#i might have been on this website for like

[smidnite]

**WHEEZING LAUGHTER**

I began reading fanfiction in late highschool, in the grand ol' year of Y2K. Fanfiction.net was only a few years old, and MediaMiner.org was a baby, and BOTH were unknown to me.

Angelfire and Geocities reigned supreme, and others purchased their own domain name. Livejournal and Dreamjournal were the interactive media for your audience. Archive Of Our Own wasn't even a twinkle in the eye.

Tags were NON-EXISTENT.

You might, MIGHT get an author's note saying that there was a character death, but those were rare. The best you could hope for was a rating, but NOT with the MPAA letters that getsl used for American movies, because there was a copyright stink over that. (See the following paragraph.) You'd get WAFF, "warm and fuzzy feeling", TAFF, "tangy/ tart and fuzzy feeling" (things get a bit sexual, or a bit angsty, therefore"tart"), and you'd have your lime/ lemon qualifiers. Softcore vs Hardcore pornfics.

(You were 100% going to get the prerequisite "DISCLAIMER! AUTHOR DOES NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO THESE CHARACTERS!" at the beginning of every chapter. Because it wasn't unheard of for stories you'd been reading to be suddenly pulled off the website it was hosted on without even the AUTHOR knowing, because the site was afraid of copyright violation. GODDAMN ANNE RICE, but also posted song lyrics, book quotes, and using the rating system of the Motion Picture Association of America. Authors losing months, YEARS of posted writing, with NO saved copy on their hard drive, and hoping that a reader had saved a text copy to read offline. This is why WE LOVE AO3, for keeping crap like this from happening.)

Essentially, in the wild wild west of early online fanfiction, it followed the very similar pattern of the fanfiction printed in fanzines passed around fandom conventions: you got what you got and were happy you GOT it. Your favorite characters! Written by a fan like you! Interacting in ways that were canon and WEREN'T! Damn the consequences, read ahead!

Your feels were going to be FELT: the good, bad, and the ugly. And yeah, that ugly could be a VERY unexpected thing, and quite ugly to you. As someone who was raised in a conservative, religious household, there were MANY things that shocked me. But I was a determined little pervert 😅

The tagging system we have now is a beautiful structure, especially for those protecting their mental health.

But in a way, I feel like, as a fandom culture whole, we've become VERY spoiled with what we have. It is incredibly convenient to be able to use the tags to search for exactly what I want, instead of having to read whatever is right there. And it's very much a necessity now with how MUCH is available.

But it kinda feels like cheating when a fandom newbie can just grab whatever. Like you growing up playing video games that you had to BE GOOD at, and now new players can just mod the hell out of their characters and be on their way. No slogging through the trenches like the old-timers.

But yeah, tags. If you use them, READ them, otherwise be prepared for an old fashioned "read and find out."

When you’re in the middle of a fic and realise you’ve missed a very critical tag

[creatingblackcharacters]

Question 6 anon here, obvs u rlly don't have to but if u wanna argue w/ my comment pls do argue, if I'm full of shit I wanna hear it 👍 This question has been driving me up the wall for years I just want to know why ppl all seem to agree fandom racism is bad and agrees with all the arguments and yet everything's still so racist and would appreciate different perspectives

I just think that the idea you have, that the people who are racist and aren't don't hang in the same circles, is just fundamentally not true.

Like sure, Trumpers might not click on my blog to learn about designing Black characters lol. But a good majority of the antiblackness I've seen on this website has come from people who swear they're liberal or progressive or fight for some cause for something that they deem important... And then just don't apply that grace and logic to Black people. So you'll see people saying intelligent things... and hate negroes 🤣. And then you'll see those people being reblogged en masse by people who agree with their good takes... And maybe don't know about the antiblackness they were just spewing. Not that you can tell who does and doesn't, out of the tens of thousands.

So yes, y'all do hang in the same circles. Yes, the people who need this page very much are also people around you. We have to stop acting like they aren't. I have mutuals who reblog people that I won't follow, simply because I've seen those people keke-ing it up with antiblack, whitewashing bloggers. Even the distant connection there is enough for me to be like "nah, unfortunately I can't kick it with you", even though we're in the same fandoms and such.

Essentially, the call is more often coming from inside the house, and the unwillingness to approach it from within because "oh I'M not racist" is preventing it being answered. Every antiblack sentiment you see in fandom isn't gonna look like an overt slur. It's gonna be in the way people perceive and treat Black characters versus others, in the way they treat Black character design, the way they allow others to slide when they are racist because "their art is cool". That tolerance I've been talking about? That's where you see the line for people, and it's so much closer than folks think.

[yuurei20]

I see you mention Magical Archives a lot. Is that like an official artbook? Can I get it in English somewhere?

Hello hello! Thank you so much for this question, I have been hoping to write about this for weeks 🥳

The Magical Archives Game Guide vol. 1 (full name: 『ディズニー ツイステッドワンダーランド』公式ガイド＋設定資料集 Magical Archives ) is maybe the single-most informative Twisted Wonderland resource available!

It includes a huge amount of extremely detailed information, from gameplay to the characters to early-stage development illustrations to a multi-page interview with Toboso Yana herself, only one of two that she has ever given on Twisted Wonderland.

While it may be described as an artbook it is also much, much more, and if you are only capable of purchasing one piece of Twst merchandise in your life, it is absolutely the #1 thing I would recommend.

First published in 2020 it is still available for purchase from outlets such as Square Enix's Online Store, Amazon, Rakuten, Animate and more.

It is not currently available in English, but for a brief while Aniplex USA was releasing "Player Guides" for free via social media:

These were multi-page PDFs that were, visually, quite similar to the first 1/3rd of the Magical Archives game guide, but with updated gameplay information.

These game-guide-inspired PDFs combined with how out of date the gameplay information in the original guide has since become makes me wonder if maybe there not are any plans for any official translation of the original Magical Archives :<

There has since been a second volume of the Magical Archives released (in September 2024), but it is not quite as detailed as its predecessor, including gameplay information and a huge library of game sprites but very few sketches from Yana and no interviews.

On the subject of translated art books, there actually is an official English-language book being released in December!

While its English-language title is "The Official Artbook," this is actually one of four books of a series called "Visual Books!"

Much like the magical archives the first volume is the most detailed, including pre-colored base art and the occasional messages from Yana to the colorist (re: a comment that there is no need to put any light in Rook's eyes for his labwear vignette groovy ww).

The Visual Book Series is not really comparable to the Magical Archives, consisting of pre- and post-groovy card art.

The "Design Note" might be the closest to the usual definition of "artbook," consisting of insight into event outfits worn by various characters and even including a few sketches of unused designs.

Unlike the Magical Archives, however, there are no behind-the-scenes notes such as "He has a black-hearted side, so he may laugh with a hint of that often" (about Trey) and "He has vertically-slit pupils that become round in dark places" (about Leona), which can only be found in the game guide.

There are also volumes 1 and 2 of the Art Gallery! These are collections of artwork by artists that are unaffiliated with Twisted Wonderland, depicting Twst's characters, much like Square-Enix-branded fan art (no contribution from Yana involved).

Lastly, there are the fanbooks! Contrary to their titles they do not consist of any fan-made content.

Volume 1 of the Fanbook mostly consists of character/story overview, but it also has some fascinating etymology information and exclusive interviews with several members of the voice cast!

The second fanbook focuses moreso on events, and also includes detailed recipes of Master Chef cuisine, a report on the since-concluded Twisted Wonderland Exhibition, a look into a Twst-themed hotel room in Tokyo Disneyland's Ambassador Hotel, and more.

And a third fanbook was just recently listed 🥳 (Amazon link), said to include event, card and story content from the 2nd to the 4th anniversaries.

I hope this helps! ^^

[patriottruth]

For All Who Believe President Joe Biden, Vice President Kamala Harris and House and Senate Democrats Won't Enforce donald. j. trump's Insurrectionist Disqualification, Please Remember This Is A Chess Game With Multiple Pieces and Pathways to Checkmate donald j. trump and his entire MAGA cult.

I understand that some people reading the daily reminders of donald j. trump's Section 3/14A insurrectionist disqualification might want to believe it's some kind of misinformation because it's a major story that's being buried and kept out of American and global mindsets and thoughts, but there are a lot of trained artists here on Tumblr; and trained artists fully understand that your art will never read or come across properly if the negative space(s) surrounding your art don't perfectly communicate the art that they contain.

For instance, the negative space around your hand reinforces that your hand looks and reads right when you're looking at it, but it the negative space/air space surrounding your hand and fingers was identical to the negative space/air space enveloping a still life arrangement of fruit and random objects, your brain would be screaming that, for some strange reason, your hand and fingers actually look and read like a still life arrangement of fruit and random objects because your mind automatically fills in the blanks. donald j. trumps Section 3/14A insurrectionist disqualification reads right because it is right.

It doesn't matter that people are trying to help people forget, and hoping people will forget, that donald j. trump shouldn't have been allowed to run for office because of his Section 3/14A insurrectionist disqualification. Those people are desperately hoping no one will remember or start talking about the fact that donald j. trump was only allowed on the 2024 presidential ballot to avoid election chaos and disruption, but the Supreme Court made it clear that donald j. trump appearing on the ballot didn't clear his Section 3/14A insurrectionist disqualification, and that Democrats could enforce his insurrectionist disqulification the moment he was declared President-elect; and they could also enforce it upon all state electors in the Electoral College; and they could also choose to enforce it upon donald j. trump during the January 6, 2025 certification; and they could even enforce it after he was inaugurated if they wanted to hand the presidency to j.d. vance and still end American democracy and the U.S. Constitution via a j.d. vance presidency as a result of dragging their heels on the matter.

