#oh fuck now I said Jack’s name at the start of paragraph too many times

[neon-danger]

me, writing: this is so cringe this is so cringe this is so cringe

me, reading my own writing: I am a Genius, a real Wordsmith. No One Can Compete With My Compound Sentences.

[crimsonandcloverwrites]

ok bhah ch1 reread thought dump lets goooo

@youngbloodbuzz  @romanitwontletmetagyouuuu??? thank u for writing this. in return I gift u this lightly unhinged commentary

oh the opening quote “Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home?” violence

lmao ok I started this ages ago and then got distracted for a week because that’s just who I am as a person lets try that again

eddie n his glowing glasses nice we love a canon nod

ok I remember getting really emotional reading the chapter where Dani’s car died bc of what it represented to her n now I’m being reminded of it all again with the ‘poor little car’ comment oh dear we’re like 2 paragraphs in and I’m already compromised

the wavering reflection in the water in her hands..... Dani posessed by the ghost of comphet..... I am Drawing Conclusions

eddie “we can hang out more” dani “aha wouldn’t that be neat”

god the prom photo... remembering Dani’s meltdown at the prom bc she missed Jamie... I’m dying Jack I’m dying

lil palm kiss... I know u will not ever love hm that way Dani but fuck I’m a sucker for a palm kiss

lil nerd ass w her folder tabs I love her

god the tone of this is so comforting like I can just hang out n imagine each scene progressing so naturally. wish I did not have to suffer emotionally at the same time but at least it’s a smooth read

Dani feeling like an invader amongst all the physical representations of her relationship w eddie BABY U DON’T HAVE TO LIVE THIS WAY STOP LETTING OTHER PEOPLE INFLUENCE UR LIFE AND RUIN UR HAPPINESS

“Hannah Grose, seamlessly elegant” yes

Hannah: congrats on ur engagement. Dani, with tears in her eyes: thank

Dani relaxing when they’re talking about teaching pls I love her love for it so much

Dani at the blackboard with the “Miss, Ms?” confusion now I am thinking about the Ted Moseby professor/proffessor scene. HIMYM my beloved

mikeyyyy my boy

the image of Dani w chalk dust on her skirt is v endearing.

oooh the library trip gay foreshadowing yes

wait the silver stars on his backpack......... cup of stars crying time

Mikey correcting her on his name when she was the one to give him the nickname in the first place... feeling some kind of way

Dani fostering the talents she sees in her kids is so sweet and mikey shy lil math genuis is also so sweet pls i love this duo

i do wonder if part of her is like I know a Mikey Taylor but I literally refuse to believe it is the same one bc his sister broke my heart and we are absolutely not in the business of confronting hard feelings in this house!!

keys on a lanyard... ok lesbian

“You’re still here?” the love I have for canon lines being used when I can hear them being said in my head

awww bonding over Wonder Woman. cute!!!! When Dani becomes Mikey’s official second mum (everyone be quiet I am manifesting) my heart will explode

eddie ur really just gonna rock up and toot at her. jail for 1000 years

ooohhh Dani is Realising who the sister is. honey you got a big storm comin. oof (the ‘wonder woman punching stars out of her foes” to “dani feeling like she’s just recieved a blow to the ribs.” the cinnamontography). aw baby :(

“Jamie. Jamie, here. Jamie, home.” please i am thinking about her last letter and I am not strong enough

“Somehow Eddie didn’t notice.” sum up a relationship in a sentence

“Jamie would appear, as if summoned by the gravity of Dani’s pounding heart” fuck this hits on so many levels I need to go think about my life for 45mins

CARSON MY BOY. in his studded leather. a fashionable gay never loses.

I looove how soft n caring Dani n Carson are with each other thank gods she has him.

DID WE EVER FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN CARSON AND JASON MY SPIDEY SENSES ARE STILL TINGLING FROM READING THIS THE FIRST TIME

god this post is already so long n I’m only halfway through why do I have so many silly thoughts

god just the... expectations of affection from her by eddie w that placating cheek kiss she gives him is like... I cannot imagine Jamie ever asking that from her in the same way even when they are in a relationship!!! and it’s not even wrong of him to do that??? but it’s just a lot to think about the kind of person Dani makes herself to be to stay with him vs the kind of person Jamie lets her be by not expecting anything of her. they’re such opposites

dani not even feeling at home in her own (former) home pls when is she going to find a soft place to land (it’s also making me think v hard about the title like... the haunting of Dani and Jamie’s relationship (and what that represents for Dani) on Dani’s whole life and Jamie coming home and bringing that to Dani’s doorstep. resurecting a ghost so to speak........ too many homes to think about. I don’t know if I fully understand but I am Thinking)

dani and her inhaler... asthmatic bitches represent

oh my god not the box of memories. been trying to erase that from my own for weeks now let me live

ooh the line about her feeling like an archaeologist at the start of this section and then her ‘exhuming the past’ w the photos of her n Jamie i love a consistent narrative.

THE MIXTAPE. THE MIXTAPE. is there a playlist for this chapter I would like to take that aural journey

oh no i cannot remember where the flower comes from but aahhh this box of memories pain.

this description of carson in a tight white undershirt tucked into his jeans makes me think of freddie mercury. didn’t mean to make you cry etc

lmao Dani trying to get info from Judy abt Jamie in a roundabout way... international superspy she is not

Dani entirely uncomfy in church... i feel it. godd the repression of it all w the movie and the feelings and the Jamie-influence on the feelings my heart hurts.

God knowing how much Judy loves her but the weight of that love also stifling her... pain

they’ve really got her all shacked up w a house and a husband and a kid on the way can we let the girl be a lesbian in peace (also lowkey hoping Dani gets some time on her own at some point no Eddie no Jamie no weight of expectations pls she needs it we all need it)

the thread of Dani refusing to do things for herself in order to make other people happy throughout this entire piece hits so fucking close to home and is entirely heartbreaking to read thank you

jamiiiiieeeeeeeee

Jamie: appears. Dani: every single emotion all at once

Judy and her girls back together is v sweet even if Dani is dying inside at it all

“Jamie only had eyes for Dani.” Again, sum up a relationship in a sentence.

What do you even say to a girl who *the sky goes dark as i attempt to even summarise a fraction of their relationship*. Apparently the answer is “Jamie. Hi.”

TWO MONTHS JAMIE TAYLOR. CRIMES

It’s ahh. fairly entertaining to be going through Dani’s emotional journey alongside her and knowing that Jamie is also Going Through It on some level but having 0 insights to it bc she keeps her emotions so in check.

oooh how much of a gut punch is this engagement revelation for Jamie??? like on some level I’m sure she always knew this was coming but I’m sure another part of her still desperately hoped one day Dani would choose her. god I would kill for Jamie’s POV in this scene

Jamie’s scarrrr. Literally Dani’s impact

oh fucking hell that moment of like... familiarity and almost a coming home for Dani when Judy is talking and she meets Jamie’s eyes... she really was entirely screwed from that moment on huh.

oof god this is a hell of an opening chapter lets see if my attention span will let me continue this journey (also @ myself reminder to read this all in chronological order one day for a real nice session of emotional destruction)

[hopevalley]

Your last post was great food for thought. How would you have written Jack off the show? Personally I think they got the when wrong. Should have got them married end of s3, then written him off going to the Northern Territory and not coming back...

Thanks, Anon!

I’m a bit on the fence about Jack to begin with. On one hand, I agree with you completely: they should have been married before the end of S3, and then Jack’s decision to fight in S4 (after the death of his old pal Doug) would have been huge. They built up this “oooh, he could diiiieee~” narrative, after all. Seeing it come to its (arguably natural) conclusion would be acceptable.

On the other hand, there was something kind of nice about Jack dying when it wasn’t expected. If nothing else drove home that life as a Mountie was not this picturesque landscape of loveliness, that did. Oh, you mean he could die...while just training some men? Doing something in a position that multiple people said he should be honored to be considered for? Oh my!

It was still too contrived for my taste, though. It’s one thing to kill him off in a time of relative peace when he’s just minding his own business, but it’s something else to kill him off-screen and...after making him talk about how safe the job was (which it clearly wouldn’t be, as mentioned before in this series*). Talk about tonal shifts! AJ went to prison, and then there was this weird birthday thing that most of the viewers didn’t care about (where we pretended like Bill’s life wasn’t in mortal danger just days or weeks earlier), and right at the party gets into full swing this just haaaappens to be the moment a Mountie comes into town to tell Elizabeth that her husband died. And of course she’s standing conveniently Right There. Oh, and also, he definitely died a hero, not like a regular guy. How could she live with herself if he died like a regular guy? (/sarcasm, if you couldn’t tell.)

*I might actually be thinking of the When Calls the Heart movie where Edward talks about nearly dying during his own training.

A more convincing and arguably terrible (with positive connotations) way to write Jack’s death off-screen would be to place Bill outside or in the jailhouse when the Mountie comes riding in. He’s still recovering from literally almost dying (a pretty big deal, considering his age) and now he’s just found out Jack has died in some contrived bullshit manner...and it’s his duty to go with this guy and tell Elizabeth, because Bill isn’t the sort of character to shirk duty (neither career nor personal). Elizabeth is family now, after all.

It would at least do something to cement relationships and connections in this show before the actual funeral/grieving episode. Also, seeing Bill’s initial immediate reaction before he clams up and follows protocol he’s been taught from a young adult onward—that’d be delicious character stuff when he has his discussion with Abigail later.

Ideally, though, I’d probably do something more along the lines you’ve suggested (earlier marriage, more expected death). It’s just, by the time they’d decided to actually go through with killing Jack, I feel like it was too late to Take It Slow. If I were in that position, stuck in S5 and having to kill Jack off by the end (10 measly episodes, by the way), I’d do the following:

Jack gets reassigned entirely to train new recruits and there is some kind of set time frame for this. One year, two years: something like that.

Elizabeth and Jack have a rushed wedding that’s not visually impressive but sweet in other ways that have a big impact on the characters. Forgive my language here, but fuck the modern traditions the audience thinks they want (that weren’t even around during this time frame in many cases)! I’d have given them a truly romantic wedding in the church with recognizable faces in the pews and maybe a potluck picnic lunch afterward.

Logically this only happens if the characters worry that it isn’t something they can do later, right? It’s not that he worries he’ll die, but it’s the reality they live in that something could happen to him, and it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Also, Elizabeth won’t want to wait another year (if we say his placement is for at least that long), so it’s not hard to imagine her insisting on doing it immediately.

One final aside, I think this also gives Elizabeth the excuse to remain a schoolteacher in Hope Valley with the idea being that she can spend her summer with Jack (when she’s not teaching)—something she can’t do if they’re not married. At least, not without scandal.

Their ‘honeymoon’ is something they put on hold but probably a place they both wanted to go that’s not completely out of left field (get my joke?) and meaningful to both of them. (This is set-up for Elizabeth eventually going there alone for a letting-go type of scene when it would feel good/appropriate to see.)

They spend the week or two before he has to leave together, and during this time they discuss their future more seriously. Make it mostly the kinds of things that will feel bad when looked back upon after knowing of Jack’s death, but which still ring of some kind of ‘hope for the future’ at the time. S5 had a lot of bullshit in it, not all of which was bad, but the ‘dreams’ were too focused on tangible sorts of things and not the dreams of a couple madly in love who want to be together forever. 

The house is kind of silly scope-wise. If they’re dreaming about it, a line from Elizabeth to Abigail (or Clara, or anyone) that Jack wants to do it but she knows it’s not feasible on his income would make it seem like sweet dreaming.

This would be a good time for them to discuss where they want to honeymoon when Jack gets some time off and they can manage it financially, too.

While Jack is gone, Elizabeth reads some of his letters to Abigail. Maybe there could be some cute/saucy bits where she says “I’ll skip the next few paragraphs” or whatever, but the idea here is that Jack has arrived to his destination, is doing well, and Elizabeth is not particularly worried about him.

IF POSSIBLE, scenes of Jack bonding with these green bean boys. Young, largely untrained, idealistic... Man, we know Bill did a lot of teaching and stuff like that at one point in his career, too, so this could be a nice segue into Jack starting down a similar path! 

Also it cements his relationship with these men and shows not only that he DOES care about them, but WHY.

If this is NOT possible, at least allude to it in his letters. Mention specific names so that the audience feels a connection, however small.

Also if possible, show Jack’s death, or at least show him making the decision to risk his life for these young men he cares about.

If this isn’t possible: show a scene in the cafe where a patron is reading a newspaper with the date of Jack’s death on it (preferably not a character who had any issues with Jack personally), and Elizabeth is reading Jack’s latest letter to Abigail. It’s not quite as good but I think it would get the point across.

Because Hope Valley isn’t really modern enough for addresses, Bill gets the news first. He goes with the Mountie to speak to Elizabeth. This doesn’t give us tonal whiplash from hell, but maybe occurs during a quieter/less busy time.

Also, there is NO Abigail in this scene. She’ll get her time and I feel like her being a leech on Elizabeth’s character was a huge mistake. Let Elizabeth bond with other people!!!!

We could also really use the insight into Bill’s character and how he reacts “in the moment”—particularly compared to how he acts later. Him keeping his cool (for the most part) and then breaking down in the quiet of his own home/at his desk in the jail (or keeping it together until his conversation with Abigail) would do wonders for his character.

The funeral isn’t shown at length. No speeches. (I’m sorry, I don’t care for those and I don’t think Elizabeth would remember them anyway. They’d just be this massive blur.) She reflects on a hazy view of the casket from her own perspective, and maybe I’d add an iconic scene of the horse walking into the mist with the boots in the saddle facing the wrong way.

You know, the kind of scene that isn’t lovely or anything, but it still feels haunting. Especially if that horse is Definitely Sergeant. 

Elizabeth revisiting the grave (as she did in the final episode) is quiet. No music. Just her in the silence walking over to the grave and kneeling in front of it because that’s what it’s like and I feel as if that sort of deeply personal scene would resonate with a lot of viewers. 

I don’t deny that the original scene was lovely but that’s the issue: it shouldn’t be #aesthetic-based because that’s completely unrelatable. Most of us look mediocre at best when we visit a gravesite.

