at her.

She called me hot shot, Ohio thinks.

“What do you want?” Sherry shouts down to her.

“Uh, oh nothing,” Ohio babbles, “I just wanted to give you this!”

She holds up the jar of peanut butter and waits as Sherry peers through the scope of her gun. Her eyebrows furrow, and Sherry pulls away from the scope and frowns.

“Peanut butter,” she says, suspiciously.

“Yes, peanut butter,” Ohio agrees. She wishes her heart would calm the hell down, the whole planet can probably hear it.

“What for?” Sherry asks. The sniper rifle lowered a little.

“For, uh—”

Suddenly, any ounce of courage Ohio was hanging onto whooshed out of her body and she feels her knees start to give. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck….

In one fluid motion, Ohio brings her arm back, tenses, and chucks the jar of peanut butter at Sherry.

“GRENADE!” Sherry shouts.

With reflexes that would put the top Freelancers to shame, Sherry takes aim and fires at the peanut butter.

It explodes in a shower of glass and lumps of sticky peanut butter. Ohio’s heart sinks, but she doesn’t have much time to regret just how badly she fucked this up because Sherry’s turned her gun on Ohio now.

“Well, bye then!” Ohio calls before whirling around and taking off back towards her base. She hears shots, but they all land half-heartedly off to her left or right, sending up a small puff of snow each time.

Ohio bursts back into the base, keeling over as she tries to catch her breath.

Both Idaho and Iowa are waiting for her, and once Ohio is done wheezing, Idaho pipes up.

“So, how’d it go?”

#

Sherry wasn’t expecting it to, like, actually be peanut butter. She feels guilty as she fires at Ohio, doing her best not to catch the ex-Freelancer in the legs. Once Ohio is out of sight, Sherry sets her sniper rifle down and sprints down to the entrance of the base, nearly knocking Terrill down the stairs next to the mess hall.

She bursts out into the cold, grateful for her armor, and makes her way toward the carnage.

Her boots crunch on a combination of snow and glass as she inspects the damage. Sherry imagines the smell of peanut butter is overwhelming, but she’ll never know for sure.

A round, green object off to the left catches her eye, and Sherry strides over to take a closer look. Reaching down to pick it up, she realizes it’s the lid to the jar, somehow undamaged from getting shot midair.

Then she notices there’s something written on the top, and squints to get a better look.

There’s a little heart drawn on it in black marker, and in the middle of the heart is a message.

Happy Valentine’s Day or whatever, sorry all I have is this peanut butter, Iowa ate all the chocolate energy bars.

Sherry feels her heart skip as a grin splits her face.

Taking the lid inside, Sherry places it next to her bed.

Ohio’s upped her game, she thinks. Time to return the favor.

She doesn’t have any peanut butter (which is, in retrospect, her fault) but she’s pretty sure Terrill’s got some chocolate’s hidden somewhere.

Sherry blows a kiss at the Valentine’s lid and rises to her feet.

“Get ready to have your freaking socks, blown off, sweet cheeks,” she says.

[spxderman-s]

Plain Face [Part 3]

[part 1] [part 2]

pairings: peter parker x rogers!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: major angst, swearing, punching stuff, mention of blood

a/n: this feels so good to branch out and incorporate other mcu characters into my stuff omfg. it also felt really good to write this part because it got a little personal?? and so most of the angst in here are real emotions that i’m feeling. anyways--the much anticipated part 3!! 

tagging: @aussie-mantle @chicaplier-fourtris @tronnoristheotp @nedthegay @i-saved-me @theweirdowithablogo @skymoonandstardust @timemngmtoptimisationproblems @thumper-darling @holywinchesterness @grabyourpolaroidandmyhand @ketterdame @tonight-couldbeforgettable @dimplesandcutesmiles @terrashrone @leorai-lemony-lewa

  “Kid, you gotta tell her at some point,” Tony spoke absentmindedly as he tinkered with some rusted tech in his lab. The com in his ear he was speaking into let out an audible sigh, followed by:

“If I tell her, that puts her at risk,” Peter mumbled, talking on his phone to Tony in his own apartment--the door shut in case May was listening. He paced his room, folding and unfolding his arms. “Not to mention she’d never trust me again.”

“I don’t know, she’s Cap’s daughter--and we all know how star-spangled awesome he is,” Tony replied, rewiring some hardware. “Look, she’s a good, understanding kid. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Peter swallowed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “What happens if it isn’t fine?”

“Well, you’re gonna be working with her regardless, so it’s up to you.” A spark ignited from the tech in Tony’s hands, causing him to curse and drop it, and a knock sounded at his office door. “Listen, kid--I gotta go. Tell her the truth, and it’ll all be fine.”

The line disconnected, leaving Peter standing in the middle of his bedroom, phone still pressed to his ear. “H-hello? Mr. Stark?” After realizing Tony was no longer there, Peter gave another heavy sigh and tossed the phone on his bed.