Here's a picture of the moment when donald trump told President Zelensky that Ukraine is at the mercy of putin and trump:

I get that there's a lot of anxiety surrounding this issue, and so to further empower people to address that anxiety and guarantee that President Joe Biden, Vice President Kamala Harris, and House and Senate Democrats will enforce donald j. trump's Section 3/14A insurrectionist disqualification by or on December 17, 2024, anyone who wants and needs futher assurances that people will do what they're legally required to do per their oath to the American people and the U.S. Constitution can simply contact President Zelensky of Ukraine via https://www.president.gov.ua/en and inform and remind him that donald j. trump is permanently disqualified from ever holding any federal or state office in the United States again because of his January 6th, 2021 insurrection and his attempts to overturn the results of the 2020 election. President Zelensky is meeting with NATO on Tuesday, November 26, 2024, and you could give the people that donald j. trump wants to gift wrap and give to putin for his new Soviet Union a lot to talk about while completely delegitimizing and invalidating donald j. trump's illegal election and presidency to the entire world.

If you need help translating President Zelensky's website, there's an "EN" selection in the upper-right corner of the site, but you won't be able to use it when you choose the "Information Request" form to contact President Zelensky about this matter. When you click the "Information Request" form, you'll have a number of checkbox options to select from. You can use Google Translate to translate everything if you like, but the bottom checkbox is "Email" (which will present you with an additional text box) and that's where you'll need to enter a valid email address that you don't mind using to receive a security confirmation code that will allow your message to President Zelensky to go through. The text box at the top of the form is where you can enter any name or identification you want to use to identify yourself to President Zelensky. The large text box is where you can help protect Ukraine from being conquered and colonized by putin's plans to restore the Soviet Union at Europe's and the entire world's expense, so that's where you'll need to type something along the lines of this (because you can't copy and paste this into that text box):

Dear President Zelensky,

Ukraine's present and future rely on you knowing and understanding this truth: Donald J. Trump is permanently disqualified from ever holding any federal or state office in the United States due to his January 6th, 2021 insurrection and his attempts to overturn the results of the 2020 election. Section 3 of the 14th Amendment of the United States Constitution permanently disqualifies all insurrectionists, Donald J. Trump included, from ever holding any federal or state office again without 70 Democrats in the U.S. House of Representatives and 17 Democrats in the U.S. Senate voting to remove his insurrectionist disqualification before December 17, 2024. Should Donald J. Trump's insurrectionist disqualification remain on December 17, 2024, no state elector in the U.S. Electoral College can legally vote to elect Donald J. Trump, or create any Electors Certificates to legally elect Donald J. Trump as President of the United States, because the state electors and the Electors Certificates would be illegal and void due to them attempting to give aid and comfort to a legally disqualified insurrectionist, Donald J. Trump. Please know and understand that Donald J. Trump is engaging in the federal crime of attempting to hold office while being a legally disqualified insurrectionist; and he has no legal authority or right to attempt to involve himself in Ukraine's, NATO's, or any other country's affairs in any way. Please contact President Joe Biden, Vice President Kamala Harris, and Democratic Leaders Chuck Schumer and Hakeem Jeffries immediately to discuss Ukraine's current and future alliance with the United States of America. Thank you.

Once you've typed such a message into the contact form for President Zelensky, you'll need to enter the CAPTCHA code at the bottom of the form and press the submit button (you may have to reset the CAPTCHA code if it's not working). Once you press the submit button, you'll be taken to a confirmation page where you'll enter the security/confirmation code that you'll receive via the email address you entered for President Zelensky to contact you. Once you enter that code into the confirmation box and submit it, you'll see a confimation notice that your message was sent.

Sometimes, the best way to ease anxiety is to do something empowering and reaffirming; and some people who experience anxiety might find that completely and permanently delegitimizing and disqualifiing donald j. trump from ever being President of the United States again, and also completely humiliating and discrediting him in front of the entire world, would be somewhat cathartic, calming, and empowering. It's possible that 10/10 anti-MAGA talk therapists would agree with this and be strongly supportive of an empowerment exercise such as this. And if you find this exercise to be cathartic and satisfying, please remember to also share the donald trump disqualification information with everyone you know and write to your elected representatives, Democratic Leaders Chuck Schumer and Hakeem Jeffries, Marc Elias and Democracy Docket, and Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington about donald j. trump's Section 3/14A insurrectionist disqualification.

Thanks again to everyone involved in protecting the entire world from donald j. trump, his MAGA cult, and their global dictator allies.

Every person joining this fight in any way is far more powerful than the entirety of nearly 77 million MAGA voters, AND donald j. trump, AND all of donald j. trump's MAGA cult "Republicans" in the House and Senate, AND all of donald trump's corrupt MAGA judges, AND all of donald trump's wealthy donors, AND all of the richest people in the world combined, AND all of the world's dictators AND the entirety of their entire political parties and supporters combined.

You're far more powerful, unstoppable, and inevitable than all of those people combined because you have the truth and the law on your side. And in this fight, when we fight, we win. We're already winning, and we're going to keep winning, because no one can stop the truth and the law from winning this fight for every democracy and all free peoples on earth. It's kind of a big freakin' deal!

[alexanderwales]

The second chapter of Save the Cat! is about genre, titled "Give me the same thing ... only different!". The general principle is one that I strongly agree with, even if I don't always practice it in my writing: you must know how and why things work in fiction, you must be a student of the realms you're writing in, you must give your own twists on clichés if you think you might be writing them, and must be familiar with clichés so that you don't end up boring people. Study things that are like the thing you're trying to create. Analyze them, take them apart, understand how they work or don't work.

But then a lot of the chapter is taken up with Snyder's own system of ten genres, and when I was reading it I wanted to just stop him and say "hey, what the fuck, did you even watch that movie?"

Also I laughed for like five minutes at him putting Schindler's List in the "Dude with a Problem" genre, even though I agree that according to his typology it completely fits.

I'm a huge fan of making up arbitrary categories and then stuffing things into them. I don't think it's often very useful, no, but it's fun, and when you're done shoving things into boxes, you can pull them back out, find a new set of boxes, and repeat the process. I'm not going to repeat Snyder's categories here, but I think they kind of suck, and don't accurately reflect genre as we understand them, and the whole thing would have been better off is it was taking story archetypes and saying why they work and then what the usual deviations from them were.

Here are two examples that I take issue with, among others. First, by his accounting Planes, Trains, and Automobiles is a "Golden Fleece" movie, the kind of film centered around a hero's journey where what he ends up finding is, ultimately, himself, and every set piece along the way is important only in the way it relates to the hero's self-acceptance or whatever.

No. Wrong. Planes, Trains, and Automobiles is very very clearly a "Buddy Love" under this system. Look at this fucking image:

Could this DVD cover make this any more obvious? Literally all the promotional material is like this. It even says in the book that most "Buddy Love" movies start with the "buddies" disliking each other, and that their relationship is central to the movie. And if Snyder is getting this wrong, what else is he getting wrong about his own system?

Example two. I'm just going to quote it in full:

Now look at The Matrix and compare and contrast it with the Disney/Pixar hit Monsters, Inc. Yup. Same movie.

Fucking what do you mean.

Under this system of genres, Monsters, Inc. is very clearly another "Buddy Love" movie. There's a kid they have to deal with, but most of the movie is grounded in the relationship between Mike and Sulley. Like, what's the low point of the whole movie? They get banished to the Himalayas and then have a big fight! It's about their relationship to each other!

(I looked this up on the savethecat website and found an article claiming that it's an example of "Monster in the House", which is fucking stupid, because what's the monster and what's the house? Just does not apply. The child is takes the role of the "monster" for such a small amount of the movie, then they're looking after her and trying to return her home, and even before that it's not relatable as a monster to the audience. Blake Snyder didn't write the article, so maybe he had something different in mind.)

Meanwhile, The Matrix most closely falls into either "Dude with a Problem" (ordinary man thrust into extraordinary circumstances) or "Superhero" (extraordinary man in ordinary circumstances) and I would argue that it's actually neither of those because it's a goddamned hero's journey and those are their own thing and it makes no sense to try to split them into two parts because you don't get more explanatory power of what's working and what's not. His analysis of what he calls "Superhero" films also sucks for that reason and just totally misses the mark about what makes them tick.

So how are these the same movie? I don't know, it probably made sense to Blake Snyder. I have done my due diligence and searched for answers online, but haven't found much, just some weak ass defenses.

Also, I really hated that he says Chinatown and Who Framed Roger Rabbit? are basically the same movie because no shit. Who Framed Roger Rabbit? is a parody of noir, and was adapted from the script for a never-produced third film in what was supposed to be a Chinatown trilogy. But even then, I don't get how you can say they're the same movie without pointing out the strong "Buddy Love" through line in Roger Rabbit!