I also think there should be parallel Elizabeth-visiting-Jack’s-grave scenes in later seasons/episodes to show progress, and rather than going on the anniversary of his death maybe she goes on his birthday (and/or other special days) instead to celebrate his life. These scenes are always quiet and always gentle, and if there is music at all it’s just barely there.

I could also really go for her running into someone else there who is visiting a grave if there was time for it, just for a conversation.

I’m also REALLY uncertain about the gravesite they put him in in the actual show, just because I’m not sure Jack’s wife couldn’t pick where he was buried. I feel like for these characters, if Jack wanted to be buried anywhere, it would be near his father or in Hope Valley’s own cemetery (which isn’t shown after S1, but we know is there).

I’d go with Hope Valley for the #aesthetic if nothing else. Then Elizabeth can visit whenever she wants and we could watch her visits drop off over the course of a season or two.

Also then her running into someone else should be her running into Florence visiting Paul’s grave. She doesn’t get much in the way of sweet dialogue so this would be wonderful.

I chose Florence specifically because she doesn’t seem ready to move on and it’s been a long time, and maybe I’d even appreciate a comment along those lines by her: that she doesn’t feel the need to remarry/etc etc. Having Abigail (who did move on) and Florence then to give us both sides of the spectrum...feels good.

Then in later seasons/episodes, Elizabeth could run into people at the grave/around the cemetery who are there specifically to see Jack.

Bill leaving flowers/just standing there quietly.

Abigail coming to talk to him and keep him updated about all the really little things (but never the big things because those are for Elizabeth to tell). Maybe more of a stop-off after visiting the graves of Noah and Peter.

I don’t feel Nathan needs any sort of connection to Jack, but I think just the idea of Jack’s death would be enough to make someone like Nathan think twice. What kind of man was he? What did he die for? How well did he love this town? Will I ever fill the shoes he left? I could see him going and just thinking about those things.

It’s not a masterpiece and perhaps not even possible due to timing (the episode limit really messes with good plotline ideas), but I like the ideas in concept.

[cakeandcrows]

I remember this one time I was watching some documentary about a white actress, I can’t recall who. One of her first roles was something like... a German lesbian with some kind of drug addiction (I think cocaine?). Point is, in her interview segment about it, she said something like, “When my mother heard about the role, she said, ‘if I were you, I would have told the director to pick just one of those things, not all of them at once.’” And all I can think about is how like... so many of us on here are more than one kind of minority or ‘invisible’ identity, or neurodivergent, or in some level of recovery from one thing or another. 

Like, this isn’t huge news, y’know? Yeah, privilege is a thing. And people are so absolutely unaware of it when they have it that it makes me want to scream. I’m even unaware of my own privilege a lot of the time and I won’t go into a moment of how I feel when I realize I’ve forgotten, because my guilt on the matter is irrelevant. I just need to get better at keeping myself in check and that’s that. 

Yeah I’d love to be cis some days because of how much easier it would make my life (and honestly for not many other reasons, I’m pretty happy being trans... if it just... y’know, weren’t for how people react to it). Sometimes I think, “Man, straight people are fucking insane; how on earth do they function,” while looking back on the days when I thought I was straight and realizing that even back then I was lost as hell, but some days I’m just like, “If I were straight, would life really be so much easier?” And it would. It really would. If I were also cis at the same time. Etc. 

And I don’t want to make this into an us vs them sort of thing for even a minute, either, because everyone has common ground somewhere. Does that common ground always matter as much to one person as it does to another? Probably not. Jeff Be/os probably shares a home town with a fuck ton of people but I’ll bet he doesn’t give a shit about a single one of them, or that commonality, while you could see a popular rock band and never hear them shut up about how proud they are to be from the West Coast. Sometimes it just doesn’t fucking matter to other people what you have in common with them, because to them, what’s different is so much more volatile. And it goes both ways. 

There’s people from my home town, my graduating class, and even old friend groups that I could never see myself talking to again because of how we’ve split paths in beliefs and lifestyles. Or, maybe they’ve stayed the same and I’ve changed, or the opposite... and I’ll bet they’d see how I’ve changed and think the same things of me. “Wow, I want nothing to do with that person.” 

I’m just... constantly having little wake-up calls over and over again of how some people seriously think that I’d choose a harder life on purpose. And I’m not ashamed of living as I am; I’m very proud of who I am and what I’ve overcome to get here. 

Customers at work, where I feel like I live 2/3rds of my life these days, are always just like... a window into the world for me sometimes. Most people don’t mention my pronoun button. Some people don’t notice it outright and misgender me because they’re looking at my face; entirely being polite and engaged, and not at all aware of how they’re upsetting me. I let it go a lot of the time. It’s not worth it.

There’s the few good folks who listen carefully and patiently and are seemingly brought to a new awareness by my gentle explanations. They’re polite and they honestly revive part of my faith. Like the guy who opened his coffee order saying, “yes, miss,” and left the store tipping his hat to me saying, “thank you very much, sir.” God or whoever does things fucking bless that guy.

Then there’s the people who decide to look at my pin, and ask about it. So far, it’s either people who are just reading it aloud for the sake of it, and then becoming confused but not actually wanting to understand so much as they’re just desperate to make some kind of conversation with a Youth (which is wild because I’m 25??). They don’t actually care, so I don’t really put effort into explaining. They either cut me off mid-explanation, or listen and don’t say anything further. 

Then there’s the people who look at it and laugh at me. Or the woman who decided it was a good idea to read it, listen to my explanation, and say, “You know, my daughter tried to explain that to me. I just don’t get it. I think it’s silly and too complicated. People should just stick to the old ways.” Like... lady. What the fuck do you want me to do about it. Why the fuck do you think telling me this will make me happy or even... want to engage further. I straight up just don’t understand where these people get off. They’re just as rude and uninterested in me as a human being as the people who start rattling off their order and refuse to wait for me to get it all down before shoving their credit card at my face. They do not care. They do. Not. Care. And my patience is starting to wear extremely thin. 

I had a new coworker, who knows I’m trans, the other day stop mid-sentence to say, “Oh, you know, sister? Oh! Also, I call everyone ‘sis’, boys or girls.” “Not me, you don’t.” “...oh?” “You don’t call me that. Ever.” 

“ >:/ tch. Glad we got that out of the way.”

It’s not cute. I don’t think it’s endearing. I don’t think it’s funny. And I don’t give a shit if you call other people that. If you thought about it for five seconds you’d realize how insensitive and fucked up it is. If anyone, anywhere, I swear to god, just thought about ANYTHING for five fucking seconds... I wish... I hope, that they’d be better human beings than they are. 

Like, god, what a horrible inconvenience it is for you to have to stop and think about what to call another human being. To use their name. To use the right pronouns. To avoid nicknames or pet names that would be inappropriate for such a person. Heaven forbid you have to do that for anyone, right? Why am I different? Why are you trying to step on my toes and see if I’ll just sit here and take it? I know why. Everyone knows why. And I’m so sick of being the dog under the table who gets kicked every time it whines about having no escape or being surrounded by the feet of people sitting around the table. 

I don’t hate being trans. I don’t hate being pansexual. I don’t hate being poly. I don’t hate myself. I hate the people who hate me for being myself and intentionally or ignorantly go out of their way to make my life an extra level of hell Just Because They Can. , 

I have been bullied and abused all my fucking life by one kind of person or another and not a single excuse I’ve been given justifies it. Humans are better than this. I want to have faith in humans. And there are good humans; I surround myself with them. But if I have to pry yet another motherfucker’s eyes open to yet another goddamn social issue they were too thick-minded to notice, and then have them turn around and bless me and hail me for some kind of... Joan of Arc bullshit, calling my suffering and my existence some kind of blessing, like my life had to be this hard to spread words and messages across time and space to reach their Oh So Important Ears, I’m gonna choke. Or... even the people who mean well that just straight up make me think that they actually believe that the queer people in their lives are some sort of Manic Pixie Dream (gender) who’s come into their lives to teach them something new and advance their own character development. That’s what it fucking feels like! Being reduced to someone else’s educator and being placed as a Background Character in their own fucking Growth Arc. 

If there’s some sick destiny where I’m lined up to be some kind of flogged messenger to idiots for the rest of my life I want a motherfucking refund. Ship me off to the next incarnation. I don’t care if I come back as a ladybug for two days and die under somebody’s shoe. 

And I’m not somebody’s teacher. I’m not somebody’s martyr or savior. I’m not somebody’s free fucking Queer Almanac and Seasonal Guide to the Experiences of Not Their Own. I’m so fucking tired of explaining myself. 

I’m so fucking tired of People ™ But I also want to have so much faith in People ™ that I think I’m just setting myself up for disappointment. 

Sometimes people prove me wrong and it’s okay. Other times I write a several paragraph long rant at one in the morning. Fuck me honestly, just, fuck me and boy howdy do I wish I could pluck one or two things off my list of identities if only for the sake of not having to Explain Shit To People ™

And at the same time, I very clearly care about people. I want people to understand because fuck, I was there! I used to be some Jacked Levels of Crazy and I was hugely homophobic when i was a teenager. I look back on the way I used to be and I can’t feel proud of who I was and what I believed. I know a lot of it was internalized hatred and disgust. I know all of that shit now. But I see myself in some people and that’s the mistake I make sometimes. Most of the time, I’m fine; I help other folks learn something new and it’s good and I feel fine about it. I just hate feeling like other people assume it’s my motherfucking duty to tell them and speak on behalf of all non-cis, non-straight people everywhere. I sound like a goddamn Gender and Women’s Studies textbook. 

Fuck, I’m going to bed... 

[wishthefish916]

What Is Anti?

Holy fucking shit, I’ve literally had this saved as a draft on this site for MONTHS and just haven’t posted it out of spite, but if ever there was a call to action this is is. I published this theory a while ago, but I wasn’t completely happy with how I’d written it at the time so I took it down a few minutes later. I’d originally planned on never revisiting this again, but while developing a different theory which will probably be coming out soon, I was forced to revisit this work, so here we are. The science of Antisepticeye. What he is, where he came from and how to stop him. It’s a long one lads, so buckle the fuckle up.

If we’re ever gonna stop Anti, which is kinda the point of all this theorizing anyways, we have to know what exactly he is. To figure that out, we need to look into what effect he has on the world around him. Looking back at the ever expanding collection of Anti moments ((thank the heavens for his wiki and a whole lotta spare time)), the only thing that tied them all together is that the person in the webcam felt a sense of danger, be it from a jump scare or high suspense or even from hearing Anti’s name, the brain of the person who was recording sensed danger, which triggered a hormonal fight-or-flight response in their body in the moment Anti presents himself to us, and it’s usually preceded with a long gap in symptoms surfacing. What else do we know of that lies dormant for a long period of time before something triggers it to wake up which usually leads to chaos for whatever system it’s in? Jack A virus!

So what kind of virus is he? Well, in bigger videos like Say Goodbye and Kill JSE the person on the screen communicated that they felt physical effects of his presence, like nausea, aches, delirium and twitching and in some cases bleeding from the eyes. This tells me that if Anti is a virus he’s a biological one.

However I cannot ignore the biggest telltale sign of Anti showing up which is the game or webcam ((and sometimes the person)) glitching, audio disturbances, and corrupted html text((Zalgo)), which would tell me that he is a computer virus.

So lads, correct me if I’m wrong in saying that if Anti is indeed a virus, he wouldn’t be exclusively biological or the technological, but rather a biomechanical virus((I totally didn’t make up the term shush)).

Being made up of both biological and technological components mean infection could have happened just about anywhere. For the sake of clarity I’ll be breaking it up into biological and technological components as I’m fairly certain the two are symbiotically dependent on each other, considering the physical effects coincide almost completely with the technological ones.

If infection was controlled by the biological aspects, that would mean he was infected by contact with the virus. Either he touched it, breathed it in, ate or drank it, kissed it, or bled on it. For all the other egos who’ve been infected, this makes perfect sense. JJ cutting his finger right before the glitching shows up, Henrik almost never wearing his surgical mask when handling his infected patients, Chase heavily drinking in the moments leading up to Dark Silence, but Jack is a different story. The first time we saw Anti was in FNAF Sister Location, and that video had none of the above in it. That tells me he was infected well before he first showed himself, which makes sense logically. People don’t show flu symptoms as soon as they come into contact with the flu virus. It has to fester for a little bit before showing any symptoms, so why should Anti be any different?

So where did Jack get infected? If he did physically come into contact with the virus, it would have been in a live action video. From a storytelling perspective, it wouldn’t make sense to not showcase an important plot point clearly, and live action is the best medium to do such. That brought me to the 2015 pumpkin carving video, but nothing too suspicious happened. There was no bleeding, he didn’t eat anything, while he did kiss the pumpkin no bodily fluids were exchanged, and breathing it in or touching it seems implausible, because it would mean the virus already existed in his house, which means he would have been infected long before that video.

The only other live action videos he’s done, and correct me if I’m wrong, were the 700,000 subscriber ghost pepper challenge, the ALS Ice bucket challenge, and his regular vlogs. Sean is incredible at blurring the line between normal video and ego video, but these videos all had an underlying sincerity to them, where he was trying to communicate to us his appreciation or with the ALS video trying to get us to donate to charity, and I find it highly improbable for him to try and undermine the meaning behind them with an ego clue.

That leads me to believe that it were the technological aspects of the virus that infected him, and that’s where things get kinda tricky. Now, computer viruses are actually relatively easy to come into contact with, the problem definitely isn’t there. Maybe Jack was sent it in an email, maybe he went to a sketchy website, maybe he downloaded a game that had a little something extra up it’s sleeve. No biggie, it happens. The logic leap is when the computer virus starts affecting his real life person, even when he’s not using the computer, a la Say Goodbye.

I believe immersion is the answer. Immersion in game play is something a large portion of game developers strive for, making the player feel like they were actually inside their game. This is one of the hardest and most important things a story driven game developer can do, and also one of Jack’s key defining features in games he tends to really enjoy.