“Peter?” May’s voice called out. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, wincing. He stared at his phone, knowing that if he texted her, she would reply right away. He wondered if she was home.

He opened his door just a crack, seeing May humming to herself in the kitchen, stirring something in a big bowl. He quietly slipped out, and was sneaking past the kitchen before she suddenly said, “Where are you going?”

Peter swore under his breath. “I--uh, was gonna get some fresh air. Can’t focus on homework.”

May saw right through him. Pointing her spoon at him, she said, “Are you gonna go hang out with [Y/N]?”

“I may go see if she’s--uh, home.”

“Is everything alright with you two?”

Peter took too long to answer. May set the bowl on the counter and crossed her arms, her glasses enhancing the worried expression that appeared on her face. Peter nodded his head vigorously, “Everything’s fine,” he said quickly. “School is just--whew. You know how it gets.”

May’s expression didn’t change, but she picked up her bowl and resumed stirring. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Peter nodded again. “I-I know. But I promise, everything’s fine.”

He gave her a half-smile, and quickly left the confinements of the apartment. Closing the door behind him, he stared at [Y/N]’s across the hall. It would be so easy to just go up and knock, to tell her everything--but he knew it wasn’t that simple. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he left the building without saying a word.

“You want me to do what?” you asked Tony, who patted the cinder block on the table in front of the two of you.

“I want you to hit it. Crush it. Test your strength.”

You exhaled a heavy breath, staring at your hand folding into a fist. “Just--hit it?”

“However you hit stuff, I guess.”

You lifted your arm above your head, thinking about how much this was going to hurt, and brought your fist down upon the block of concrete with all of your might. After a puff of grey powder exploded over you, only a dull ache throbbed in your hand. The dust settled, and you stared at the cinder block in front of you--completely smashed into two pieces of rubble. Tony had an excited grin on his face, offering you a towel.

“Holy shit,” you said, staring down at your fist. “Holy shit!” You wiped the cement dust off of your hands, and looked to Tony with your mouth open.

“How did that feel?” he asked, skimming over a tablet, checking your vitals. “Elevated heart rate, full of adrenaline. I’m guessing it felt good?”

“It felt….amazing,” you admitted, rubbing your throbbing fist. “Although it feels a little sore now.”

“You’re still human,” he reminded you with a look over his glasses. “You aren’t immune to pain, shock, whatever. I don’t think you or Rogers are immortal, either. Your metabolic functions are enhanced off the charts, and you’re basically immune to any kind of fatigue--but I don’t think that extends to death.”

Gulping, you didn’t want to think about you or your father testing that theory. “Being immune to fatigue makes sense now,” you said, changing the subject. “My fastest mile is seventy-three seconds.”

“And you never thought that was weird?”

You shrugged. “I just thought I was good.”

Tony stared at you. “You’re nearly twice as fast as the best runners in history.”

Opening your mouth to reply, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Sliding it out, you looked at the little message from your father that read: Working late, won’t be home until tomorrow morning. Sorry, kiddo. I love you.

Disappointment sank into your chest. Putting your phone back into your pocket, you looked to Tony, who was busy tapping onto his tablet.

“I, uh--I gotta get going.”

“Why?” he asked, not looking up at you. “Rogers is in Lagos until tomorrow morning.”

“How do you--nevermind,” you said, picking up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tony.”

He gave a mock salute, and you slipped out quietly from his lab.

Walking along the streets, you breathed in the crisp, night air. Cars continued to honk in the distance, a siren sounded somewhere, and you were pretty sure someone was yelling some obscenity out of their window. You couldn’t stop rubbing the fist that completely obliterated the block of concrete, the dull throb long gone now. You couldn’t believe that all this time--you had harbored this strength and endurance, what your father was famous for. It all passed to you. You were truly the daughter of Captain America.

A sense of anger fell over you the more you repeated those words in your head. Your father had to have known, and all this time--he kept you hidden from yourself. You tried to justify it, but no matter how your thoughts collided in your mind, you couldn’t find an explanation. Part of you didn’t want to.

How could you tell him without him getting angry at you, and especially Tony? You would have to leave him out of it. And Peter--Peter knew about him.

Peter. You had completely forgot about him, until you turned onto your street and up the stairs of your building. Fumbling for your keys, you decided to see if he was home. You needed to vent to someone, all of this information sitting in your head was beginning to bubble and fester.

Knocking on his apartment door, you heard someone get up and walk across the room. The door opened, revealing May’s smiling face.

“[Y/N]!” she exclaimed happily, opening her arms for a hug. “I haven’t seen you around a whole lot, is everything okay?”

You graciously accepted the hug, holding onto her tightly. Her perfume was sweet and comforting, and you never wanted to let go. You had never known your own mother, and you always longed for that special, maternal contact. May was beginning to fill that void--she was so welcoming to you, even before you and Peter had begun to spend time together.

“School is starting to get a little overwhelming,” you lied, breaking the hug.