This whole chapter was a total miss for me. Decent advice at the start that I've been hearing and preaching for a long time, but this typology sucks and he doesn't even seem to understand it (or the movies he's putting in it) very well. And since the typology sucks, it's a bad lens for understanding the underlying rules of writing, of story structure, the components of story, etc.

[vhstown]

ain't no love; pt. 5

"that's why i said ain't no love" (finale)

— miles g morales x gn!reader series

SERIES SUMMARY: Miles G Morales is just a kid without a father; the Prowler is just a "rotten" vigilante. Both of them start coming into your life one in the middle of the semester, the other by total accident.

SERIES MASTERLIST 📼 ← PART 4 / PART 5 / EPILOG. →

chapter summary: [MULTI-POV] Miles has been a ghost, so you decide to do your own digging. Your answer might have just found you first.

content/warnings: graphic depictions of violence and injury grieving, death

word count: 8.7k (WHAT)

a/n: hey 😁 there's gonna be a teeny tiny epilogue after this one but this is the official end to aint no love! thanks to @/qiuweyballs forever for proofreading this series wouldn't exist without him 🙏

"I need that edit by 3pm, Watson!"

"Got it."

Even if the office was filled with the constant clack of keyboards, or desk phones ringing, or even Jameson himself barking right by her ear — as he was right now — MJ still had to keep up her persona. Agreeable, non-confrontational, all part of company protocol. There was no time for personal opinions or rebuttals, other than Jameson's; she was sure everyone would start coming in tin hats if it meant keeping their jobs.

"You're falling behind, you know," he continued as she quickly clicked off of the email she was working on. "Going to that school fair of yours set you at least a week behind!"

"It was one afternoon, sir. And I'm all caught up, the edit's not due until—"

"The edit is due when I say it's due. You out of all people should understand how things work around here by now. Get it done!"

The man sauntered off without much opportunity for her to reply, a cup of coffee crumpling between his fingers that he probably had yet to take a sip of. The poor intern that had made it would be the next to get an earful when he did try it, she was sure. Too much sugar! Not enough milk! Did you make this with your eyes closed? she recalled. MJ had heard it all by now.

Jameson didn't really have the gall to fire her — she knew that at the very least. The article could wait, however. Visions was yet to release a statement about their fired teacher, and the article would just look like all their other ones — speculatory and clickbait-y with not very much actual information. The Sinister Six ones certainly did well though, always on their broadcasts and the front of their website. Even NNC didn't have as much notoriety as the Bugle did with its less-than skeptical audiences.

The Visions student, right. With a few pasted links and a couple attachments, along with a lackluster "Good luck!" tacked on the end, she hit send. Good to know kids still have dumb email addresses.

She didn't take being abandoned a second time at the fair personally, really — everyone was fifteen once — but she couldn't help but wonder what had happened. It was almost imperceptible, but she knew when a smile looked off. There was something noticeably different about you when you had come back.

"MJ, uh, can I get your business card by any chance?"

"You know what a business card is?" she had joked, but it hadn't done much to ease the discomfort. "Yeah, sure. Contact me if you need anything."

"Yeah, thanks."

You'd asked for articles. Specifically on the Chameleon, and on the recent Prowler activity. You hadn't told her much, just that you needed help compiling some information for school. Some... presentation. MJ wasn't sure whether it was a lie or not, but it was all publicly available information anyhow.

You'd also wanted any information on Visions "teacher", Garrett East. His arrest had been for identity theft, and nothing more. Not many had reported on it as of yet, given he was detained so recently, but you were an insider. He had apparently been your calculus teacher, and the man that he had stolen the identity of had supposedly gone missing a few months before Garrett returned in his place. At least, that's all she had of her article. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to send it to a random high school student before her own boss, but it also wasn't like the man had any real idea what went on in his company. It was a wonder they managed to get through the quarter.

It was just a favour for someone nice she'd met. Maybe it'd repay her in some way in the future, most likely not. Regardless, she couldn't help but smile a little when she noticed her phone light up, a "thank you" text under your name. If only she actually had a work phone number, and it wasn't just her regular one. Visions students making connections already, it seemed.

The time on the screen was 2:41pm. She was met face to face with her wallpaper once again — a low-lit picture of her and a brown-haired man with glasses, the two of them smiling, red faced and dressed like their college selves. Peter Parker, her fiancé. They were holding those terrible beers he'd sworn by. He was a photographer, but this was one of the only pictures he'd taken of them together. It was shot on a bite-sized digital camera they'd bought for college, but never ended up using much. Now, it was all she really had.

Maybe the Chameleon really had come back when Peter had gone missing. Maybe it had something to do with you, with Visions

You probably already had a lot on your plate. And so did she. If she had anybody to chase, it was Otto Octavius. He'd offered Peter an internship in Manhattan. She'd never seen the man herself, only heard from him how good of a person he was, how this was going to get him a job and that it'd be good for them. That he'd finally get some use out of his degree and get to pursue science instead of taking "crummy" pictures for the Bugle. That they could save up for their wedding, and...

That was in Manhattan. The disappearances now were in Brooklyn. And even then, it was coming close to a year since he had disappeared.

She was always running in circles, at the command of an old man with a head too big for his body.

2:43pm. MJ turned off her phone, sliding it into her pocket.

Better get this edit finished.

2:43pm. Wednesday.

Ideally, with a couple days off of school, you would probably be at home, or maybe even out doing something fulfilling with your life. Maybe you could've even gone somewhere with Miles, if he hadn't up-and-disappeared along with every trace of him.

Your unread messages to him faded to black, leaving you to stare at your own face. Maybe you could've used those extra days to sleep, if it hadn't been for the chilling glow of purple eyes or the melting disfigured face that threatened to materialise everytime you closed your eyes.

What did he even like? Comics that he'd mentioned to you once? Of course he'd want to go to a comic book store with you after you'd made fun of him for seeming to want to deal with criminals himself. If only he'd come save you from Brooklyn Public Library right now. You were certain it couldn't get any more swampy in here with all the Visions students scrambling to do their off-day work right now.

Reading through the reply to a ballsy request you'd given to the Bugle's head journalist, you had a few questions in mind other than the ones concerning your disappearing, sort-of friend. Was all this research really practical? Maybe not. Would it help you sleep to know that the guy that had been teaching you calculus since the start of sophomore year was actually posing as a man that had gone missing months ago?

Another very normal thing that only seemed to happen to you.

Maybe you just attracted bad luck. That girl in your history class had joked about it last year, after you'd bumped into your teacher and every single paper he'd been holding had fallen to the ground in one scattered disaster. She wouldn't let it go, and it appeared that your brain wouldn't either.

Or like that time you went to Oscorp on a visit day and happened to be the only one there, trapped with a shapeshifting monster and the Prowler on the 90 millionth floor of that god-damned tower.

Maybe it was bad luck, or maybe you were cursed — or maybe you just walked into these situations on purpose. Like right now, sifting through years of articles on real criminals, with nothing but a hunch or fifteen.

The Chameleon had been arrested, like Miles had said, eight years ago on accounts of identity theft, much like your "teacher" but also very little like your teacher. According to what you were reading, Dmitri Smerdyakov been dubbed "the Chameleon" for a string of carefully orchestrated take-overs of big companies after impersonating their CEOs. His defence had argued that the big names in these companies were gone because they "wanted to be free of the burden of running their own companies".

You didn't have to be a journalist to make a face at that.

There was no mention of shapeshifting, as you'd seen with Wellston and Stromm. Just a couple lousy identity theft charges that didn't add up to their total amount anyway. This guy had more luck than you'd ever had.

The only other person that had seen any "shapeshifting" happen was Miles, and although he'd seemed surprised, something about his reaction was strange. You couldn't place it, but there was some sort of analytical twinge in his eyes, as if he was solving a math problem and not looking at someone shapeshift for the first time. You didn't know anything, really. Miles seemed like he did, though. If only you could bump into him and wring it out of him. And maybe go buy overpriced comic books with him and forget about the fact that your teacher had been arrested and midterms were coming up and maybe even become actual friends.

If only you were that lucky.

If only it was that easy to move past, as well. The fact that someone that had been involved in disappearances 8 years ago might be mixed up with this, along with the recent uptick in missing people made you feel uneasy. Surely any detective would have put two and two together by now, but remembering the fact that the shapeshifter had turned into a literal police officer dissolved any reassurance that thought might've brought. You were in a public library surrounded by unoptimistic college students, parents with their kids and even some of your own classmates, but the feeling was completely your own, tucked away behind a computer screen and a booked monitor session.

You couldn't be scared, though. You'd already seen probably the scariest thing in your life, kind-of almost died, and been wound up in so much craziness you knew so little about. If only high school had prepared you for researching literal criminals.

"Your 30 minute session is over. You will be logged out shortly."

God damn it.

If only Brooklyn Public Library's computer sessions weren't 30 minutes. You didn't want to log back in anyway, not if someone had booked after you. You could go back home, the library had just been an excuse to get out, really. Not that you'd made a whole new email and signed in as a guest on the computer. Not that you were paranoid.

Picking up your bag and checking your messages one last time you made a beeline for the exit. Well, less of a line and more of a strange obstacle course through the swarm of people. And of course you had to knock into someone. Just your luck.

"Hey, sorry," you mumbled, hands raising just a little in apology. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah..." The person dusted themself off a little with a frown, before looking up to meet your eyes.

Rafael?