I think, in the story that Sean has created for us with the egos, when Jack is doing a lets play and he gets really immersed in the game, he actually does exist inside that game. That feeling of total immersion, those moments when his brain is unable to separate the game from reality, they happen because of him actually being inside the game on his computer. If Jack were to download a game that had Anti’s virus on it, and then became immersed in the game play experience long enough to come into contact with said virus, it’s entirely possible that the virus stayed with him when he left the game/no longer was immersed.

Well, if we’re going to find out how to cure the thing, we’ve first got to find the location of patient zero, i.e. the video that started it all. If we know where it came from, we’ll know how it works and that’ll make it immensely easier to stop it. Are there any games out there that Jack played that 1) truly immersed him as a player into it’s world, 2) share a strong resemblance to what we already see in Anti, and 3) was uploaded some time before the release of Sister Location. There are two bigguns that spring to mind.

Undertale is probably the most well known and well liked series on Jack’s entire channel. While he was playing he became heavily invested in each of the characters, even the baddies, and so did we. We grew to care for them all as if they were our closest friends. When they were hurt, we screamed in protest. When they were comforted, we felt all warm and fuzzy. When we reached the true ending, we all cried. I would most certainly consider that immersion, wouldn’t you?

Not only did Undertale immerse the player and viewer, it messed with your actual computer files. If you do a genocide route even once, uninstalling and reinstalling the game won’t wipe it’s memory of the route. You have to dig through your computer to find and delete the file that tells steam what route you chose if you want to play the game brand new again. Not to mention the game frequently closing itself unprompted, which has a well known history for corrupting recording footage. Potential for corruption? Check.

New paragraph for new point because oh my god, there’s a lot. Several people have already pointed out the similarities between Flowey and Anti, but just in case you haven’t seen it yet or wanted a nice recap, here we go.The voice acting Jack chose for Flowey sounds just like a higher pitched Anti voice. This was the first time he ever layered audio files to achieve a more sinister voice effect. The thumbnails following his fight with Flowey all hold trademark characteristics of Anti video thumbnails. Our first ever interaction with him ends with him attempting to murder Jack. Their laughs are one in the same. At certain points in the game, you can find Flowey following you, keeping an eye on things, if you will. His boss fight, oh my g o d. He kills the dude in charge, everything cuts to black, and next thing we know there’s a glitchy face laughing at us through a screen, telling us about how he’s the one in charge and how this is his world and how everything he’s done was all our faults, after which his eyes turn red and green and he starts puppeteering controlling six different souls, using their different skills to his own personal advantage so he can fulfill some unspoken objective. Gee, sound familiar? 

However, despite all of this, Undertale was not patient zero. Why I still listed all the game’s similarities despite this, I promise was not to waste your time, I’m getting to that. There was a game that came just before this one, the first of it’s kind, the actual patient zero. That game, is The Visitor.

Many of you may not remember this game, but The Visitor (and The Visitor Returns) was a little flash game that was posted way back on March 1st, 2015, and you played as an alien creature that came to Earth on a meteorite who’s only objective was to kill any creature it came into contact with to gain it’s powers. It was a video that kind of took the channel by storm, landing it’s place as the fifth most watched video on Jack’s channel even though nobody really knew how. This was patient zero. 

As for the checklist? It was posted March 1st, 2015, a full year and seven months before Sister Location. Jack is certainly immersed in the gameplay, so much so he forgets about the menu screen and accidentally restarts the game in an attempt to do more stuff. Does it show a similarity to what we already see in Anti? More than you’d see at first glance. Yes, his mouse is kind of glitching through the entire video. Yes, his webcam goes dark for a single frame towards the five minute mark. Yes, there’s multiple severe neck wounds throughout the game. But that’s not what sold me on this. It’s the premise of the game itself. 

I was struggling for months trying to figure out which game was patient zero. I jumped between Undertale, Fran Bow, Vee is Calling, and even the other Five Nights At Freddy’s videos more times than I could count, because all of them seemed like plausible answers. Fran Bow was the first series ever to adopt Anti’s traditional thumbnails, with lens flares and glowing eyes and blood everywhere(seriously, I took a good ten minutes and scrolled through every single video on his channel and Fran Bow was where it all started), not to mention a dark shadow creature who feeds on suffering being the main antagonist. Vee is Calling had an actual virus as a main character who actually glitches out and actually takes control of the main character’s in game computer. One of the glitches in SIster Location #1 showed a frame from the first ever FNAF game, and many of the sounds were pulled from the series at different points. I’ve already written paragraphs about Undertale. All of these things show a direct tie to Anti. 

Then remember what The Visitor is all about. It’s an alien who kills things around him to gain it’s powers. It takes aspects from each creature it comes into contact with and uses them for his own personal gain. That seems to be exactly what Anti has done ever since we’ve known him as a physical entity on the channel rather than an idea with a name. 

I mean, look back at May 2k18. Every single skit, either ego themed or not, was pulled directly from whatever the game he played was about. Hell, just look at the egos! I’ve talked about this before, but in every single ego video, there is always a theme of character decay, where the person they were at the start of the video erodes away leaving nothing but a shell of who they were by the end, and this is especially apparent in their debut. JBM, the courageous hero giving into cowardice. Marvin the Magician, throwing away his career. Henrik the wise doctor, killing his patients and forgetting a comedic amount about human nature. Chase the bubbly dad, pulling a gun on himself. JJ the mute actor, cutting his finger and immediately getting possessed. I’d tied them back to Anti before, but I never really knew why. In hindsight, this was clearly Anti’s attempt at stealing their strengths. Each and every one of them had some advantage that Anti wanted, and their slow decay was evidence of Anti trying to take control so he could have it. That’s why each new video showed him getting stronger, going from making them kind of afraid to full on suicide and possession. He was stronger because he’d taken more attributes and was able to use them more effectively with each passing video. For each game that Sean got immersed in that fit his agenda, Anti adopted different aspects for himself. There is no one video where Anti came from because he came from every video.

Okay. Alien biomechanical virus. How do we treat it? Well, that is heavily reliant on it’s sources. Anti adopted both some benefits and some defects from every game he pulled from. He gained both strengths and weaknesses, so if you want to “beat” him, the answer would lie in those games. The Visitor had no happy ending. Fran Bow won by giving up on reality and living with tree people, a demon, and an oversized axolotl. Undertale got a good ending by befriending everyone including the bad guys and hopefully not dying too much in the process. FNAF was finished by getting fired or burning everything to the ground and praying you’re not sent to purgatory. Vee is Calling was saved by focusing on your love life more than your computer files. Maybe it’s one of those answers. Maybe it’s all of them. Maybe it’s none of them. It seems not even Sean knows the answer to that question, but now we have a great place to start looking.

I wasn’t able to attend PAX, which means I didn’t know about the Anti “hint” until just now. When I heard it I wanted to scream, I think I actually might have, because I’ve been sitting on this work for literal months and just not gotten around to posting it. “We still haven’t figured out what Anti is yet.”

So, @therealjacksepticeye, are my answers to your satisfaction? 

[vagrantblvrd]

A Place So Dark (1/?)

Summary: Gavin died on a Thursday.

                 That’s what the official records say, anyway.

                 They also say he died in an accident.

Notes: This is loosely (very much so) based on the movie The Wraith and inspired by Michael and Gavin messing around in the GTA V Jetpack Joyrides video. (Look, I don't know what happened either. Also, let's pretend Tron isn't a thing in this AU, because reasons.)

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 ||

AO3

Gavin died on a Thursday.

That’s what the official records say, anyway.

They also say he died in an accident.

Bad weather, bald tires, and too much speed going around a turn. (“You have our condolences, Mr. Jones, but we wouldn’t recommend an open casket funeral service, if you take our meaning.”)

Michael knows it’s all bullshit, the only truth in any of it being that Gavin’s fucking dead.

Oh, he knows Gavin had a bike, if you want to call it that.

This atrocity of a Faggio painted like the Union Jack and covered in as many mirrors as he could afford because Gavin’s always been fucking strange.

Remembers Gavin, drunk as all hell and warm and happy and stupid with it as he leaned against Michael in their shitty apartment one night happily regaling him with the adventures of two stupid kids back in England getting into scrapes together. Reckless and young and too stupid to know how good they had it.

Gavin telling him he saw the damn thing in a dealer’s lot. Paint faded, mirrors shattered and leather of its seat cracked and split under the sun and how the last of his savings went into restoring it thanks to a bout of nostalgia.

Something that reminded him of better times and it was all so stupid, wasn't it, Michael? Damn thing never went above fifty even though the manufacture insisted it did, and oh, he was a right idiot to buy it on a whim like that.

The fucking look on Gavin’s face that night, flushed with alcohol and laughter and happy memories.

Sweet smile on his face, and the urge to just lean in and kiss him the way he’d wanted to for so long by that point. Take Gavin's face in his hands and finally fucking show him how in love with him Michael was, but Michael’s always been a coward.

Thought he had time to find a better way to do it. When they were both sober, no alcohol to cloud their judgment because he didn’t want Gavin doing something he’d regret, and now -

And now he’s got the cops telling him Gavin died on a Thursday in an accident when Michael was out of town. That their apartment building burning down a few days prior due to faulty wiring was just a stroke of bad luck, so very sorry, Mr. Jones.

Goddamn bullshit, all of it because this is Los Santos and those kind of coincidences don’t fucking happen here.

They just – they don’t.

Michael's been thinking since he got the call telling him about Gavin’s “accident” because this is is Los Santos and no one stays clean here for long. Even the ones who start out wanting to do the right thing, make the city a better place, get dragged down. Start making compromises, let the lines blur and lose sight of what they wanted to accomplish.

And Gavin, right, Gavin was smart.

So fucking smart with his computers and freelance camera work and everything else.

He could have made a living anywhere, but somehow he ended up in this shithole of a city. Ran into Michael at a bar somewhere and shared their little stories and gotten their lives tangled so tightly together that it was hard to remember a time when Gavin hadn’t been in his life.

Could have left this city behind (left Michael behind) and gotten out, but he hadn’t, and it killed him.

Or someone killed him, because Gavin was smart and clever as hell, and he’d been acting weird, off, the weeks before he died.

Shifty and nervous and doing a bad job of convincing Michael he wasn’t, and Michael had planned on talking to him about it. Cornering him if he had to because it worried him, scared, him, but he’d put it off. Thought he should give Gavin some space because God knows he was a stubborn bastard, would shut down if Michael pushed too hard.

Took a job that took him out of town for a few days, and then everything went to hell, and Michael.

Michael’s no saint, no innocent.

Never was.

Told Gavin he was an electrician, which hadn’t quite been a lie. He’d worked under the table for an electrician back in Jersey, did a little of that here too. Side jobs and shit, but he made most of his money playing muscle for small-time gangs.

Picking up jobs here and there and keeping his head down because he didn’t want to get involved in the shit that went down in the city. Made the news night after night with the bigger crews, territory disputes and power grabs.

He played it smart, just enough to get by. Pay for rent and essentials and maybe get the fuck out of Los Santos one day, take Gavin with him, and now look at him.

Stupid bastard with a hole in his chest where his heart used to be and an idea in his head that’s probably going to kill him when all’s said and done because that’s what this fucking city does. But that’s just fine with Michael as long as he gets to the bottom of this.

========

Michael gets a box in the mail a little over a month after Gavin dies. It looks like it’s been bounced around all over the place by the time it catches up to him, took a beating.

Since the place he had with Gavin is nothing but charred rubble, he’s been staying with someone he met on a job a while back. Guy from Boston who made his way to Los Santos and works as hired muscle when he’s not beating the shit out of some idiot in the fighting ring.

Good guy, really. Someone Michael can trust, as far as things go here, and that says a lot.

Jeremy’s working when the box gets delivered, which is probably for the best because it means he doesn’t get to see the look on Michael’s face when he opens it.

There’s an envelope inside with Michael’s name on in it in Gavin’s handwriting and a fucking letter that Michael can’t bring himself to finish reading after he gets through the first paragraph.

Not when he can hear Gavin’s voice so clearly in his mind, that dumb little laugh of his.

Michael boi, 

If you’re reading this, I guess it means I’m dead, doesn’t it? Probably did something stupid to get that way too. You always said it was a miracle I’d made it this long – how lucky I was – and it looks like you were right about that one.

Michael’s hands only shake a little when he sets the letter aside to go through the rest of the box’s contents.

A padded envelope, something more than just a letter inside with a note and a name and a request from Gavin.

Get it to a reporter with a major news outlet in Los Santos, guy who wasn’t scared to call out crooked politicians and business people in the city. Had had countless death threats and attempts on his life and one of the ones who wants to make a difference here.

Gavin’s note, his, You’re the only one I can trust to get this to him before it’s too late, Michael. and this sinking feeling because it already was too late.

The reporter’s dead. Killed in another “accident” not too long after Gavin’s, another perfect goddamn coincidence.

News outlets all over the city taking the time to comment on what a good man he’d been. How strong, how brave. Such a dedicated journalist and how there would never be another one like him again -

And then never mentioned him again.

Went to great lengths not to, actually, like they’d paid enough lip service to make everything seem right to anyone watching.

Michael hesitates before he opens the envelope because whatever is inside has to be what got Gavin killed.

Something he stumbled on or purposefully went looking for, because he could never leave something well enough alone if it caught his interest. Always chasing something and this time it got him killed. (It’s that last thought that has Michael ripping the envelope open and shaking its contents into his hand.)

A USB drive and a couple of memory cards, and this horrible feeling taking root in Michael’s gut.

Gavin was always too smart for his own good. Nosy little fucker and Los Santos loves people like him.

Gets them caught up in shit they shouldn’t be, learn things they shouldn’t. Leaves them in a bad spot where they make the wrong decisions because there are no right ones to be made.

If they’re lucky they get to live, if not...

Well.

Michael sets the USB drive and memory cards aside and goes through the packet at the bottom of the box.

All kinds of documents and shit with Michael’s face and a fake name. Michael knows right away that they’ll pass whatever scrutiny the authorities would put them through.

There’s everything here he’d need to begin a new life somewhere along with enough money to keep him going until he got his feet under him.