May gave a sympathetic look, and gestured into the apartment. “Do you wanna come in for a bit? I made cannoli--new recipe. Peter went out for a walk, he should be home soon.” She paused for a moment. “I’m surprised he’s not with you.”

“I wasn’t home,” you said, shrugging. “I--uh, got a Stark internship as well. Stayed later than I anticipated.”

May clapped her hands excitedly. “That’s amazing! Hopefully you and Peter will work together, then.” She quickly ushered you inside before you could decline, sitting you at their small table by the kitchen. Placing a plate of cannoli in front of you, she sat opposite you and smiled. “Is everything okay between you and Peter?”

You picked up one of the pastries and tentatively took a bite. “Yeah, I think we’re both stressed out with school and work, that’s all.”

She didn’t seem like she believed you, but she dropped the subject. You both chatted mindlessly about anything else, until keys jingled in the front door’s lock. Peter stepped in, closed it behind him, and froze as his eyes landed on you and May sitting together at the table. Looking at him now you wanted nothing more than to run to him, to hold onto him for dear life, but you were glued to your seat, staring at him. May grinned, and gestured to you. “We were just having some one-on-one time--have some cannolis, join us!”

You glanced at the clock on the wall, and cleared your throat. “I--uh--I actually should get going. But thank you so much for the food, it was really good. And uh….thank you for talking with me. It was really nice.”

May smiled softly, and patted your hand. “Alright, don’t be a stranger, [Y/N].”

“I won’t,” you said sincerely. Picking up your bag, you skirted around Peter, who still stood awkwardly by the door, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt. “I’ll….I’ll see you at school, right?”

He nodded, not looking at you. An unwelcome pang of hurt hit you in the chest, and you quickly left his apartment and went into your own. Collapsing on the couch, you pulled your knees up to your chest and hugged them tightly. The room was dark and cold and empty again, and you found yourself beginning to cry silently. May’s perfume clung to you, and you started to cry harder. Alone. That was what you were familiar with, but you had gotten a taste of what family should be. You longed for a mother, even a father--just someone who would stick around. Someone who would stay, someone who would be your constant.

That angry feeling settled into your gut again. Furiously wiping the tears from your face, you noticed that your hands had turned into tight fists again, your fingernails digging into your palms. You needed to hit something.

In a few swift moments, you changed into the clothes you wore to work out, grabbed your duffle bag with waters, your gloves, some bandages, and left the apartment, slamming the door angrily--the sound reverberated down the hall, shaking the walls. You heard the sound of wood cracking, and glanced behind you. One of the hinges had shattered. You adjusted the bag on your shoulder and left the building.

“Was that [Y/N]’s door?” May asked Peter, cleaning up the kitchen table, listening to the sounds outside of the apartment. He sat up, alert. Something was wrong. Standing up, he turned to May to say something, but her expression said everything that needed to be said. He quickly grabbed his backpack in his room, and left out the front door.

He stopped in his tracks as he looked at [Y/N]’s own door. Making a note of the broken hinge, he looked down the hall for you, disappointment and fear setting in his bones. Afraid something had happened to her, he sprinted down the hall, taking his suit out of his backpack and donning it mid-run. He didn’t care at this point, all he cared about was getting to her.

You shoved the rusted key into the old door in Brooklyn, and shouldered it open with a push. It creaked, the familiar sound almost a welcoming committee. A rush of warm, musty air that smelled of sweat and salt hit you. The fluorescent lights blinked on as you flicked the switch, illuminating the punching bags hanging from the pipes in the naked ceiling. Dropping your bag to the floor with a thud, you pulled out your gloves and began wrapping your hands in them….but something made you change your mind. You left the gloves in your bag and approached the punching bag with bare fists.

All of the rage that had been bubbling and building up in your chest was manifesting itself in your trembling hands and tensed muscles. Standing in front of the bag, you envisioned your father--looking at you with disappointment. You imagined a faceless woman standing next to him, a mother you never knew.

You didn’t even realize you had struck the bag until you noticed it swinging, dust rising off of it. And it felt good. You hit it again, but harder this time. Pain lanced through your knuckles, but it only pushed you to hit it again and again and again, harder each time. You were crying now, angry tears running down your cheeks. You crashed your fist into the punching bag one last time, all of your known strength packed behind it, and the chain that held it up exploded--sending the bag flying clear across the room in a puff of dust. 

Standing there, breathing heavily, you looked down at your hands. A trickle of blood dripped from a split in your knuckles, crimson drops pattering on the gym floor.

Swallowing hard, the red curtain of rage was gone from your vision. Now you were just sad, going and picking up the destroyed punching bag with ease and tossing it over to the side of the gym. A heavy sigh escaping you, you wrapped your injured hand with the bandages in your bag, and left, shutting the heavy metal door behind you. You locked it, and after a moment of standing on the empty street, you threw the key in front of you, watching it disappear in the dark.

[part 4]