"Hey, it's you," he realised, eyes widening as if he'd just gotten lucky.

Out of all places...

"I... gotta go."

"No, no, wait. I need you to do something."

Of course you do.

"I really don't have the time," you whispered back, as he caught up to your advance towards the doors.

"Uh, hey, listen... You talk to Miles, right? Like, he's your friend?"

"Yeah...?" No...? You weren't even sure at this point.

"Uh, look, I need you to tell him something..."

"What, you're in love with him?" you spat, finally looking at him again. "Cause it seems like it. You're always talking about him. Always talking to me about him."

"What?! No the f*ck I'm no—"

A much louder "shhhhhh!" got your attention. The librarian didn't look too pleased. Neither did any one of the people who turned to look at you.

"I'm not gay, man!"

So, the two of you were now out on the street as Rafael defended his sexuality with nothing but exasperated hand gestures.

"I didn't say that."

"Okay, well I'm not. Damn, why are you acting weird for?"

"Your face is red."

"I'm black!"

"That melanin isn't doing anything for you."

"Shut the f*ck up!"

You rolled your eyes, hiding the way the corners of your mouth were starting to lift with a deep exhale. The poor guy was not very discreetly checking his face right now with the back of his hand.

"What, then? What did you wanna say to him so bad?" you asked, instantly making him retract his hand from his cheek.

"Forget it."

"No, tell me. You got us all the way out here for no reason?"

He gave you a look, before promptly looking away, mumbling something under his breath.

"Didn't hear that." That made him groan loudly. It was akin to a petulant child, if not a few octaves deeper.

"I'm... sorry."

Huh?

"You're... sorry?" you repeated, making him let out a huff.

"Look, I..." Rafael met your eyes again, his narrowing uncomfortably. There was something strange in his expression. "My mom's missing. I dunno who to tell. I know I messed up and I... I get it now. I get it. The thing with his dad."

Oh sh*t.

Remorse. That was what you were seeing in his eyes. Or maybe regret. Neither you thought you'd ever see from him.

"Tell him I'm sorry. Or don't. Whatever," Rafael muttered, kicking a bottle cap on the ground until it skittered to a halt by a dog, who found interest in it as its owner tried to tug it along the pavement.

"You can't tell him yourself?" you replied, brows furrowing. As bad as you felt, this was a personal matter. You weren't about to be a parrot for the guy that hadn't grown out of his bullying phase.

"You think he'd listen?"

"It's understandable if he doesn't."

"And what if he doesn't come back?"

"Why..." What? "Why wouldn't he come back?"

"I... dunno. Why can't you just tell him?"

Huh. "Why wouldn't he come back, huh?"

Rafael gives you a sort of reserved look, as if he's contemplating whether or not to lie to your face.

"I heard something about him while I was in that office. He's like... withdrawing from the school."

"He's... what?" Withdrawing from the school? Could he even withdraw that fast? "Why?"

"I dunno, damn! Just... forget it. I don't know why I even asked you man."

Rafael turned to leave, a scowl forming on his face.

"Hey," you called out, looking away before he could meet your eyes. He didn't turn around, though.

"What?"

"...I'm sorry about your mom," you managed, before he could go far enough. "I hope they find her."

"Yeah," he muttered, before throwing his hood over his head.

And now your friend, not-friend, study buddy was gone. The only person you kind of got along with at all outside of just one class. Another person missing. Rafael's mom. Maybe you needed to get out of Brooklyn for college. You certainly wouldn't miss the subway all too much, you thought, crammed in-between people.

"Stand clear of the closing doors, please."

As soon as you got out of the station and into the street, you were met with a familiar face among the people passing by. Instead of the Visions uniform, he was in a jacket too big for him, crinkled sweatpants and purple Jordans.

Miles. Calc-wiz. Mr. Disappearing Act. Withdrawn from the school, now in front of you and definitely already getting on your nerves.

He was looking at you, a hint of surprise in his otherwise smoothed-over features.

"Miles?"

"Yeah. Can we... talk?" His cheek dimpled with the awkward half-smile you'd only seen a couple times, but you were so strangely familiar with. You didn't know whether to freak out at him in front of a crowd of people or head home and hope that he didn't follow you.

"...Sure," is what comes out of your mouth.

Just your luck.

"~Ain't no love—" Skip.

"~Ha, sicker than your average—"

"Poppa twist cabbage off instinct..." Skip.

Miles was getting sicker than average of his uncle's playlist. Maybe working in silence was better.

He took out his earbuds, setting them on his mess of a desk and picking up the screwdriver again. Uncle Aaron was busy, "out of town", as his voicemail said. Probably doing something Miles wasn't supposed to be involved in. He'd be back in a day or two, as always. Never in one place too long.

Even for someone so experienced, he knew this was his uncle's first real "vigilante" gig. Uncle Aaron wasn't getting paid, nor was he working under someone trying to solve a cold case Jeff had been involved in with his colleagues. His dad was no detective, but always seemed to want to help out, and the police were getting desperate with all the recent missing person's cases. There was no real pattern, and sometimes people would be returned just fine. That's what the police were hoping for.

Dr. Stromm had disappeared for about 2 weeks, and returned to his normal work at Oscorp. That could be excused for a vacation off of work, for all anyone knew. Wellston, however, was still missing. Probably dead. Just a couple had turned up dead. It was so unpredictable that they all seemed unrelated, but the kinds of people going missing were all of use — scientists, lawyers, bank tellers. Wellston had been getting his PhD while teaching before he went missing. All people of use to the Chameleon.

Whoever his uncle was working for at the same time as all of this likely had no idea. He was probably working for that person right now, even when they had this case to deal with.

Miles had only been up to this after his dad had passed, and he knew he wasn't as polished as Aaron — not after what happened at Oscorp. Those gauntlets couldn't focus their energy, even if they were more powerful and he could charge shockwaves through the air almost instantaneously, and he had bragged about it a little too much when they'd tested it in the garage.

Now, he had faint lines on his skin from the excess heat, and had been taking them apart and rebuilding them for weeks in his room. His visor needed work too. It was way better in depth, but the resolution sucked. Even then, he was sure he could make something better than what his uncle had. Rigorous training wasn't enough to do this sort of work. He had to do his own thing, even if he was taking up the same schtick. Eventually his uncle's beard would gray and he'd have to be the real Prowler.

He was a good guy, after all. Like his uncle, like his dad.

By deduction, the Prowler was a good guy too. But he wasn't the Prowler today. He was Miles. The Miles that had been shouted at for trying to quit school again. The Miles that was fifteen and spent his days off building crappy gear.

Maybe on a day like this he could spend time with other people like he did in middle school. Go to a fast food place, or go to Micah's house to play video games, or hang around in some parking lot and run when he and his friends accidentally set off a car alarm. The sun was setting outside his window now. It felt like those evenings where he was reluctant to be taken home by his dad, after he was at Micah's playing GTA on Micah's older brother's console, laughing and screaming, Micah's sister shouting at them to shut up from the hallway.

Miles puts the visor down, walking up to his window and pushing it open. The air didn't get any warmer around this time of year, a cold wind brushing past his face as he stuck his head out to look at the city below.

Above him was the half-finished mural. A colourful backdrop of red and blue, and purple. His dad's face without the glasses, hat without the logo, the text outline without the actual text.

"Captain Jeff Morales. Husband, Hero, Father," read the ghost of the text.

His dad wasn't missing. There was no hope of him turning up one day, and that he could leave the mural unfinished and paint it over with something else. There was no hope that he'd wake up one night and instead of finding himself grasping at air it would be his mom shaking him awake to tell him his dad had come home.

His dad was dead. His dad was facing him right now and smiling like he did every morning before he left the house. His dad was painted on a brick wall, missing his glasses.

Miles knew he wasn't smiling for him. He was smiling for the city. He was the face of PDNY, captain for half a day alive and for the rest of eternity until Brooklyn forgot him, deceased. The mural had made him feel better when he hadn't been able to leave his own bedroom and decided to get up and start it with his uncle, but now he felt all sorts of emotions swirling through him. Regret, anger, grief, all of it at the same time — only to stop right at his tear ducts, tightening his throat.

He hadn't cried back then; his mom shared the pain of the both of them, even now. Even when they went to his tombstone, she was the only one that had cried as he'd kept a reassuring hand on her back.

Selfish, were the tears that blurred his vision, not heavy enough to roll down his face.

He sat, staring, eyes stinging yet soothed by the moisture. The sun cast a halo around the building, the mural in shadow and the city behind flooded in red-orange light.

"Husband, Hero, Father."

Was he a hero before he was his father? He had painted that himself. He knew his dad was a good guy. Was he a good guy before he was a good dad?

His thoughts were interrupted with the buzz of his phone in his pocket. There was a message on the notification bar, overtaking the text he'd been yet to reply to from his mom.

Are you the miles talking to me right now 1m ago

It was you.

Cause you're acting weird

And you just read my message without taking out your phone

What the...?

no wtf are u talking abt Read 4:51PM

where ru Read 4:51PM

His fingers hovered above the keys, glancing briefly at the gauntlet at his desk.

With a guy that looks exactly like u

You're the real miles right

He wracked his brain for something, anything as he ran back towards his desk.

6 liters per hour Read 4:53PM

What???

OH

Okay calc genius help me out please?????