All those times he’d talk about the future with Gavin like he really thought there was one ahead for them. Getting the hell out of Los Santos and living somewhere better (safer), and the fucker had put this together.

Planned for Michael to get this – set up some kind of arrangement with a courier company to send it to Michael if the payments stopped – and just, what?

Thought Michael would hand off the USB drive and memory cards to some asshole and head off into the sunset? Act like Gavin’s death was unfortunate, but shit happens so might as well keep trucking on?

“You fucker,” Michael murmurs, staring at the fake driver license because it’s a shitty picture the way they tend to be, but he remembers Gavin taking it.

The two of them joking around and being stupid the way they always were. Like they were kids again and Lost Santos wasn’t the kind of place it was. Joking around and being stupid and goddamn him anyway.

Michael doesn’t have it in him to cry anymore, not the way he did the first few weeks after Gavin died.

He’s too tired for that now, worn down and hollowed out by loss and grief and this obsession to get to the truth of things. Dead-ends and false leads and Jeremy giving him these worried looks thinking Michael had lost his fucking mind in his grief, and now this.

He’s not crying but his eyes are stinging and his chest aches with this mix of grief and anger and a helplessness that Michael hates more than anything.

He’s been looking for anything to help him make sense of Gavin’s death for so long and it turns out he could have had his answers before now if the fucking postal service had gotten their shit together.

“Fucking Christ, Gav. Only you.”

Jeremy’s got a crappy little laptop that he’s told Michael to use if he ever needs it. This cheesy smile on his face and shitty attempt at Spanish with his “mi laptop es su laptop”.

Michael turns the laptop on and on and listens to the fans laboring to keep it from combusting, waits and waits and waits for it to finish booting up before he plugs the USB drive into the port.

A window pops up asking for a password and Michael stares at the screen for a long moment, because of course it’s not going to be so fucking simple.

He spends half an hour trying different passwords he thinks Gavin would have used with no luck, and removes the USB drive from the laptop. Then, because he’s a goddamn idiot, he tries the memory cards next and meets with the same failure.

For the life of him he can’t think of what Gavin’s password could be, and it’s frustrating on an entirely new level.

After a while, Michael turns Jeremy’s laptop off and winces at the noises it makes as it powers down. Sounds like it’s just a moment away from dying.

Michael puts the USB drive and the memory cards back in the box with the rest of the shit Gavin meant for him to have. He hides it all under a loose board in the storage closet Jeremy showed him.

One of half a dozen hidey spots he has around his place. Smiling as he told Michael it was none of his business what Michael put in there, as long as the cops couldn't trace it back to them.

It’s not the best hiding spot, but he trusts Jeremy and he doesn’t have a lot of options left at the moment.

========

Michael did some asking around when he first started looking into Gavin’s death. People he knew from jobs he’d worked before, ones who might have heard something here or there.

Bits of gossip, tidbits of information inadvertently leaked anything at all would have been useful but nothing helpful had turned up.

Oh, he’d gotten a few hints, clues, every so often but when he followed up on them they didn’t turn anything up.

This time he starts poking around forgers and their kind, sees if any of them remember Gavin. Are willing to admit to it after he’d ended up on the evening news the way he had.

Such a tragic story about the perils of not keeping your vehicle properly maintained. That it was a good idea to obey traffic laws, but even then there had been people who’d seen enough accidents like his to recognize trouble when they saw it.

But now Michael’s got a starting point. Knows there are people out there in his world who knew Gavin.

It’s a matter of applying a little money to grease palms here and there, and this time around he must be asking the right questions.

He gets a little  “You didn’t hear it from me, but - “ and some information on a guy new to Los Santos.

Someone with a crew looking to expand, running drugs and guns and just about everything else. Had some people involved in the underground fights on the side, and word was he’d been looking for someone good with computers a few months back.

Found someone with a funny accent, “Australian or British, one of those”.

Michael knows it could be a coincidence because Gavin wasn’t the only British person in the city, but it’s his first real lead.

He asks Jeremy if he knows anything about the guy, run into his people in the ring.

“Stay the fuck away from Carmine, Michael. I mean it.”

Jeremy looks dead serious, eyes narrowed as he studies Michael. Smart bastard, Jeremy, and in the past that’s been in Michael’s favor, but now?

Not so much.

He must see something on Michael’s face, or maybe he just knows him too well because his expression softens. Fucking sympathy in his voice when he speaks next.

“Is this – Michael. Does this have anything to do with Gavin?”

Michael looks at Jeremy, too tired to lie.

Jeremy and Gavin never met, Michael trying his best to keep his worlds from colliding. So stupidly naive to think he could protect Gavin somehow by keeping the worst part of himself hidden from him.

“Michael - “

“Come on, Jeremy,” he says, hands gesturing. “Do you really think it was an accident? You’ve seen the reports!”

Jeremy’s read the reports too, fuck knows Michael wasn’t in the right frame of mind to hide them from him after he got his hands on them. Called in some favors and put himself in debt with people to do it, but he’d needed to know. Couldn’t fucking trust the cops or the fire department, not in this city, and things hadn’t added up.

Blacked out lines in the reports, other things that just added to his suspicion that something wasn’t right, that they were covering something up.

Jeremy breathes hard through his nose, looks like he wants lie, tell Michael he’s imagining things. That he’s taking this, Gavin's death too hard, letting it fuck with his head. Twist him all up until everything’s muddled up in his head. Turn it into some trust no one bullshit conspiracy theory.

But then he sighs, rubs a hand over his face.

“Carmine’s not someone you want to fuck with,” he says, sounding just as tired as Michael feels. “Michael, if you go digging into his business, you’re going to end up like Gavin.”

It’s flat, bleak, Jeremy not aiming to hurt. Just warn Michael off of doing something stupid, putting himself in danger.

“I can’t let this go,” Michael says.

He doesn’t have the words to explain it to Jeremy, why he needs to know what Gavin had found out to get him killed. Can’t let whoever did it get away with it, think they can do something like that and not expect it to catch up to them.

He knows it won't bring Gavin back.

Knows that it isn’t what Gavin would have wanted for Michael or he never would have gone to the trouble of constructing a new identity for him. (Wanted him to get out of the city and start over somewhere else, forget he’d ever set foot in Los Santos.)

But this isn’t about what Gavin would have wanted because he’s not fucking here.

Michael is and he’s not going to let some piece of shit get away with thinking he’s untouchable.

“I know,” Jeremy sighs. “Christ, just. Be careful, asshole.”

It’s too late for that and Jeremy has to know it, but still. The sentiment’s nice.

========

Michael still has favors saved up, people who put the word out that he’s looking for work. Needs money and is willing to do what it takes to get it.

He’s got a good reputation to start with around the right circles. Known as someone who’d not afraid to get his hands dirty and pretty handy with explosives.

A rat-faced bastard approaches him, makes him a little deal.

Wants Michael to play guard for an old junkyard at the edge of the city. Decent enough pay, and all he has to do is make sure the only people who get in are part of Carmine’s crew.

Anyone else?

They get a bullet.

Nice and simple and nothing different from the work Michael’s done in the past.

Rat-face tells Michael that if he does a good job there’s room for advancement, and it feels like a normal job interview in a fucked up way. (Michael looking to make a career of this, and where does he see himself in five years?)

When Michael gets back, he tells Jeremy he got a job. Works hard to ignore the look on his face. Smart bastard who knows Michael was never going to give up so easily, move on like nothing happened quickly. Bites back whatever he wants to say because because he knows Michael’s past listening. (He hears Jeremy’s ”Be careful, you asshole” just fine though, grateful that he knows better than to stop him.)

And then Michael’s in a goddamn junkyard outside the city. Dirt road leading up to it and far enough out of the way that it feels cut off from civilization.

Tall trees and rocky terrain around it, all kind of animal noises in the night. Eerie, unsettling, the way the shadows fall, and Michael’s skin crawls with the feeling of being watched.

He’s a city kid through and through and the place is creepy as fuck, even with other grunts like him there to guard it.

A handful of the kind of assholes he’s worked with before. Idiots who can’t seem to make a decent living and ended up here. Don’t mind the ugly parts of this life, and a few who probably like the way it’s a bit of a power trip.

All of them bottom of the food chain here, expendable hired muscle that people like Carmine burn through like it’s nothing, but they don’t see it like that.

Think they’re a big deal with their guns and knives and whatever else stepping all over the little guy. Fuck the establishment and take what they want because that’s how things work here.

Survival of the fittest and everything that entails.

Real dumb when it comes down to it because they’re too low in the hierarchy to know what Carmine’s up to out here.

Cargo containers at the heart of the yard and cars coming and going at all hours. A goddamned wall in place of a chain link fence. Buildings along the back converted into a bunk room, barracks, whatever the fuck you want to call it and a tiny kitchenette.

Carmine coming in and turning it into a goddamned compound.

It makes Michael uneasy being out here on his own. New guy without anyone who’d give enough of a shit to watch his back if something happens out here.

Worry in the back of his mind that somehow Carmine knows he’s connected to Gavin, but he shoves it back down for now.

Besides, there’s fuck all he can do if Carmine knows and is just playing the long game Giving Michael enough rope to hang himself so he can get his hands on whatever is on that USB drive and the memory cards.

========

Michael’s not the best sniper, really.

He’s better suited to close quarters shit. Throwing fists and breaking teeth, making someone real fucking sorry they thought he looked like an easy target.

But even an idiot can provide cover fire, keep assholes pinned down. Michael can hit a moving target fairly reliably and Rat-face seems to think that makes him best qualified to put him up in the tower.

Fuck, it’s barely that. Just a structure with a ladder attached near the wall, rickety as hell and covered with a tarp as half-assed shelter from the elements. Keeps the rain off and not much else, but it’s better than nothing.

Third night in and he hears an engine approaching. Something that brings him around to watch the back road because it’s a bike.

It’s foggy out, visibility shit and too fucking quiet for Michael’s peace of mind.

Sounds echoing oddly when the others call out to each other. The sound of the bike seeming to come from all directions and it’s setting Michael’s nerves on edge because the damn thing sounds like something alive and so fucking angry.

There aren’t supposed to be incoming vehicles until the next day anyway, so Michael's on the comm to the Rat-face who’s the big guy in charge out here.

“I’ve got a bike coming up the back road,” he says, watching through his sniper rifle’s scope.

Rat-face gives a curt acknowledgment, and Michael listens with half an ear to him ordering the grunts to fall back to the main gates as he watches the road.

He tracks the bike, high-powered engine, going too fast for the twisting dirt roads out here. It looks like a streak of pale blue-white light moving through the fog, like the old stories his grandfather used to tell him about will-o'-the-wisps.

A minute later the bike slides out of the fog and comes to a stop outside the walls.

Michael realizes it’s some kind of neon body kit that gives the bike a futuristic look, matched by the biker’s own suit. Black with pink lines of light running over it.

“The fuck?” Michael mutters, lifting his head from the scope to look down at the figure.

He’s never seen a bike or suit like that before.

The biker revs the bike’s engine, and Michael's eyes narrow as he looks through the scope again. Blinks when he looks up – right at Michael with the way his head’s angled – and a second later he kicks the bike into motion.

Heads right for the gates with something held aloft in his hand with a blinking red light.

A fucking bomb.

“He’s got explosives!” Michael yells over the comms, and shifts his focus back to the damn biker.

Michael gets off a shot, two, but the guy jukes right, left, too fast for Michael to follow, get a solid bead on him.

Michael swears, looking away to check on the grunts. A few of the smarter ones bolt for cover just in time as the gates blow open and the bike leaps through the smoke like something out of a movie.

The biker avoids the idiots running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Ducks low to hug the body of the bike to avoid gunfire as he head right for the center of the compound.

Rat-face is yelling at Michael to take the fucker out, and Michael tries, he does, but the biker’s fast.

Unnaturally so in the tight confines of the compound, still littered with wrecked cars and other accumulated shit that come together to create a maze. Somehow the fucker navigates it with ease while dodging gunfire and whatever else the grunts can throw at him.

There’s something about it sends a chill down Michael’s spine because with the amount of bullets flying down there someone should have hit him by now. Hit him, that bike of his, but not a single bullet does.

He just.

It has to be his eyes playing tricks on him with fog thick on the ground and shadows cast by the fires from the explosion because the biker veers sharp to one side. Seems to flicker when a group of grunts concentrate their gunfire on him in the moments before he finishes his turn and doubles back.

And then there are shrieks and yelps of pain when it becomes clear the grunts don’t seem to grasp the concept of crossfire and holy fuck.

The biker takes advantage of the confusion and darts for the cargo containers while everyone’s casting blame or bleeding.

Michael has enough time to yell a warning before explosions rock the compound, knock him out of the fucking tower where he hits the ground hard.

He can’t breathe, the breath knocked from him, shoulder blinding pain where he landed on it, the rest of him not too pleased either – and then he hears the fucking bike.

It sounds like some kind of wild animal, snarling, growling as it prowls the compound.

Michael scrambles to get up, get on his feet.

He lost the sniper rifle in the fall, but he has his handgun and goes to pull it when the biker fucking materializes out of the fog in front of him without warning.

Michael stares at him, the blank visor of his helmet and waits for a fucking bullet. Expects everything to end here in the mud and wet, but the guy just cocks his head, bike purring quietly.

There’s screaming, yells for people to put out the fire to save what’s left of the compound, but it all sounds far away. Whole worlds, because right now it’s Michael and the fucker on the goddamn bike -

Michael’s earpiece crackles to life, Rat-face demanding to know his status. Barking out orders to take the biker out any means necessary, and Michael reaches up and pulls it out.

Drops it into the mud and brings his foot down on it.

The biker’s still watching him, and Michael opens his mouth to say something – what, he doesn’t know – but his throat clicks, no sound coming out.

The biker seems to give himself a little shake, and drops low. Revs the bike’s engine, Michael moving out of the way as it leaps forward, tearing through the smoking remnants of the gates and vanishing into the fog.

Michael’s aware of people running past him, yelling and more gunfire and turns to see Rat-face watching him, eyes narrowed.

“The fuck happened back there, Jones?”

Michael -

Fuck.

He doesn’t fucking know.

Had no idea there was someone else going after Carmine like this. Pulling a goddamn hit-and-run attack and either being so fucking good or just plain lucky to get in and out without getting killed outnumbered the way he’d been.

“Fuck if I know,” Michael says, puts some anger into his voice, snapping back. “I fucking warned you guys.”

He looks around at the other grunts. Some running to deal with the fire, others seeing to the injures. The rest are standing around like idiots, wide-eyed and stunned and not likely to last long in this world if this is their reaction when things turn to shit.

Rat-face snorts as he follows Michael’s gaze.

“Help with getting this clusterfuck cleaned up,” he says, and levels Michael with a look. “We’ll figure it out later.”

Michael nods and goes looking for his sniper rifle before joining the others, itch between his shoulders like he’s being watched.

========

Jeremy doesn’t ask what happened when Michael gets back to Los Santos after Rat-face declares the compound a loss and tells the grunts like Michael their services were no longer needed after that little shitshow.

“Michael.”

Michael’s hurting, back and side bruised up to hell and back, shoulder a throbbing mass of pain. He’s managed to catch a cold too, voice rough, scratchy thanks to being up in the fucking tower in the cold and rain.

Overall he’s a fucking mess, and Jeremy’s being gentle about it. Doesn’t give him shit or tease him the way he normally would, and that burns a little because he’s not that pathetic just yet. (Not about that, anyway.)

But Jeremy’s a good guy. Worries about the idiot doing his best to get himself killed for a dead man and goddamn Michael’s life.

“Hey,” Michael says.

Jeremy sighs, dropping down on the couch next to Michael.

Stares at the television, stupid daytime dramas and shitty commercials and fidgets.

Plays with the ring on his finger, and Michael feels a pang at the sight of it because somehow he’s never asked Jeremy who has the matching ring. Never saw a reason to because it was Jeremy’s business, and Michael had reason to poke his nose into it.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know if they’re alive, but Michael hopes like hell they are because he’d hate for anything else for Jeremy.

Jeremy takes a deep breath, seeming to come to some sort of decision and glances at Michael from the corner of his eye. Braces himself, and says, voice light, like it’s just a casual offer:

“I know a hacker, if. You know. You ever need one. For, like. Anything.”

It’s halting and awkward and too much like Jeremy knows he’s pushing his luck here, the trust Michael has in him.

Jeremy turns his attention back to the television as he picks up the remote and flips through channels.

He’s trying for casual and nonchalant, but Jeremy looks like he’s expecting a fight - yelling at the very least.

Michael watches the television, hands clenched into fists on his lap. Sees glimpses of shows and commercials and entire other worlds someone dreamed up flashing by in quick bursts as Jeremy looks for something to watch.

He rubs his chest at the sharp ache, reminder, that he use to know a hacker of his own, too, apparently. An idiot who played at being a law-abiding citizen and very clearly wasn’t. (Or maybe he was, and Los Santos got its hooks into him, pulled him down the way it does everyone at some point, Michael will never know.)

Michael thinks about working up anger at Jeremy for prying, for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, but it doesn’t come. Not when he’s done so much for Michael without asking for anything in return.

Given him a place to stay without asking questions. Let him make his own mistakes instead of trying to stop him after that first warning, and now he’s offering to help.

To get involved in Michael’s problems by giving him the name of this hacker – and Michael knows it has to be Matt.

Idiot with a dry sense of humor, a slight drawl, and an old, old friend of Jeremy's.

Someone important to him, and Michael -

It's tempting, because he still hasn’t cracked Gavin's password. Borrows Jeremy’s laptop and makes an attempt when Jeremy’s out of the apartment or asleep, and either he was more obvious than he thought or Jeremy found the box.

Put the pieces together and realized Michael wasn’t making headway and resigned himself to Michael being the kind of stubborn who wouldn’t stop until he did.

Decided that he’d rather help Michael at this point than let him do it alone, and Michael rubs at his eyes, dry and aching, and sighs.

He doesn’t want to drag Jeremy or his friends into this anymore than he already has. Knows he should have left when he started looking into Gavin’s death, but he hadn’t.

Too weak, or selfish, maybe a mix of both, and now Jeremy's offering to help. Putting himself and his friends into the line of fire for Michael, and it’s so goddamned tempting to just accept it, but -

Jeremy’s got a ring on his finger, a simple little band of metal and somewhere out there (Michael hopes) someone has the matching ring. Jeremy’s got friends like Matt, loyal through and through and too stupid to know that’s the kind of thing that gets people killed in Los Santos.

“...I’ll think about it,” Michael says after a few minutes have gone by, and hopes Jeremy can’t hear the lie in it.

Jeremy lets out a breath, relieved, and looks at Michael.

“Yeah?”

Michael smiles, lopsided and awkward, and nods.

“Yeah.”

========

Michael's on a grocery run when he hears the bike again.

Doesn’t think he could ever forget the way the engine growls like a wild animal, low and so fucking angry.

He stops mid-step and turns to see the fucker sitting on his bike in the mouth of an alley across the street.

It’s the middle of the day. Clear weather and warm enough out that Michael's in an old t-shirt, and the guy still manages to find the darkest shadows around.

The lights on his suit seem to pulse faintly, and something about it brings to mind high school English class before he dropped out. Stupid teachers and dusty old books and stories and the one with the heart under the floorboards or something.

Michael's heart-rate kicks up notch, adrenaline and anger and an ugly mix of emotions hat clog his throat. Have him choking on his words as he moves closer, sore shoulder throbbing.

“The fuck do you want?” he yells, hands clenched so tightly by his side they’re aching.

He sees the biker cock his head, studying Michael like he’s an interesting bug, but nothing more than that, and it’s infuriating. Has Michael starting across the street – jerking back just in time as a horn blares, loud and shocking, and Michael barely misses being hit by a box truck barreling down the road.

By the time he recovers, heart pounding at the near-miss and thinks to look back at the alley, its empty, biker long gone.

Michael stares, because it’s possible he missed hearing the guy leave when his attention was on the damn box truck, but he doubts it. With an engine that fucking distinctive he would have noticed him leave, would have heard it.

When he crosses the street this time, he remembers to check for traffic. Looks left, right, left again, and then it’s a quick jog to the alley’s entrance.

The shadows are lighter, not the inky darkness the biker had been surrounded by. It’s possible that was all due to the placement of the sun in the sky, shadows shifting  in the time between Michael first spotting the guy until now, or maybe there’s some other logical explanation.

The biker was definitely there, not Michael’s mind playing tricks on him again. The ground’s dusty here, looks mostly undisturbed aside from one perfect little footprint where the biker had rested his foot.

“The fuck is going on?”

Michael doesn’t know if he’s talking to himself or the rats digging through the garbage further down the alley.

He’s starting to think Jeremy had a point, all that time back. That Michael’s finally snapped, is seeing things that aren't actually there. Figments of his imagination and whatever the fuck else because so much about the biker doesn’t make sense.

A lot of things that don’t make sense, really, Michael’s mind tripping back to the shows his mom used to watch. Ghosts and creatures everyone seems to believe in that didn’t, couldn’t exist because they weren’t fucking real.

You’re dead, you're dead, no coming back from that. Maybe it’s cold and harsh, but that’s how the world works. (Michael learned that one early on in life.)

You don’t just get a fucking do-over. Don’t get to haunt the living to make them repent their sins or confess to their wrongdoings or whatever the fuck.

All you get is fucking dead.

But as Michael stares down at the footprint, thinks to dig his phone out of his pocket and take a picture as proof, he wonders if there’s something to it after all.

========

There’s not a lot Michael can do in the following days, still recovering from his cold and just too fucking tired, drained, to think about picking up a job.

He uses some of the money Gavin gave him to buy a cheap little laptop at a pawn shop. Nothing fancy, but it’s enough for Michael to put some time into trying to decipher Gavin's password without worrying about hogging Jeremy’s laptop.

He gets a notepad at the dollar store and logs failed attempts to make sure he’s not going in circles. Ignores the worried looks Jeremy tosses his way and acts like he’s not in a holding pattern until he cracks the stupid password or something happens with Carmine.

And then one night Jeremy comes home and starts flipping through the channels again.

He’s finally found steady work, a crew that treats him as more than just cannon fodder from what he says. (He gets this look sometimes, like he wants to ask Michael to give the crew a try, give up on this obsession of his. Move past Gavin’s death and pick up his life again, but he never does, and Michael loves him for that.)

“Hey, Michael,” he says, toying with the stupid cowboy hat resting on his knee. “Have you heard about what’s been going on?”

Michael blinks, looking up from his phone. The dumb picture of the biker’s footprint he took over a week ago and had forgotten about. Half expected for it to be a picture of the ground and nothing else, product of Michael’s fevered mind and shit when he was sick, but no.

A very real footprint in the dirt. Clear enough that he can see the tread pattern.

“Uh...”

Jeremy snorts, and waves at the television. News anchor reporting on some gang activity. Grainy surveillance footage of someone taking out a warehouse down by the docks.

Michael’s blood freezes because it’s the fucking biker.

Blue-white lights of his bike and the stupid fucking pink of his suit and he’s riding away from the warehouse that’s engulfed in flames looking like some kind of vengeful spirit.

“The fuck is that?” Michael manages, voice raspy because he’s still getting over that damn cold.

Jeremy shrugs, settling back against the cushions like it’s no big deal. Some fucking vigilante running around Los Santos going after crews and gangs, and what a fucking maniac, right?

“No one knows. The guy just showed up a few weeks ago. Matt said he went after the Vipers the other night. Wiped out one of their meth labs.”

Michael can’t seem to look away from the television. Wants to ask (even though it’s going to make him sound like the maniac here) if Jeremy can actually see the fucker. That it’s not just Michael's mind playing tricks on him.

“Yeah? He know anything else about the guy?”

Jeremy shrugs, eyes sliding towards him.

“Not much, really. He just seems to have a serious serious hate-on for anyone dealing hardcore drugs.”

There have been people before in this city, usually some form of cop or law enforcement, but sometimes it was just a normal civilian. Someone who just lost it over how corrupt shit was in Los Santos. Went rogue, or whatever they wanted to call it and started hunting down criminals.

Targeted gangs and crews and the lucky ones did some damage before someone put them down. Left a mark on the city – this bright spot of resistance against the corruption in the city that never lasted.

Most just died bloody.

Cut down in the street, and left for the authorities to sort out.

This guy -

Michael listens to the news anchor as they talk about previous attacks the biker’s been responsible for, possible theories for his motive, and looks at Jeremy.

“Your crew worried he might hit you guys?”

Jeremy shrugs, this odd little grin on his face.

“Not really,” he says. “They don’t mess with that stuff.”

That's no guarantee the biker won’t step things up a notch. Start going after everyone indiscriminately, but Jeremy seems pretty confident his new crew will be fine.

That either means they’re smart enough to avoid dealing with the kind of thing that the biker’s focused on, or they think they can handle him if he does go after them.

“Hey,” Jeremy says, and bumps his shoulder against Michael’s. “We’re good, I promise.”

“Yeah, I’ll hold you to that,” Michael says, and hopes Jeremy’s telling the truth.

========

Michael doesn’t go looking for the biker on purpose, really, he’s just  -

Fuck.

Fuck, no.

He does.

To be fair, though, he doesn’t just start wandering the streets of Los Santos at night hoping to run into the bastard.

He drives out to Carmine’s compound first, because that’s definitely better.

It’s been raining on and off for several days. Overcast with heavy rain clouds hanging over Los Santos and the surrounding area, pressing down like a physical thing.

Michael has no damn idea what he’s even looking for, but he ends up spending most of the day there. Digging through the charred remains of the main buildings and picking through debris and rubble where the cargo containers sat.

Finds weapons parts that survived the fires mostly intact. Enough that Michael can get a good idea of what was being stored out here. The reason Carmine’s been laying low recently, keeping his head down.

Michael’s no detective, not even all that smart when it comes down to it, but he knows what he’s looking at out here. Takes a few pictures of his phone because why the fuck not have that kind of incriminating evidence on him?

When he gets to the tower he pauses. Studies the churned up tracks near its base, anything useful from that night long obliterated by the grunts rushing to put out the fires, get the injured out. Idiots who had no fucking idea what they were doing and got in everyone’s way.

Out of curiosity, some random whim, Michael walks around the outer perimeter and finds the spot where the biker paused before launching his attack.

There’s not much to see there, just what might have been tracks from his bike. Maybe someone else stopping to gawk at the site, who the fuck knows.

“Goddamn waste of time,” Michael mutters, kicking mud off his feet before he heads back to the city.

Stops to readjust his rearview mirror because his car’s a piece of shit and the thing slides out of position after a while. And then he damn near has a heart attack when he looks into the rearview mirror to make sure it’s positioned properly and sees the biker behind him on the road.

“Motherfucker!”

Michael whips around, heart racing because he’s alone out here and, who the fuck knows what sets the guy off -

But the roadway’s clear.

Nothing.

No one around for miles.

“Are you kidding me?” Michael mutters as he gets out of his car, a slight tremor in his hands as he goes for his gun.

When he gets to where he saw the biker parked behind him he finds one perfect footprint in the mud.

Clear enough he can see the tread before the sky opens up and rain starts falling.

Steady downpour that start to fill the footprint with water, mud collapsing in on itself and erasing whatever evidence the biker was even there.

“Fucking perfect,” Michael grumbles, tipping his head back to stare up at the sky.

Unrelenting gray as far as he can see, rain cold and unfeeling and stealing his warmth away with each passing moment.

========

After that little adventure Michael still isn’t wandering the streets of Los Santos like some character in a shitty Vinewood movie, but, you know.

It’s really fucking close.

He starts with that alley he saw the biker in, and just sort of works his way around the city going to areas he’s been spotted.

Has the feeling at least half of them are false leads. People calling in to the hotline the LSPD set up just for shits and giggles. Some just too fucking drunk or high to know that they'd seen wasn't the biker at all.