He let out a breath between his teeth, shoving his gauntlets in his backpack and throwing on his gear haphazardly.

The Chameleon. Becoming him.

I'm at Marge's on moore st

ok just stay there go into the bathroom Read 4:55PM

don't leave til i text u Read 4:55PM

What are u gonna do??? the restaurant is empty

He's gonna look for me

He was acting so weird if that's not u then it's probably chameleon right

So you did believe him about the Chameleon. Or maybe you were the Chameleon and just being incredibly smart. He couldn't be 100% sure. Not like he ever was. Swooping out of his window, he threw his hoodie down to hang off the fire escape stairs before starting to run up the side of his building, shoes vacuuming him to stand horizontally.

probably Read 4:55PM

ur gonna take him outside in a couple min Read 4:55PM

Why???

just trust me Read 4:55PM

ill be there in 3m Read 4:56PM

The sky was now a shade of blue-purple, the reds and oranges dissolving behind the skyline. It was getting dark, and fast.

Okay

Manoeuvering through the maze of buildings with his shoes keeping him a thousand feet from being heard or seen, Miles headed for Moore Street with the little map in his peripheral vision. When he got there, all that welcomed him was a lone street lamp that had yet to turn on, a couple of closed local grocer's and a dimly-lit diner named "Marge", a discoloured space next to it the shape of an "s". Close enough.

Sifting through the modes on his visor, he settled when he saw the outline of two people. One strangely shaped like him and one strangely shaped like you.

He climbed down a little, dimming the lights on his gear completely as he receded into a small alley. The guy definitely looked like him physically. Tall, handsome, standing outside the bathroom, shifting on his toes...? Creasing my Jordans? Seriously?

Oh, yeah he had you to deal with. And himself, apparently.

leave now Read 4:58PM

Miles had about zero idea how to, but he needed to figure it out in about 30 seconds from now.

K

You made your way out of the bathroom, and he moved to the side of the diner you were closest to from outside to get a better view.

"...Gotta go home..."

"...Lemme walk you..."

As you left the store into the empty street, he could make out the slight twinge of nervousness on your face as you looked around ― probably looking for him and finding nobody.

"Hold on, I gotta text my parents..." You took out your phone, turning yourself a little to obscure the screen.

"Yeah, that's cool." Sounded almost exactly like him. Creepy.

go into that alley on your right and run home Read 5:00PM

Ur kidding

you gotta trust me Read 5:00PM

At that moment, you took one last look at your phone before turning into the alleyway. You were just a couple quick steps into the alley when his doppelganger grabbed yourshoulder.

"What the hell are you doing, Miles?!" you shouted suddenly, trying to pull yourself free, only to be thrown against the wall of the alleyway.

"I'm doing you a favour. You're not going to school anymore," he responded, his tone suddenly flat and nothing like it was a moment ago.

"What are you talking about? I'm just trying to go home."

His doppelganger was now featureless, his face melting away into the blankness Miles still couldn't describe. The panic on your face is visible from yards away. Miles just has to catch him off-guard. Without hurting you. He could do that.

"So you are the Chameleon," you muttered, still trying to pry his hands away as his grip wrinkled your clothes further.

"Ah, so you did figure it out. Excellent." That definitely didn't sound like him anymore. "You were always the most interesting in that class of yours."

"You... You were the one who was at those after-school classes, huh? And at Oscorp. And that... fair." That you were right about. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem is that I need a little something from your school, and you seem like the easiest solution."

"Couldn't you do that while you were a teacher? You got that other guy to be arrested in your place. Aren't you done?"

"It looks like you have me all figured out. Except for one small thing."

"What?"

Something glistened by your neck. Sharp. Metal. He had a knife pressed to your throat, the blade just managing to dent your skin.

"You're going to die."

Missing. Sometimes they turned up. Other times they were probably dead. If he didn't figure this out, you were dead already.

"I'm... I kind of figured that too, you know."

"Oh, really? Aren't you something?" There was something like a grin on his face, but it was too misshapen to really tell. "So unaffected. So controlled."

"How do you even... turn into these people? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Take a guess. An educated guess is always better than nothing." His voice pitched up into Wellston's awkward sing-song, repeating what he used to say in class. Near-perfectly.

"Why are you so sure you won't get caught?"

"That's not an answer, and I can't exactly reveal such things, you know."

"Not even when you're about to kill me?"

"Oh, unfortunately not."

"Go f*ck yourself." That made the man laugh. If he wasn't in this situation right now, Miles might have managed a smile at that.

"Yeah, go f*ck yourself," he muttered, voice being caught half-way into his modulator in a grainy, deep sound.

In an instant, Miles soared above the two of you, foot smashing itself right in the centre of the Chameleon's face, his knife clattering to the floor. As he stumbled back, you got up, taking the opportunity to run, footsteps hard against the pavement.

Suddenly, the Chameleon was stuck between the wall and Miles' knee, steadying himself with his hands against the brick. Miles could make out some kind of morphed look of glee on his face as his clawed hand clamped him to the wall by both sides of his neck. The lips and teeth were starting to form through the flesh, and Miles let the energy build up in the converter as the smile fell into place, cell by cell.

"You don't want to kill me," he stated, simply.

"Pretty sure I do." Miles' claws just scraped at the skin starting to form at his neck. The quiet whirr of his gauntlet starts to become audible.

"You can't kill me. I am everywhere."

If everywhere is right in front of me, I mean...

"I know what you're doing, Dmitri. It ends here."

"I know what you're doing, Prowler."

He finally sees it, what's forming on the man's face. It's him.

"One of my best students, I never would have guessed," he started, grinning wildly, with some sort of overwhemled excitement.

Miles felt his mouth go dry, his face under the mask paralysed as the one staring at him continued to smile.

"The DNA that I retrieved from you is that of... Miles Gonzalo Morales."

It was as if the shockwave forming in his gauntlet slowed with time itself as he came to stare. He was looking at himself. Smiling. Grinning. Crazed. Miles Gonzalo Morales.

"Kill me. I have my assets, and subordinates. They will end you. Your mother, Rio. The hospital she works at. Your uncle, Aaron."

The quiet whirr in his gauntlet faded into silence. He felt his hand retreat, leaving the Chameleon, still posing as Miles, grinning, unblinking, and flat against the wall.

"Oh, you've made a very good choi―"

SLAM!

Metal met with bone, an audible crack following as Miles' clawed fist met the wall, the Chameleon's face smashed between the two.

"You mother... f*cker..." he breathed out, voice choked through the sudden rush of blood, smearing against the wall as he lifted his face from it.

Miles pointed his gauntlet at him again, the whirring renewing itself to a high-pitched scream, light purple expanding between them and tearing through the alleyway like fire.

"Muerto el pollo." (Job done.)

The man's reforming grin was overtaken by the brightness of the blast, energy snapping into one focused point before hurtling through the air, right at the Chameleon.

Miles felt his ears start to ring. His body was lightweight. Airborne.

His back hit something hard, and suddenly the lightness was replaced with an erratic clawing spreading up his arm. The light flickered into sparks that led fire under his sleeve, eating away at his skin. Burning. The blindness faded away, eyes managing to focus. All he could see past the smoke was a figure approaching him, and a hysteric laugh that grew louder and instantaneously changed pitch.

"So confident," is what he could make out through the ringing in his ears that had bled through his head into a sharp, disorienting pain. "I almost thought you had me."

Ripping the burning gauntlet off of himself, he noticed something jammed in the converter as he shook the heat from his arm. Some sort of sabotaging device. He'd had just a few seconds before the burning would've made it past his skin. The Chameleon had planned this.

Looking to his other gauntlet, he noticed the same device, ripping it out before crushing it under his foot. Never twice.

Swallowing back the cough building up in the back of his throat, Miles made a move for the Chameleon, before catching his figure turn left ― running.

Coño. (F*ck.)

Launching himself up, Miles locked onto the man, hurtling through a series of alleyways, fluidly dodging every obstacle in his way as if to waste no time. He could not let him get into a crowd and disappear. This had to end here, even if he had no god damn plan and his uncle was sure to scold him when he got back. He wasn't going to let you or anyone else get killed by this crazy f*ck.

Miles threw himself down into the next alleyway, hearing heavy, fast footsteps, someone approaching in his vision.

Just a little closer.

SLAM!

He threw the Chameleon down onto the ground, noticing he'd already changed appearance.

That face. No, this wasn't the Chameleon.

It was... you. And you were looking right at him. Terrified.

"Please, please let me go," you mumbled, gasping for air in-between words... "I... You're the... Prowler, I― Please― The... That guy's after me and..."

Your head fell against the concrete, an exhausted look in your eyes as you caught your breath.

"Please. I didn't... I didn't do anything. I can keep quiet about you, I haven't told the police anything. About Oscorp. Nothing."

"I know it's you, Chameleon." You would've ran far away by now, he was sure.

"I―I swear I'm not. I'm not him, I don't know how to prove it to you, but... I called my friend for help and... he never came. Please. Please let me go. I don't know where the Chameleon is right now."

Another set of footsteps came towards the both of you.

"I'm right here, Prowler," emerged another voice from the alley.

It was... you?

"Come on. Weren't you looking for me?" the other you continued, half-hidden in shadow. "Come get me."

So the you on the floor... was actually you. And this...