Still he goes out looking, and it gets him trouble.

Has him step too far into some shitty little gang’s territory when they're feeling weak, vulnerable, after the bicker’s attack. The continued presence of the cops and whoever else investigating the biker forcing them to cut back on criminal activities and costing them time and money and profit.

Sends him running for his damn life with a pack of angry gang members after his blood because he’s an idiot.

“Fucking hell,” he pants, lungs burning and legs aching and this was not how he saw himself going out, if he’s being entirely honest with himself

Getting shot up by assholes he doesn’t have a problem with because his sense of direction is shit and the fucking AI assistant on his phone didn’t come with gang territory maps installed, go figure. (A glaring mistake in Los Santos, really.)

He could call Jeremy to come bail him out, but honestly doubts he’d make it across half the city before Michael bites it.

There’s a flash of movement at the corner if his eye, the sound of a very distinct engine, and Michael wheels around to meet it, gun raised.

The biker’s tearing out of aside alley towards him, gesturing for him to get on behind him. Head turned to look behind them where they can hear Michael’s pursuers gaining on him.

Michael balks, and the guy looks fucking annoyed about it when he looks back at Michael. Impatient as he snaps his fingers, gestures becoming more emphatic the closer the yelling gets, and still Michael hesitates.

At least until one of the assholes chasing him fires off a shot way too fucking close.

After that Michael’s all about jumping on the back of the fucking bogeyman’s bike because really, what could possibly go wrong?

The biker’s reassuringly solid when Michael wraps his arms around him. Grunts in surprise when Michael squeezes just to be sure, and taps his arms to get Michael to ease up a little.

Michael loosens his hold, and the biker handles the bike with long ease as he revs the engine and they take off down the street.

Goes way too fucking fast, wind making Michael’s eyes water.

And fucking sue him when Michael presses his forehead against the biker’s back as they speed away. He’s tired, adrenaline rush fading and he doesn’t have a fucking helmet to protect against the wind or massive head trauma if they crash.

The guy twitches, but relaxes after a moment.

Michael assumed the biker would drop him off somewhere in the city. Maybe a few blocks away out of the gang’s territory or somewhere else nearby, but he strikes off east instead. Heading out of headed out of Los Santos and up to Galileo Observatory.

The sun's starting to rise by the time they reach it. Inky black fading to lighter blue that bleeds over to oranges and pinks near the horizon as they slow to a stop in front of the observatory building.

Michael climbs off the back of the bike, legs stiff and takes a moment to adjust before he follows the biker to the walkway overlooking the city. Looks over to see him leaning against the railing, tired slump to his shoulders.

“Hey,” Michael says, words awkward, uncertain. “Uh. Thanks, for saving my ass back there.”

The guy looks at him, blank face of his helmet disconcerting, alien. And then he cocks his head a certain way.

Oddly familiar, and Michael bristles.

“None of your goddamned business,” he mutters, not about to tell the fucker why he was out there in the first place.

Trying to find this mysterious vigilante everyone’s been talking about for weeks like fucking -

What?

Some idiot in a stupid movie chasing after the mysterious superhero or some stupid bullshit?

Half afraid he was a figment of Michael's imagination even though there was proof the guy was because he’d seen the biker do things that shouldn’t be possible time and time again. (Shit that didn’t make sense, shouldn’t make sense.)

And now the guy’s -  

He’s not making any noise, but he’s sure as hell laughing at Michael. Like he knows exactly what Michael was doing back there. Knows why Michael’s being gruff and surly now and thinks it’s so damn hilarious.

Shoulders shaking with it, and Michael huffs in feigned annoyance and goes back to watching the sunrise. Tired and sore and somehow still alive after that act of unbelievable stupidity on his part.

“You have a name?” Michael asks, tearing his eyes away from the view before him, not all that surprised to see the biker’s not there anymore.

Just.

Fucking gone.

When he looks, that damn bike of his is gone too.

Not a goddamned trace of either, and Michael sighs as he reaches for his phone.

If he’s lucky Jeremy will answer his phone this early. Won’t ask what the fuck Michael’s doing all the way out here at this hour, or where his car is.

========

Rat-face calls Michael a few days later.

Snide, condescending, but he’s still Michael’s best bet at getting closer to Carmine.

He doesn’t tell Jeremy about this either, doesn’t want him to worry. Just says he’s got a call from a friend, an easy little job.

A day or two at most and if he’s lucky a steady gig like Jeremy has. (Pretends he doesn’t see the dubious look Jeremy gives him because he might have gone a little overboard trying to sell that load of bullshit, but Jeremy’s good. Doesn’t ask.)

Rat-face gives him an address for a place down by the docks. Another warehouse, and Michael frowns when he realizes where it is. Real fucking close to that place the biker hit some time back. The one that ended up on the news and Jeremy insisting Michael see for himself what had Los Santos all abuzz this time.

Coincidence, or just the way things happened around here. Birds of a feather and authorities who’d turn a blind eye if you paid them enough, most likely.

He shows up close to sundown, sees some familiar faces keeping guard. Some of the grunts from the compound.

Rat-face gives him the basics, patrol the perimeter and no one in or out who isn’t one of Carmine’s. No special renovations to the place, just your average shitty warehouse slowly rusting away thanks to the salt air.

Michael gets the late shift and ends up partnered with a sour-faced dick who sneers when he lays eyes on Michael, eyes lingering on his freckles. Asks if his parents knows he’s out this late, and Michael smiles. Flat and humorless and doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction past that.

Catches Rat-face watching them closely. Wonders if there’s something behind him bringing Michael back or if they’re just getting desperate with the biker scaring hired guns off.

As far as Michael knows he hasn’t racked up a body count yet in his attacks – no interest in going after the grunts. Seems to focus more on hitting fuckers like Carmine where it hurts. Property damage and goods, product. Flashy enough about it that anyone in the way has time to get the fuck out before shit goes down.

But Michael supposes just the thought of what someone like him might do, the way most people operate in this city would be enough to make people nervous. Concerned that he’s working up to something bigger, might not care about any causalities along the way would be enough reason to be picky when it comes to jobs. Steer clear of ones like this one.

Michael slings his rifle over his shoulder and heads off to patrol, wondering if Sour-face is going to shoot him in the back before the night’s through with the way his luck’s been going.

========

The biker shows up just after four.

Michael rounds the corner and the fucker snaps his headlight on, goddamn blinding, and then he’s making a run at the warehouse.

Bike howling as he pushes it as fast as it will go and Michael watches dumbly as it streaks past, leaving a after trail of light in its wake.

Sour-face sees the biker coming and puts out the alarm, firing wildly and missing every fucking shot because apparently he never learned to aim.

Michael runs for the back of the warehouse where the loading bays are. There aren’t any trucks pulled up to them at the moment, but Rat-face left one open because it’s Los Santos in summer and hot as fuck. No reason for air conditioning inside and the only way to cool things down is the weak breeze blowing through.

No trucks and no ramps, but there’s a stack of old wooden crates and other shit piled up off to the side. Go fast enough, hit it at the right angle and you might - might - get enough height you could jump it.

He gets there just in time to see the fucker do it too, barely clearing the jump and landing badly, bike fishtailing before he regains control.

Alarmed yelling and more gunfire and Michael hangs back, not wanting to run into that after the clusterfuck at the compound.

He sees Sour-face run up, hands gripping his rifle tightly and this look of shock on his face as something inside the warehouse explodes. Fire spreading quickly sending Rat-face and the thugs spilling out though the open loading bay and side doors.

Scream of that engine and the biker soars back out through the loading bay. He manages to stick the landing this time and makes his getaway.

All in all, less than five minutes have passed since he made his presence known, and everything is chaos.

Fiery chaos with a side of yelling – Rat-face and some of the stupider grunts – and more burning.

Fucking impressive, actually.

“Holy shit,” Sour-face says, watching the warehouse burn.

Michael snorts, shouldering his rifle as he heads towards the warehouse where Rat-face is trying to regain control of the situation, voice starting to go hoarse.

========

Michael gets bounced all over the city along with Sour-face McGee and the rest of the hired muscle. (The ones who don’t suddenly have somewhere else to be when the biker keeps showing up to fuck up Carmine’s operations.)

He patrols warehouses and other spots of interest with Rat-face overseeing it all. Gets picked to help escort some twitchy motherfuckers handcuffed to metal briefcases and then back to the warehouse and so on and so on.

The biker takes out several of the warehouses, cases the office building and Michael swears he catches a glimpse of the guy tailing the unmarked vans used to transport those twitchy motherfuckers across the city.

Carmine’s not his only target – the biker goes after the Vipers again and other gangs that deal in hardcore drugs and other nasty shit. Makes a lot of enemies along the way and ends up on the again.

Sour-face continues to be a condescending, ignorant bastard and Rat-face keeps watching Michael, which.

Probably not good, but Michael figures there’s some overlap with him coming on board and the biker targeting Carmine, so.

Understandable.

A little bit alarming, in that Michael’s on his own here and is so very fucked if Rat-face has twigged to the fact Michael has ulterior motives, but still understandable.

The thing is, Rat-face doesn’t seem as angry when the biker stages an attack on Carmine’s operations, and it slowly dawns on Michael that the fucker’s compiling information on him.

Every time the guy shows up is an opportunity to study him, learn how he operates.

It makes Michael worried, because for whatever reason he and the biker seem to have compatible goals. (There’s also the fact the guy hasn’t killed Michael even though he’s had every chance to. That he fucking saved his life.)

“Jones!”

Michael turns as Rat-face come over to where he and Sour-face are waiting for orders.

It’s another warehouse. Industrial district this time, and Michael’s noticed there are a lot of Carmine’s regulars around.

“You’re with them,” Rat-face says, and points at a cluster of the regulars, smoking by the curb before turning to Sour-face. “You’re with me.”

Sour-face shoots Michael a smug little look, like he thinks it’s an honor that Rat-face picked him over Michael, like Rat-face hasn’t been watching him too. Suspicious as fuck about the grunts, especially the ones who came on board around the time the biker showed up.

Michael walks over to the group Rat-face pointed him at.

Rough guys. The kind who go out and do Carmine’s dirty work, bust a few kneecaps here, take care of annoyances there and don’t lose sleep over it.

They give Michael a once-over and promptly ignore him. Go back to their little gossip session until Rat-face snaps out orders and they head off to patrol.

Michael feels underdressed compared to them, standard light body armor for him while they’re decked out in the heavy duty military grade shit. Look like they’re expecting a hell of a fight.

Could be added precaution thanks to the biker’s guerrilla tactics, could be something else.

This whole situation feels off to Michael, makes him uneasy because he has a feeling Carmine and Rat-face have been baiting the biker. Setting up places, fucking targets for him all over the city so they can draw him out, figure out how he operates and this?

So many of Carmine’s regulars, people he’s kept with him because they’ve proved some form of stronger loyalty to him than just some quick cash is concerning. The way they’re decked out in heavy armor and weaponry -

The fucking snipers he’s seen setting up around the area?

Yeah.

Fucking trap.

Clear lines of sight on all sides and snipers positioned up high. Nice little straightaway leading up to the front of the warehouse. Shit-ton of Carmine’s regulars and hard hitters waiting inside in case the biker gets past the outer line of defense.

Fucking Christ, he hopes the goddamn biker is smart enough to recognize this for what it is, do the smart thing and stay away.

========

The stupid motherfucker shows up.

========

One second Michael’s patrolling, the next everything’s on fire.

Okay, no.

There’s some shit in between, but mostly the part where everything’s on fire.

One of the snipers calls out a warning, lets them know the biker’s been spotted and Rat-face immediately puts everyone on alert.

The group Michael’s with double-times it to the front of the warehouse just in time to see the biker dodging sniper fire as he races toward them.

He can hear Rat-face on the comms, barked orders and vicious threats, and the biker’s still coming, bike howling like a wild thing.

Michael’s group leader orders them to take up positions behind cement barricades for cover as they try to mow the fucker down, and he still keeps coming.

Seems to flicker like a hologram in an old shitty sci-fi flick or trick of the light as they rain bullets down on him and he keeps coming even though it’s clear this who thing was a trap from the beginning.

He just doesn’t fucking stop.

Michael can see lights reflecting off the biker’s helmet. Sees when one of the fucking sniper bullets clips his tire and he loses control, fishtailing wildly before spinning out.

Sees in perfect clarity the goddamn bomb he was carrying arc through the air towards the fuel tanks to one side of the warehouse.

Panicked yells and everyone fucking running before it goes off, and then everything’s either on fire or exploding like the end of an overproduced summer blockbuster.

========

It’s pure chaos.

Rat-face trying to regain control of the situation even though the grunts have run off and even the regulars are spooked. Unsettled by the biker and his little suicide run. They’re hanging back, hair-trigger reflexes and no concern of theirs who ends up in their sights.

Michael fades away, moves with the small crowd of stunned regulars until he’s at the spot where the biker crashed.

The thing’s fucking totaled, twisted metal and broken glass and ruined where it slammed into a brick wall.

He’s expecting to find the biker in much the same condition, but there’s no body to be found.

Shattered glass, tinted black, that must be from his helmet. Shredded gloves that have been tossed aside, splatters of blood weaving away fro the crash site and deeper into the maze of streets around the warehouse.

Michael follows it, sick feeling in his gut as the splatters get larger, path more erratic and pulls up short at the bloody hand prints. Places where the biker rested for a brief moment before pushing on.

“Fucking Christ,” he mutters.

He moves faster, sense of increased urgency to his search, and almost runs straight into goddamned Sour-face.

See that piece of shit stalking down a dark alley where the blood trail leads, voice cold and mocking.

“Come on on, asshole, I know you’re here!”

There’s movement deeper in the alley and Sour-face spins to face it, croons, “There you are.”

Christ.

Michael has a choice to make here, one that has his feet rooted to the ground.

He can keep going the way he has been. Hope that Rat-face will move him up in the ranks, close to Carmine where he can kill the fucker himself, or -

Sour-face aims a kick at the biker, manages to land a blow that wrenches a pained grunt from the crumpled figure at his feet.