"Please, that's... that's him, you've gotta let me go," the you that was on the ground muttered, exasperated. There was a waver in your voice. In the way your eyes widened looking at him. Almost like confusion.

The Chameleon was right there. Admitting that he was in fact the Chameleon. While he was trying to run away.

"Please," he heard below him, a quiet, desperate whisper in the silence.

You both looked identical. Even though he'd injured the Chameleon, the both of you were unscratched. You both sounded the same too, from what he could decipher. No real way to tell you apart. And his only answer right now felt like a trick.

He kept eyes on the you standing before him, barely making out a face. Something was there, in the way that you looked, the way you stood. Something strange, something he couldn't figure out fast enough to make any decision.

And then, he felt a little pinch. One that suddenly exploded and tore through his flesh, wrangling with every one of his nerves as his body seized. You had lost your scared, desperate expression, your face now distorting along with his vision into that of a smile.

"I understand," a voice started, ringing through his head as if it was everywhere. "You want to help me."

The pain was clawing its way through his body from a point in his leg. He turned his head, noticing the discarded needle beside him. He'd managed to ease his hand just close enough to administer it. You ― no, the Chameleon, lifted himself from the ground, before Miles felt his head spin hard with a kick.

"I admire you, your wit," he called out, letting out a laugh as he started to walk towards you. "Turning against your own savior. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."

No, no... There was... there was no way you were working with him. There was no way you...

"You have proven yourself. You'll be better than... than that Garrett fool. I've changed my mind."

Miles rummaged in his utility belt for something, anything. He had no idea what he'd been given, but it was already running through his blood, reaching his brain and poisoning every part of it.

"Your friend over there is going to be unconscious in about half a minute. Why don't you take care of him? I'll be a fool to kill you once you do."

Get up, Miles.

His head throbbed with the sound of your footsteps, each one getting louder and louder. His limbs were weakening. He could barely lift his head.

Get up!

"Dad... Dad? No no no... Get up, get up!"

The gauntlet was slowly slid off of him, now in your hands as his arm fell uselessly onto the ground in front of him.

The gauntlet clipped onto your arm, fingers moving as yours did. He felt the metal claws just scrape his helmet, a faint clink echoing through his skull.

Miles didn't want to look at your face, but he couldn't find it in him to look anywhere else. There was that something from before in your expression that he couldn't quite place, and he still didn't have an answer. It bothered him, for some damn reason. Not the fact that he had his own weapon pointed to his brain as he was losing consciousness. Not the fact that he couldn't move. Not the fact that his last thoughts were about the look on your face and not his mom, or his dad.

Whirrr...

That brightness that the Chameleon had been staring at before was now staring right at him. Overwhelming, blinding, all-encompassing. He felt the faint heat on his skin, as his eyelids grew heavy. Something like warmth in contrast to the cold metal, if just for a second. Something like knowing in your eyes. Something hopeful, saving, loving. Even if just for a second. Even if his brain had made it up to let him succumb.

He wished he could smile, and not be terrified. He wished he could be like his dad, who had smiled.

"Take care of your mom for me, Miles. I ain't gonna be around forever."

And he reached for his helmet. To show you his face, to hope you'd stop once you saw him. He reached, before his arm fell limp beside him once more.

Sorry. I'm so sorry.

"Hey, hello?"

"Hey!"

"Prowler? ...Are you dead?"

God, what did you have to do if he didn't respond...? Breathing, pulse...

"What the..." you heard, before he exploded into a painful-sounding coughing fit, tinged by some kind of voice changer. The Prowler lifted his head, and you could make out az kind of shadow where his eyes were behind the dull, unlit screen. "Huh...?"

"Hey, uh. The... Chameleon..."

Gesturing to the pile on the floor, the Prowler seemed to tense a little at the sight. It was the Chameleon, or... what was left of him. His face charred and caved in by the likes of a certain purple energetic blast. Right, you, had to explain that, the de-powered weapon in your hands.

"Sorry for... I didn't know what I was doing, that was―"

"You killed him?" came out a quiet, modulated voice.

That was...

You killed him. With the Prowler's weapon.

You were defending yourself. You were defending him. That man was a...

Thunk!

The metallic arm hit the ground as it rolled out of your arms, looking into the hollow shadows of the Prowler's eyes.

You didn't know anything about any of these people, and you were deep into their world. It was one that you had never thought you'd see, and now you had nothing to dig yourself out of it. You decided to trick him and when Miles was too late to figure it out you had...

You had killed someone. Turned the blast on him within a split second, watching it sear through his skull in a merciless flurry, stab after stab of burning hot energy wracking more and more screams. Right until the weapon had run out of energy. Until your finger grew numb from the trigger inside the device and the alleyway had gone silent. The man that had haunted your mind for months was unmoving before you, ripped of all features, all life.

Murder. Manslaughter. This man had connections. They'd come after you. After everyone you knew and loved. After Miles.

You should've stayed home.

The ache of adrenaline surged through your heart, your muscles, begging. Begging you to move. To run. To get up.

Get up. Run. Run away. Scream for help. Do something.

You felt the scratch of brick, arms enveloping the rest of you as you backed into the wall.

Hide.

All the breath in your lungs seemed to leave at once as you desperately tried to breathe it back in, hearing the air rush in and out of your mouth over and over. It was loud. So loud. The blast had been so loud. He had screamed so loud―

"Hey."

The hand on your shoulder was warm, free of any metal.

"It's... alright," you heard him say.

How could he say that?

"How can you say that?" Your voice was muffled. Wavering. Pathetic.

Would they believe you? With that stupid, pathetic, voice, whoever it was that found you ― would they believe you?

"How can you say that...?" you repeated, pressing your face further into your knees. The touch on your tensed shoulder felt offensive. Mocking.

"You're gonna be okay."

"How am I gonna be okay?"

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"How do you know that?"

You were looking at him now, breath hitched, eyes wide. You tried to sound frustrated, angry, but all that came out of your throat was a sound that told the Prowler "I am scared" in every language.

The Prowler hadn't killed you. He was comforting you. In any other circumstance, you could've laughed at the thought. To your knowledge, this Prowler hadn't killed anyone, or put everyone he loved in severe danger. Maybe you were worse than him.

"Why won't you answer any of my questions...?" you mumbled hopelessly, burying your face in your hands. You could smell concrete, dust, and ash ― invisible, yet incriminating.

Hiss... Click!

You felt hands wrap around your wrists, carefully pulling yours away from your own face. Just as you looked up, you could see the mask dismantling itself, disappearing behind his head.

What was left was a face. The Prowler's face.

No, this is...

Brown, maybe green-ish eyes. They were a smooth coppery colour under the dim light, bright among the shadows underneath his eyes. A black-red was drying on his skin, under his nose and creeping past his cracked lips. Two braids, coming unfurled at the ends, coming all the way back up to the top of his head. A soft face with harshness painted all over it. An exhausted, pained and worried expression.

"Hey, pana."

The face you had so prayed to see blurred into a watery mess as you threw your arms around him, squeezing your eyes shut against his jacket. His arms followed, settling over yours, one palm circling your back and the other settled between your shoulders.

You didn't think you'd held anyone tighter. You didn't know someone could hold to the point that their arms were shaking around you.

"Miles..."

You felt his head rest beside yours, the contours of his face melding against your shoulder. Warmth was running down your face ― blooming in your chest.

"I've got you."

"Mij— Oh... Oh my!"

You'd scrubbed your eyes hard as you could, and Miles had fixed himself up into a giant hoodie and jeans, but you were almost certain that the woman in front of you was utterly convinced that the both of you had been run over by a subway train. Miles' mom, standing with a vacuum cleaner that contributed nothing to the silence. Her jaw was inching closer to the floor the longer the silence stretched out.

"Uh... hola, mami. This is my friend," Miles offered, not sounding any less like he'd been met face first with the headlights of New York public transportation.

"Hi, Mrs... Morales."

The woman propped the vacuum cleaner against the wall, letting out a quiet sigh. She had beautiful curly hair, and was now wearing the sharp-softness of her son's face in a polite, and concerned smile. You didn't want to turn to check if Miles still had blood on his face.

"Is this a bad time...?" you started. "I can—"

"Oh, no, no, I just... I haven't even made dinner yet, I didn't expect—" The woman lets out another breath, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so rude. What are you two... What have you been up to?"

"We just... you know," Miles gestured with his hands, charading less than nothing in the air.

"You know...?" she replied, eyes squinting.

"I uh, already ate. Don't worry about it, Mrs. Morales," you continued, giving her what you hoped looked like a smile on your face. "Miles just wanted to show me something. It'll be quick."

"Uh, yeah. That."

"You're not staying for dinner?" she called out, as Miles dragged you into his room. "I was gonna make pastelón—"

"I'll come help you in a sec, mami."

Miles closed the door to his room, and the two of you shared a look as you heard the long, muffled sigh from outside. With the sound of the vacuum cleaner whirring in the hallway and disappearing into another room, the two of you sat on the edge of the twin-size bed, the frame creaking uncomfortably.

The room wasn't particularly big, crowded with posters and various newspaper clippings — many about the Prowler. There were crates tucked away beside his closet, faces of toy figurines and comic books peeking out of them. A lone screwdriver sat on his desk, a stack of notebooks beside it. The backpack you'd seen him take to school was hanging on the back of his chair, a study guide for "Invisible Man" peeking out of it. All that was on his bedside table other than papers was a frame. A young boy, missing a tooth, on the shoulders of an older man, the two of them beaming through the picture.

"You hurt or anything?" he asked quietly, making you remember that he was next to you. "Like, injured?"

"No, I'm... fine." You took half of a breath before your lungs started to ache, swallowing back the dryness of your throat. Mostly fine. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. My mom's a nurse, so... I kinda..."

"Oh... Yeah, yeah." Huh.

Mrs. Morales certainly didn't seem to know about her son's... part-time job.

You noticed a set of blueprints on the wall, resembling the clawed arms he had stashed away without you or his mom seeing.

"You made those...? The claw-glove things?"

"They're gauntlets."

It was somewhat like the tone of voice he used when he was explaining a calculus question — not condescending, but somewhat tired and fed-up.

"Right..." Gauntlets. Sure.

The vacuuming stopped, and a few moments later the clinking of cookware could be heard.

"You staying for dinner?"

"Huh...? Um, I don't wanna bother your mom."

"Please...? I'm gonna get it if you go home without eating." Something about that made you laugh, even if it was a half-hearted sound that fizzled out before it could really sound like one.

"She seems nice," you mused.

"She is. She tries."

Something of a smile tugged at his lips as a quick snort of air left him, his eyes now on yours.

"I got a lot of explaining to do, huh?" His smile faded a little as the words left his mouth.

"You do. Maybe... Maybe not now, though."

"Yeah. Not now."

In your peripheral, you could make out his arm inching closer to yours. The tips of his fingers just brushed your knuckles, leaving just a spark of feeling against your skin. His throat bobbed a little as he swallowed, and—

"Miles, ¡ven a cortame estas cebollas! (Come and cut these onions for me!)"

"Oh! Um— Okay!"

The bed squeaked again as he stood up, and you could tell he was biting the inside of his cheek. You closed your hand as the lingering feeling of his touch disappeared.

"...You sure I can stay for dinner?"

"You sure you just asked me that?"

"Alright, alright."

You gave him a little more of a smile, and you could see him fighting to not return it as he looked back at you.

"i'm gonna... go and—"

"Yeah, you do that, Miles."

He handed you his phone, or, a phone.

"You can... play some music, if you want. It's connected to that speaker. Just not too loud, yeah?"

You noticed there was no SIM card in it. He pointed to the little speaker sitting by the window sill, peeking out behind a hung up jacket and a school blazer.

"...Thanks."

The door to his room shut, and the murmured voices of Miles and his mom faded as you selected a song. You recognised some of them, ones you'd heard people sing along to on the street or in the cafeteria of your school. This one stood out, though.

It started slow, and the man's voice was rich, full of life and emotion. It was strangely melancholic against the uplifting instrumentals.

"~Ain't no love, in the heart of the city..."

You stood up, walking to the window to get a better listen of it. Lifting up the blinds, your eyes caught something in the darkness. A giant painting of Jefferson Morales. Miles' dad. It was half-finished, but his smile was there.

You couldn't help but think how he looked so much like Miles.

"~Ain't no love, cause you ain't around..."

An almost inaudible rustle caught your attention as you tuned to look at the jacket you had touched. Something had fallen out of its pocket while you were trying to move the speaker. It was a piece of paper, something written on it.

Reaching down, you moved to put it back in the pocket, before noticing what was peeking out of it.

Unfolding just the edge of it, you recognised the title of a Spanish lesson you had a while ago, back when Rafael had been bothering you endlessly. Opening it up entirely, you found what he'd been making fun of Miles for.

There were a series of drawings around scrawled Spanish vocabulary and messy grammar rules. One was of your teacher, Mrs. Hernández, turned away, writing on the board. The other was of the picture of the landmark in the article you had been given, "Arco de"-something. The colour of the building was done in yellow highlighter, but looked rather technical and accurate nonetheless.

The one on the back made you almost drop the paper.

It was you, with such a likeness. Some lines had been erased and re-drawn around your mouth, as if he'd been trying to decide on an expression. Within the creases of the paper you were holding right now, though, you found yourself smiling — just slightly, like if you'd been laughing at something with the rest of your class. Your head was tilted slightly downwards. The drawing version of you was just a little cuter than you were sure you looked like, Miles' stylisation making your eyes shine a little and your lips curve just the right way.

By the time your stomach had stopped fluttering, the song was coming to a close. You quickly re-crumpled the paper and carefully put it back into the jacket, walking over to sit on his bed again.

"~Ain't no love, in the heart of this town..."

"...You never come back this late, mijo..."

"...We just bumped into each other and started talking. You know, like how at the store..."

"...Your tías are different, Miles..."

He really does have a lot to explain, you thought to yourself, unable to stop the corners of your mouth from lifting up, just slightly.

Your questions would just have to wait until after dinner.

my lovely jubly taglist: @noetophat @sakura-onesan @bakugouswaif @phoenixinthefiles @daydreaming-en-pointe @sp1derw1re @kvvrc @spookyscaryskeletrans @proudgojofucker  @spam-1 @playboifenty @hobiebrownismygod @kissingkzuha @nyumeii @uwukiity @itzmeme @shittingonyourgrave @theyluvbix @kezibear @theseustimes

thank you for reading! epilogue hopefully coming soon 👍 reblogs + replies are appreciated 💗 find the rest of my writing in my atsv masterlist here!

[generalb]

Throughout all my life I’ve always been interested in nonhuman creatures. When I was young and my autism was in its rawest form I would often pit the ancient ancestors of animals against their modern equivalent, either in comparison or in battle(I remember doing a Rhino versus Triceratops once). As I grew older, and the internet allowed me to learn of the creatures of horror movies without being horrified, my attention shifted to that of the alien. I loved learning about the Xenomorphs and Predators, or the aliens from A Quiet Place. Recently, however, a new alien species has taken my interest, though not from horror film, but kinky horror fanfiction. I am of course, talking about the Affini from the Human Domestication Guide, created by GlitchyRobo.

The Affini of HDG are such an interesting species. Despite their peace-desiring nature we have to assume they were the top of the food chain wherever they came from. The strength to do what they do is built into their very biology. Super strength, ability to run absurd speeds, even the regeneration—their origins, whatever they are, were NOT peaceful, guaranteed. Not to mention the biological drugs that exist within them that can be used through either their flowers or needles hidden within their vines that can pierce human skin almost unnoticed. Another noteworthy trait is their ability to mimic or exist as different species of plants, like a fern Affini or a rose Affini. This level of adaptation mixed with the usage of drugs suggests that their origins could have been as prey, which would match with our known plants, unable to move from predators and thus evolving traits to deter them. The strength and speed, however, are things I’m not smart enough to explain away. Once they gained them, however—combined with their adaptation and ability to deceive using drugs, they would’ve been near unstoppable, similar to how ancient humans hunted megafauna and old predators such as the Sabertooth to extinction thanks to our newly evolved adaptive nature.

Their personality is curious, however—for a species in Post-Scarcity, I can understand the want and desire to help other aliens, including humans. But the specific pet dynamic they desire seemingly clashes with their message of helping sophonts(universal term for a non-Affini) be the best they can be. It almost seems instinctual, similar to humans and their pack-bonding ability. They desire other species to be at their peak, but refute certain things that don’t align with their idea, such as humans free will to make bad decisions at the cost of others and/or themselves. While modern human morals would agree with not wanting bad things to happen, the moderate to great usage of drugs the Affini are known for is less than acceptable.

The unfortunate fact is, any and all speculation about the Affini’s origins or why they do what they do is unknown. Given their extremely advanced technology and knowledge, it could be difficult to even know if they were a plant based species in the first place, or if becoming immortal through reblooming as vine creatures was a scientific advancement or not.

Granted, I’m analyzing a species from a hypno kink universe, and I shouldn’t expect crazy world building, but it’s just so much fun!

Edit: @arkkaxe has included a link to a site detailing the Affini in the replies, and it has been very helpful!

It appears that the low gravity environment the Affini hail from caused the evolution of prehensile limbs, and the xenodrugs might be related to their pollen from earlier days of reproduction using “beeple.” Speaking of that subject, their use of beeple lead to the cultural urge of master/pet dynamics, which slightly confirms my original belief that the desire felt more instinctual than purposeful.

I’m glad to be so pleasantly surprised at all the lore of this world! I take back what I said about the world building, there’s obviously enough to get its own website!

[canmom]

canmom.art is well overdue getting updated with a lot of posts on here. it still doesn't even have the music theory series, for example. plenty of other posts, book crit and such, needs to go on there. rpg posts are woefully behind current thoughts on all that.

unfortunately this seems to be slipping into the 'bin of large imposing tasks', which i rarely open, instead apparently preferring to say something about AI or some shit, which is easy to start doing.

the habits need to change. my relationship with reading and posting on this site (and other social media feeds like youtube) is not healthy - projects I want to continue have been backburnered for months of years, new ones barely get started, my work is not doing great rn. and yet it seems to represent something I need, because I keep coming back here for many hours when I planned to do other things.

I have tried other approaches, like keeping a personal journal that nobody else will read, but somehow I come back here, maybe because I will get a number for my trouble. the exact number isn't that important, if it isn't zero - sometimes it's less than 20, sometimes it's like 60, these are about equally satisfying. the rare numbers above 100 can be pleasing, but also slightly worrying, since they are more likely to bring in someone who comes in hot with an angry disagreement.