Or Michael can do the right thing here and save the only guy who seems to have it out for Carmine as much as he does.

Another kick, sound of a bone snapping. Sour-face's grating laughter and Michael moves he realizes he’s made his decision.

Sour-face isn’t isn’t paying attention to anything other than the biker, so it’s easy to sneak up behind him.

For a fleeting moment, Michael considers putting a bullet in the asshole's head, putting him down like a rabid dog.

It’d be the smart thing here, leave one less fucker gunning for him later, but Michael’s not that far gone yet. Doesn’t like the thought of killing the asshole like this just because it’d be easy.

Michael takes one long step forward and slams the but of his assault rifle into the back of Sour-face’s head. Pulls the blow because he doesn’t want to kill him, just take him out of the equation for a bit.

Sour-face drops like a stone.

Michael kicks his gun away and looks up at a soft sound, and sees the biker watching him warily.

His stupid suit’s glowing weakly, sections blacked out completely. Far too many holes, tears in the suit, and holy fuck, so much blood.

A part of Michael is surprised that the fucker bleeds, even thought he followed the evidence of it here in the first place.

And then the biker shifts, tries to move but it must jar something because he lets out this pained noise, pants harshly before he tries again, because of course he does.

Michael shoots a glance behind him at a faint shout. Rat-face must have Carmine’s regulars back under control, have them out searching for the biker after checking the crash site.

Michael swears, low, angry, as he shoulder his rifle and moves closer to the biker who’s still watching him warily.

“How bad is it?” Michael asks, and after a brief hesitation the biker moves his hands from where they’re pressed against his side.

When Michael reaches out to see how badly injured he is, the biker grabs his arm and shakes his head. Gestures to Michael to help him up. The same impatient gesture from that night weeks ago when he saved Michael’s ass from that gang, and Michael sighs as he gets him to his feet.

The biker wobbles alarmingly and doesn’t protest when Michael gets an arm around his shoulders and helps him out of the alley.

It’s slow, halting, the biker’s breathing a harsh pant in Michael's ear, but he doesn’t falter. Just keeps going with the same grim determination he had when he went on that stupid fucking suicide run earlier.

“Fucking idiot, you're lucky you didn’t get yourself killed back there��� Michael mutters.

The biker stumbles, seems to trip over his own feet at that, and Michael grunts at the sudden movement. Places a hand on the bikers chest and grimaces as it comes away wet. (Feels fingers gripping is arm tightly before the biker releases his hold and they keep moving.)

They spend several tense minutes avoiding Rat-face’s patrols until they reach a side street. Empty save for a few cars packed along it, and Michael breathes out a sigh of relief.

Michael spots a battered sedan and props the biker up against it while he uses the butt of his assault rifle. Barely managed to catch the biker as he starts to slide down, too weak to stay on his feet for even that small amount of time.

“Fucking hell,” Michael mutters, manhandling him into the passenger’s seat.

He has to lean across the biker to get the seat belt on him. There’s no telling if they’re going to need to make a quick getaway, and he doesn’t know if the guy would survive another crash without it the way his night’s going.

The biker shies back from him, and Michael freezes. Worried he’s inadvertently crossed some kind of boundary, but then he glimpses skin in the moment before the biker turns his face away.

Oh.

The broken visor, right.

Stands to reason the biker would be touchy about keeping his identity secret with the effort Carmine and his allies have been putting into hunting him down.

“Sorry,” Michael says, hands clumsy as he checks to make sure the seat belt's secure before ducking back out of the car.

He breathes out a shaky breath, eyes scanning the street for anything gout of place.

Still quiet, no signs they’ve been followed and that brings up another problem.

Michael can’t bring the biker back to Jeremy's apartment. Doesn’t know if the biker even has somewhere to lay low in Los Santos, and Michael doesn’t trust any of his usual haunts.

There is, however, a place he knows where no one will ask questions.

He’s never been there himself, but that might be better, actually. No reason for anyone to look for him – them – there.

Hopefully, anyway.

========

There’s a surprised huff – laughter? - from beside Michael when they reach their destination.

And, look.

“Fuck you,” Michael says, because it was the best place he could think of on such short notice, and also? “Fuck off.”

The biker shakes his head, but doesn’t offer up protest as Michael slides out of the car and walks to the front office of the motel.

Pay by the hour kind of place, neon sign out front with burned out letters and really fucking sad overall.

The sleazeball behind the bullet-proof glass inside doesn’t even look up at Michael at first. But the moment he sees how much money Michael slides over he lets out a low whistle, eyes flicking up to him.

“Have a nice night,” he says, voice dripping innuendo and Michael's skin crawls.

“Thanks,” he grits out, and heads back to the car parked around the side just out of sight.

Sleazebags like the guy at the front desk don’t normally bother Michael like this, get under his skin. But for some reason – this asshole has. Maybe it was the sly look on his face, the knowing look, something rubbed him the wrong way.

The biker picks up on it, too.

He’s been careful to keep his face hidden, but Michael catches that flash of bare skin when he turns his head to look towards the motel office, head cocked.

“Fucking scumbag working the desk,” Michael explains, even though he knew what he was getting into coming here.

They lucked out, got a corner room towards the back. Not visible from the street and the lights in the parking light are shit, half of them off or just broken. Makes getting inside without being seen easier.

The room itself is small, not much inside other than the bed and a television on stand. Little end table with a phone. No luxuries, but considering what most people use places like this for, they’re not necessary.

“Come on,” Michael says, headed towards the cramped little bathroom. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

They made a little pit at a 24/7 for some medical supplies before coming here. Convenience stores aren’t usually known for their great selection, but this is Los Santos and they know their clientele. Don't give you odd looks when you come in looking a little harried, just keep their eyes down and count out your change.

The biker shakes his head, pulls back on Michael until he stops. Shakes his head again, and steps back until Michael lets him go. Watches him pat the tear along his ribcage, pulling the ragged edges aside to show whole skin, not the mess Michael had seen back in the alley.

Dried blood, newly healed wounds that look tender, sore. Even those marks fading as Michael watches.

“The fuck.”

Less than an hour ago Michael watched the fucker lose control of his bike and hit a wall after riding hellbent through a hail of bullets.

He knows he got hit, saw the proof of it himself. Thought it was a miracle he’d survived all of that to begin with, but this?

The biker takes another step back, shoulders hunched and looks like he’s ready to bolt. Fucking run,  like accelerated healing is going to be the final straw in this shitshow of weirdness, and Michael -

“That explains a lot, I guess,” Michael says, frowning at the guy as he thinks about his previous attacks.

No way in hell he could have gotten away unscathed with the arsenal leveled against him. But he’d just kept coming, pulled that little flicker-trick of his and seemed untouchable.

“You got hit before, didn’t you?”

All those hit and run attacks of his with Carmine and Rat-face getting more and more determined to take care of him as time went by. The manpower they put into it.

The biker shrugs, holds a hand out and makes a so-so gesture, which Michael assume means yes, but  only a little, which.

Fucked up, but that seems to be this guy in a nutshell.

Michael knows what the expected thing here should be. That he should be freaking the fuck out with actual out of the ordinary shit going on right in front of him.

To be fair, though, nothing’s made sense for a while now.

The mystery biker shows up with a glowy bike and who is somehow to appear and disappear into thin fucking air and has a habit of fucking shit up? The same stupid motherfucker who can survive a cash that should have left him a smear on the pavement and being riddled by bullets?

Fucking weird, but this is Los Santos.

The whole damn city draws weird shit to it, all the misfits and freaks and everything else that ends up here.

Something like this guy isn’t all that strange in comparison.

Sure, Michael’s never been one for believing in things like ghosts and shit, but he’s seen enough to know there’s weird shit out there.

“There a reason you’ve been going after Carmine?” Michael asks, smiles a little at the way the biker just stares at him waiting for the freak out that doesn’t come.

And then the biker looks -

Tired.

He looks tired as he shakes his head and starts to pace. Comes real close to Michael for a moment. Turns his head to hide what little of his face the broken visor reveals.

He holds his hand out, taps his chest once, twice.

“What?”

The biker repeats shakes his head again, frustrated that Michael’s so goddamn shit at charades and brings his hand up to draw a line across his throat.

“He killed you?” Michael asks, feeling like he’s falling even deeper down the rabbit hole and the biker thinks about it for a moment before he nods.

Close enough to count as an affirmative, Michel guesses, and that -

That – okay.

That would be a good motivator for revenge, killing the fucker who killed you. But the biker seems intent on making Carmine hurt first, break down his fledgling empire before taking him out, and Michael gets it.

He does.

Wants to burn it all down himself, but he’s not like the biker. Doesn’t have this weird shit to help him on his mission of vengeance. Just this one life that he’s willing to spend to get close enough to kill Carmine for what he did.

No second chances, just Michael and this stupid plan that’s led nowhere for too long.

“I want him dead too,” Michael says, sees the biker cock his head.

“I do, that fucker – he killed someone important to me.”

There aren’t enough words in the world for what Gavin was to him, never will be, and  that piece of shit Carmine took him away from Michael.

The biker turns his head to look at him, so, so still.

“I want to help,” Michael says.

The biker shakes his head, starts to pace in earnest while Michael watches him.

Sharp, agitated movements, something desperate to it that has Michael reaching out to touch his arm. The biker pulls up short, turns to look directly at Michael and the world slams to a halt.

Michael knows that face.

The little of it he can see past the broken edges of the visor, tanned skin and eyes that are more green than blue.

More familiar than his own face.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Michael’s hand tightens on the bikers arm, because this has to be some kind of sick joke. Maybe he took a hit to the head somewhere back there and didn’t realize. Because -

Michael can't seem to breathe, and the fucker’s watching him with no emotion on his face and that's wrong, it’s so fucking wrong.

“...You son of a bitch,” Michael says, unable to look away, heart pounding in his chest.

When the fucker doesn’t respond, doesn't fucking blink, the fragile hope in Michael’s chest splinters apart. Turns dark, angry.

“You son of a bitch,” Michael hisses, shoves him back a step, and then another when he still doesn't react. “You stupid - “

Words are tangled up tight with the emotion clogging his throat and he just wants – Christ, he doesn’t know what he wants.

Michael laughs, this ragged, broken thing and he turns away from the biker, moves away from him because he doesn’t, he can’t -

Fuck.

Behind him there’s the rustle of fabric. Sound of the biker pulling off that fucking helmet of his, and a tired sigh.

And then he hears voice he hasn’t heard in what feel like forever. It’s a little rusty with disuse, but still so fucking familiar it hurts.

“Hey, Michael boi.”

Chapter 2

[vampyjoong]

Remember Me for Centuries

Awwww, what about a Jeonghan where they age until they’re 18 years and stop aging after that. And then they only start aging again once meeting their soulmate, so that they age together

yeeee bb i love ageing aus

2.7k words unedited i feel like asking someone to be a proofreader would be good but fuck it

you can’t quite remember when you stopped ageing

you can’t even remember the century you were born in

in a world full of children, you were the grandmother

the furthest back memory you could recall was The Battle of Myton

you had no real cause to join the battle, all you wanted to do was join the fight for the thrill

through the years you’d regained the skills you’d learned, such as blacksmithing and sword work

these skills were rendered useless in the last century but they were still something useful to know

you’d travelled the world before the invention of planes and motor boats

you knew languages still in use and those that had died out

you knew the regional dialects as well as the common dialects

your original accent, whatever it was, had faded out long ago to a neutral tone

you had gained friends and lost them in the most tragic ways

your family line had long since died out, with you being the only remaining ember after your great great great niece dying before she could wed

you were a walking relic, the only one of your kind that you had met, and you weren’t sure when you would ever meet another

with the lack of ageing, other processes faded out

your hair hadn’t grown a millimetre since your 18th, and your skin was still glowing, albeit cold and still

you’d forgotten what it was like to be warm and loved

sounds dramatic, is less so

however life wasn’t all pain and suffering

you’d been around for a lot of good things as well

you’d been around for the berlin wall coming down

and for the legalisation of gay marriage in all the countries that had allowed it 

and you had been in the crowd for Barak Obama being selected as the president of the US

you had journals detailing your life

you’d started them from your 18th and had continued till this day

they had started in a language consisting of extra letters and runes, but now you just used whatever language came to mind

whenever you forgot a word in one language, you just wrote down whatever language you could remember it in

your thoughts mustve been very confusing to a mind reader, you thought in different languages for each sentence, and sometimes for each word

your handwriting, although you had centuries to perfect it, had stayed a scribbling mess

you looked through them when you had a week to spare

your passport was confusing to most

but you didn’t mind

after all you got to meet so many people and see so many people

you liked to make it your mission to try and find your friends reincarnated into there next lives

sometimes they had the same face

sometimes the same personality or name

but you always found them which made losing them a little less painful

you’d become the fairytale to many

once there was a rumour that you were jack the ripper

how foolish that was of them to assume

of course you weren’t, you were the one following him every night

the skirts made it difficult but a lady had to travel in styyyyle

you’d moved for the past 20 years before settling in south korea for some jazz

of course you preferred to live somewhere where you fitted in but you liked the culture

you had a line of contacts made over the years of people who could get you things like a good house and good jobs

also known as the internet

god bless wifi

when living there, you also made an actual contact 

a shaman who could find peoples reincarnations if you had one of their belongings and could tell you their new name and where they were born

very handy person to have around, and of course you became friends with her

she was very young, only in her early teens when you first met her, and she helped you when you needed to find some friends passed 

when your friend Moon LuiHua passed, you went to the shaman to see if then knew who they would be born again as

their name would be Xu Minghao, born and raised in china, but they would find you at some point in korea

well that was a load off, you liked your apartment and didn’t want to move

things weren’t so bad on the other side thankfully

jeonghan had only been around for a century, and had stayed close to his family the whole way down

his great great nephew knew him as old uncle jeonghan

absolutely adorable

he took life as it came, and knew that one day he would find you

he had heard about a shaman that could find people in the stages of reincarnation and who they would be born as again, but he decided against it