I do however have a lot of admiration for (presumed to be) autistic people who define their own little web corner full of blog posts, fiction, art, comics, manifestos etc. etc. etc. on all of their projects and scattershot interests. Jennifer Diane Reitz is the prototypical example. Schuschinus and xrafstar are powerful examples in the artistic sphere; floraverse is a more community-shape one; qntm is a more normie-aligned one; todepond is a newer flavour; bogleech is borderline, hewing a bit close to a consistent listicle Content(TM) flavour. they might deliver fiction, essays, or some other stranger thing. sometimes the material is quite inaccessible to outsiders, or requiring immersion in an insular but devoted community, but these are not totally inaccessible - they aren't timecube style crank websites. other times it goes to great pains to lay it all out and be somewhere you can get lost, and yet can't help but have its own specific character. it must be at least a little intriguing. you should be saying 'what's the deal with this' - it must have its own deal, but the more inscrutable the deal, the better.

depending on the person, the look and feel of such sites can be aggressively saturated and high contrast blast, or at the extreme end of programmer-driven cleanness and readability. what you should not find is ads. the site is paid for by a day job, or perhaps a patreon. it is personal. it accumulates sporadically over the years, more varied than your average webcomic site, by the whims of its creator.

very often people who run such a site will have strange opinions that interject unexpectedly into their work. JDR infamously positioned herself as the expert on 'transexuality' in the early internet, presenting a very partisan medicalist account best represented in the 'scientific' are-you-trans test called the COGIATI. today I came across someone from the ratsphere called 'gwern', whose site was among the most impressively featured static sites I've encountered with some very clever hover-based interactions, but they will also randomly drop into some bizarre eugenic parenthetical about the effect of mental illness on evolutionary fitness or some other condescending shit. baffling person. this is part of the character of such websites, though. you don't get to be a weirdo on the internet without being, well, a weirdo.

if you vibe with their flavour of weirdness, finding such a site is like finding a treasure trove, and feels more like getting to know someone's soul or whatever than most other encounters on this dreadful internet. even if this is as illusory as all other parasocial relationships.

this is what I want canmom.art to be. perhaps it already approximates it. and if I can make it the main nucleus of activity, then I am less tied to one or another social network. such is the hope...

when I die, I hope my website will serve as some sort of time capsule record of what I was, a place for someone to discover what one life was animated by in the early 21st century, and ideally a trove of art to fascinate them. but it is perpetually incomplete; for all the pride I take in making it standards-compliant web engineering, it's never quite there. some known issues: the comment field breaks the responsive design causing a huge horizontal scroll on mobile. it is not loading as instantaneously as a static site should, largely due to the large web font, with a warning about layout being forced that I have not solved. most images in the animation night archives do not have alt text, and may never. there are no pages which collate tags.

[wjbs-aus]

"Oh I played this game a lot as a kid, I really miss it": a post about how to find basically every game you might have played in the past that you want to play again now (though there's going to be some gaps).

Ok so picture this; years ago, when you were smaller, you played, right, a videogame on the computer. But then, years later, you got larger and lost access to that game because it's on your parent(s)' computer or a friend you're no longer in contact with had it, or the first thing happened to your friend. You want to play this game again, but for some reason you believe you can't.

But you can.

Method 1: order a physical game disk.

Go online and buy the disk. Physical media forever. This can be expensive depending on the game.

Method 2: look it up on Steam.

Go on Steam (or really most digital storefronts, though Steam got there first I think and therefore has the most games; if you're venturing outside Steam, GOG might be your best bet, unless there's like a boycott against GOG in which case never mind). They have Spore! And like most if not all of the Lego games, including the original Lego Star Wars games! Wanna play Peggle? It's on Steam, for basically nothing (though some other Popcap games aren't on there)! But what if the game you want isn't on Steam, and is too expensive to get physically? Well, that's where you need to look into...

Method 3: Abandonware

Wikipedia defines Abandonware as "... a product, typically software, ignored by its owner and manufacturer, which can no longer be found for sale, and for which no official support is available and cannot be bought." This website is probably your best bet (it's literally called "My Abandonware"), and if you want some older and/or more obscure Lego games, they have those! You don't even have to restrict it to games you played in the past. Wanna check out that 2009 Wolfenstein reboot now that it's having a bit of a critical re-evaluation? It's on there! Fan of Deus Ex who likes the concept of "filing the serial numbers off"? Check out Project Snowblind, a game that was intended to have been a Deus Ex spinoff but had to be changed! Hate yourself? Check out Limbo of the Lost or Neuro! Even the Popcap games that aren't on Steam! Hell, there's console stuff there, if you're into emulation. The only downside is that the number of games is fairly limited (only around 30000), and according to the main page, the cutoff in terms of years is 2012.

Method 4: 🏴‍☠️🦜⛵☠️🪝🐳

Yeah I can't help you with this one, other than this advice; do not use The Pirate Bay, apparently it's gone all virusy, go somewhere else for that stuff.

Ok that's it bye~

[the-bad-guys-2-reportage]

Possible spoilers (be warned)

I feel like doom is manipulating snake, poor guy. I mean what if he finally found someone that he thought he could trust outside of his friends? And it only turned out that the person he thought actually loved him, was just playing with him…?

I feel like snake might have a moment of reflection in the movie (if my theory is correct which seems a bit likely) and he’s definitely gonna be heartbroken and angry that he let someone manipulate him like that. Probably gonna have some trust issues after that..maybe have a sad moment with wolf (hopefully so, because he might’ve been jealous of their “relationship”). It would be good for character development and make him a bit more relatable..but I don’t know.

what do you think? 🤔

It's been confirmed.

In one of the recent interviews with director Pierre Perifel, he explained that The Bad Guys got lured into The Bad Girl's trap because of Doom seducing Mr. Snake. So, as you suggested, he may have moments of reflection & talk with Wolf about it.

In addition, there's her character description from the official website: "Natasha Lyonne as Doom, a wry raven with a knack for deception."

[mystopience-system]

made a genshin self insert because why not <33

a liyuean scholar from mondstadt, who can recall almost any knowledge that can be read in books from all over tevyat!

since xe's me, xe still goes by myriad and xyr pronouns are xe/it/he/prin :]

i have some lore and attack ideas which i shall ramble about if anyone is interested ":3

[2sw]

hey guys. I don't mind people reposting my gifs on other sites to express their own love for sam, I love to see it actually, but please do not use mine for archive/gif accounts. thanks xx

[batsplat]

Yes with these names, Pedrosa, Marquez and Stoner amazed me. And Rossi, obviously. Pedrosa was very strong in 125 and 250, because with his stature he had an incredible technique. Above all he took advantage of his weight a lot - as they say, in the pick up of the bike, which was very difficult and he was the first to do it like that. After all we copied him with the technique. Marquez is a beast here (points at head), and the only rider that... I wouldn't tell you that he likes to fall, because nobody likes to fall, but he wasn't afraid of falling. And he was like a pit bull - he always wanted to win, even if he wasn't comfortable on a circuit, even if the bike wasn't going well... He had an unconventional ambition, he always wanted to beat you. He believed in the falls, but he wasn't afraid of falling. So in that sense he is unique. Stoner was a natural talent, unconventional. For example, when the track was wet, with patches of water - he took it on, came out of the box, delivered the track record, took two or three seconds off everyone. So an improvisation and an ability to see the limit of the track immediately, incredible. What a natural talent. Either you have it or you don't. Valentino? Very complete. A person... as a person, naturally very intelligent, very charismatic. A great braker, a rider who could improvise a lot with the bike. When he was racing, [even when tired, with an elevated pulse], he was very lucid. Very complete. He didn't have a super quality… How would I say? (Interviewer: Any [outstanding] quality.) Yes, but it was all very complete.

Jorge Lorenzo on his rivals (x)

[falmerbrook]

Since I like polls, here's another Morrowind one based on varying interpretations I've seen:

Are the "Incarnates" we see in the Cavern of the Incarnate failed incarnates (as Peakstar calls herself), in the sense that they were true incarnations of Nerevar and/or the Nerevarine that failed, or are they false incarnates, in the sense that they weren't incarnations of Nerevar/the Nerevarine but tried to be or believed themselves to be.

[iraprince]

okay i talk a big game about never fearing cringe and always being 100% yourself and never surrendering your true artistic desires to something as immaterial as "embarrassment" EVER but now it's time for me to walk the walk bc i am drawing something that i think is so fun but it's also maybe super cringe and i am afraid of getting made fun of. I DON'T CARE THO i have to follow my own advice or i'm a hypocrite (posting this to embolden and also entrap myself. now i've said something about it and i can't backtrack)

[shinesurge]

lol hey so my printer just didn't get back to me at all for two weeks and suddenly Volume 3 Books Are Happening sometime next week (the proofs! just the proofs, which i had to make a full order of 20 to get, so hopefully they didn't fuck it up), I was going to make more announcements about the preorders during the period but i thought it would be smart to wait for my printer to give me the delivery date i asked for first :) whatever. if you want a book or any of the keychains i have coming in go check out the shop listings here and here. there's fun preorder stuff i was super psyched for that is still there if you want it but i'm so fuckin frustrated im not writing up any cute copy today lmao. thank yall very much for your patience as usual