he decided that if their friendship was true, they would find him again

good logic there bb

he travelled for a while before deciding to stay in korea where his family were 

sometimes he felt a little alone in the world because everyone else was fleeting but he was staying the exact same as he had done the past god knows how many years

he tried to avoid getting too close to people but when he met someone someone called Joshua in 2013, he became close friends quickly

and when jeonghan got a job at a local restaurant and met someone called seungcheol, they became close friends as well

slowly, friends of friends became best friends

jeonghan knew that eventually he would regret becoming such good friends with them but for now, he would enjoy the company

for anyone that payed attention to my breakdown, here is where it reverted to every time :)

it was when chans 19th rolled around that he felt so so old but so young at the same time

because in the blink of an eye it would be chans 89th birthday and he would be the same as before, just more lonely

it wasn’t until minghao came home and announced that he’d met another immortal that he started to feel hope

you had gotten a cat 10 years ago and my god was she fussy

her name was Li and you had found her while looking for pets

you’d heard that some animals could be immortal, until they found and bonded with an owner, and even then would only age once their owner aged

sounded perfect tbh

within the first month though you realised how fussy Li was

you had already gathered that she had a good understanding of english as she sometimes nodded and shook her head when an answer was needed, or when you were looking for something and asked her cos you thought it would help you remember, she brought it to you in a few minutes

lifesaver, this cat was

but then you realised that she was used to being treated like a queen

she was born in the Ming dynasty, and was a royals cat

she sure wanted to be treated like one it was unreal

so you had to get the good stuff weed cat food jeez liz

so one day, after she turned her nose up at some stuff from the pet store, you had to get some proper food from the supermarket nearby

and when pulling up to get your stuff cashed up, you saw him

it was your friend Moon Lihui

youdve recognised him even if he had a different face

you remembered the times you spent running form the cops, getting matching dragon tattoos in the traditional style but in the shape of an infinity symbol because he reckoned you two would always find each other for eternity

and it seems the bastard was true considering how he was in front of you as clear as day

and it appeared he was still a mind reader, considering he looked up at you with shock and surprise

and when you went to pay for your items, you two caught up

he had found his soulmate, another mind reader, and he was having fun in this life

he also got another dragon tattoo in the same style as he had it last life

what a coincydink pronounced co-ink-ee-dink, ref- coincidence

you two decided to have a mate date every week

most of the time you two spoke in chinese unless minghao wanted to learn something in korean

then one week, you turned up to the cafe and your friend, Xu Ru was  sitting next to Hao

well thats a turn

you remembered walking down the banks of a river 1000 years ago with him, remembered him reading to you under a tree, remembered getting a secret tattoo with him in 1935 to commemorate your friendship

you got his name in chinese on your back

unfortunately the ink had faded away to a few dots over the years

and this was the soulmate you reckoned, as he looked up after hearing everything you said and smiled

there he was

you almost cried as you ran over to see them

“Who is this????”

“This is my soulmate Moon Junhui”

of course they’d swapped last names, only the fates would find this as funny as you

they decided to stay out of your thoughts as you started laughing

minghao had already experienced the messed up languages after one cafe date when he accidnetly listened in and heard a paragraph in your mind in chinese, korean, english and gaelic

it was a confusing place in your mind

lmao i mess up the few things i know in spanish french and english sometimes, i don’t even know much spanish and french

both him and jun mixed up korean and chinese sometimes

so you weren’t alone

you three hung out for a few weeks before they mentioned that they had an immortal friend like you

you got very excited and almost asked them to tell you who they were before they stopped you 

they claimed it wasn’t the right time yet and that it’d happen soon

you were disappointed and ranted thoroughly to Li when you got home

the next week when you met up, you talked for a while before deciding to ask jun if you wanted to get matching tattoos again

you thought violently his way about what they used to be like and about how you and Hao

he agreed so you both decided to get each others names in chinese

and while there, they announced a few friends would be joining for the tattooing 

they didn’t say which ones though so you didn’t know if immortal guy was joining

oh well

you booked an appointment for the next day and you were all set

you woke up with Li waking you up just after your alarm you had just slept through

Love Li

you ran to get ready

you had a sports bra and a nice green flannel on so you could get the tattoo on your back easily

plus it was a warm ass day and its nice to have ventilation if necessary

when there, you met mingyu, seungcheol and jeonghan

you weren’t told anything about them but you did feel a rush of something when you got there

i smell something fishy

it was the cat food on your sweatpants

not joking

Li spilled some accidentally

anyway, first it was Juns turn, and he got your name in beautiful chinese in your handwriting

you got his name in his handwriting, and you knew something was wrong when blood spotted up

that hadn’t happened since your 18th birthday, and you almost cried because that meant one of those boys was your soulmate

once you two were done, you decided to do a test

which was handy because hao and jun decided to take you home to their dorm where them and the other boys stayed

and when you walked into the largest room, there was a man with a blazer and a fake mic

“HELLO EVERYONE AND WELCOME BACK TO ‘WHOS MY SOULMATE?’”

“WHAT THE FUCK WHO ARE YOU”

he didn’t appreciate the yelling

and so the game show started

you started a round of questions

“Who’s the oldest out of you all??”

Seungkwan, the ‘game show host’ looked panicked before yelling out “NEXT QUESTION PLEASE”

“Who’s a cat person??”

they all raised their hands

“Who likes sleep??”

one person called jeonghan

“Who’s the one weird uncle or cousin who’s always at family events?”

again the one same guy

“Who has travelled more than ten times?”

one guy

“who has too much time?’

one guy

when you were sure who it was, you said that to seingkwan who loudly exclaimed “ITS TIME FOR ROUND TWO!” and stared off dramatically to nobody

then awkwardly grabbed your hand and let you to the elevator where you awkwardly waited and everything was just awkward

he led you to the back garden where you were led to a dunk pool

one person would answer questions about you and if they were right, they answered another until they were wrong and they got gunged into the pool

it was really fun

they kept going in circles, but one guy stood out 

“Likes sleep”

“Spends a lot of time thinking about life”

“Knows so many languages”

“worries about loosing her friends”

wow he was spookily good at guessing about you

you were suspecting things were up

the last round, followed by a trio of gunged guys, was a dance/sing off

this was entirely for fun and giggles

they all found sing and seungcheol and mingyu rapped for you as well as sang

jeonghan sang a beautiful song called Pinwheel that his friend woozi wrote and produced

then they had a ranking system

3rd place was seungcheol unfortunately but he wasn’t mad

2nd was mingyu mainly cos he had cooking skills

1st place was jeonghan because he seemed to be the closest match to you

then you were told everything

he had been around for a century or two and had been in some of the same situations as you

he was schocked when he found out how old you really were, and how many journals you had (one for every 3 years)

you invited him round to your place to get to know each other better and for him to meet Li

Li surprisingly liked him very much and curled into his lap when he sat down

you learned a lot about him in the short time you were together

he never went to a shaman because he believed in true friendships, he only knew korean and chinese, and he was still connected to his family line and was in almost every christmas and family photo taken

his great great niece knew him as “creepy uncle yoon”

he found out that you were a certified genius and were absolutely ancient

and that you spoke in many languages

you could communicate with anyone

you showed him your dialects from korea

he was shook

you both found it funny how you both were technically 18 but everyone had to call you two hyung and noona no matter what 

after that day, you two met p so much and went on dates

one day you went to the local museum and found to your displeasure, a portrait of you from the victorian era in a corset and dress

it was lab led “The Forever Woman”, and underneath it had a short description

“The forever woman is an enigma. She appears every few hundred years, only to disappear after some event. Rumoured to be seen in many countries, she makes her home, searching for her forever man”

“please don’t look, i looked hideous during that time, I was trying to fid jack the Ripper and he was causing havoc on my beauty routine”

then you realised the next few pictures were still just at different time periods and countries

“I swear im not narcissistic, i just got bored a lot”

he found it hilarious and decided to draw you once every year

then you two had to split to go home, and you honestly didn’t want to

and when it started to rain, you knee you definitely had to go home but you stayed staring at each other

then he leaned in and kissed you softly for the first time

for the first time in the longest time, you remembered what it felt like to be warm and like you were truly home

when you separated you stared at each other before you whispered gently 

“You didn’t court me first”

he laughed at you, causing you to smile and lean in again for an even softer kiss

[ssdgworks]

(Literary Sketch) Pseudoreality and Stupidity

You have, pretty much begrudgingly decided to help your friend troubleshoot a project they have been working on: Some kind of pseudoreality zone. Looking over it, you see why it needs troubleshooting: There's pockets of wild magic everywhere. Despite this, there's a fairly large area to help with.

"Seriously, why do you have so much wild magic in there?" You ask.

"It kinda just happened. Think it might've been something to do with my mind wandering a bit while I worked on it." They answer.

"And you can't troubleshoot alone?" You suggest.

"Just watch." They point out a stray creature, a white fox, as it approaches a patch of wild magic. Almost instantly on touching the area, it shifts and reforms, becoming a foxgirl with white fur and hair.

"Alright, that doesn't seem... that... bad..." You trail off, the foxgirl's nakedness slightly distracting you as she starts to explore herself.

"Tag her for relocation into the holding area for later interview." Your friend says. The foxgirl vanishes in a cloud of pixels. "She's not the first to be relocated, and if I want to remove the areas, I need someone capable of retrieving me and returning me to my senses."

"That's probably the smartest thing you've ever said, mate." You reply.

"Yeah, it'd be a disaster if I was turned into a horny dragon girl and never found again. Imagine how disappointed Ruxi and ArneT would be." They seem to have said some of that in disappointment, but you think the last part is sincere.

"Hold on, you said about the ones affected being sent to a holding area? I want to inspect it." You say.

"Suit yourself. It's through there, don't unlock any doors unless you wanna be... Y'know... by those lusty ladies." Your friend warns you.

"Is there any other way to communicate with them?" You ask.

"Commpad, by each door. Look carefully at them to see what buttons do what." They answer. You nod and go on through. In the hallway, you inspect the first commpad you see. A fairly comfortable room is shown, as well a Lizardish lady who seems to be mostly out of the horny haze, and is wearing the bedsheets as a makeshift dress. You move along, looking at each of the pads. There's a good many Lizardfolk and Foxes, a single Griffon and some very confused others. Although they seem more and more into their self exploration as you go along, the Griffon seems fairly irritated at something. You touch the speech bubble button on the pad. While trying to word your words, she speaks first.

"So, someone finally came. What's the purpose of holding me here, in this room?" She sounds as irritated as she looks.

"Well, I'm not too sure, but I'm thinking it's to prevent you from causing a problem?" You say.

"...Just fuck off, then. I'm not gonna talk to you anymore." She says. You decide it better to leave her alone than talk any more. Satisfied with your your inspection yielding no significant problems, you return to your friend.

"I'll assume you have no further questions, then?" They ask, pulling on some black, almost clawlike gauntlets. In the time since you left the room, they've almost completely changed into armor that gives a draconic appearance.

"...What does that armor do?" You say, noticing it has a vaguely feminine shape, as your friend seems to prefer. The boots also seem to be heels, with clawed decoration.

"It's meant to absorb magic, but... I probably made it wrong for that." They shrug.

"...Get the helmet on, then come here." You say. They do so. You look over it a bit. It definitely doesn't absorb magic in the way that they thought it would. If they went in like this... You shiver at the thought. You remove the magic absorption and fashion your own effect to remove the magic. You note the decorative wings and tail on the armor. Once you finish weaving the effect into the black gems inset all over the armor, you make sure it works as intended. The quick, unfocused raw magic pulses through the armor for a moment, before settling stretched all through the tail, slowly dissipating.

"Should be good to go now. Instead of taking in all the magic at once, and becoming a sex-starved dragoness cursed to be ready to go for the rest of eternity, you'll slowly get better, assuming you can pull yourself out of the haze." You explain.

"Well, it's good to know I won't be stuck humping a tree for the rest of my life." They say sarcastically.

"Yeah..." You nod. You can't help but wonder why they chose to use a bunch of onyx gems on the armor. Concentrating on that thought, you give them a look over. For a moment, you mistake the figure in front of you for a form of Onyx you regret seeing. "Wait... Fuck." Too late. They already left. A ping on the monitor tells you that they're already in the worst place to be. You watch as your friend steps into a highlighted area, feeling slight panic. Their tail and wings slowly come to life as the magic feeds into them. The highlighted area shrinks slowly, as your friend falls forward, looking more girlish by the minute. The helmet twists, and becomes their face, panting. You don't really know what to do. They begin to stand back up, still getting more and more girlish. They look up at you, wink and start reaching down... The armor did it's job, but you see the arm trying to resist. It eventually reaches it's destination, and rubs at themself. You try to switch to a view where you can see how much magic the armor took in. It's a first person one from inside the helmet. The tail and wings, the designated dispersion points, are at 100%, the torso, head and legs are also at 100%, and the arms are at 90% and dropping, according to a diagram in the top right. A transcript of dialogue is displayed in bottom left. A lot of "Mnph" and "Grph", with "*aroused moans*". You're essentially watching your friend's armor turned dragon girl masturbate with them inside. At the rate the magic is fading it'll have already have climaxed twice. Assuming it has control of the hands for the entire time. As the magic left in the arms reaches 60%, the one at the nethers pulls out, a trail of almost neon green mixed with a little sky blue goo on the clawtips as it lifts high enough to see. You watch as the dragon girl puts the claws in her mouth, wondering if it connects to your friend's. She knew what she was doing. She brought the natural arousal of your friend almost to max, and left them there.

A transcript note appears. "Enjoy the show, Jack? I know your friend did~."

You hesitate. She's taunting you. You want nothing more than to get in there and tear her off your friend, bit by bit. If you brought her back here...

"What's wrong, scared of a horny suit of armor ruining your day?"

But, if you go in there, who's going to guarantee your friend's safe return, when their armor isn't a horny dragon girl?

"Maybe you're scared that your friend will want help with their girly problems?"

If you bring her back, who says your friend won't keep her in this state?

"Or maybe you're scared of touching my magic exhaust?"

There's a lot of problems with the way you made that work, and one is that she's in control of the armor until it's all gone. And if you touch it while it's being dispersed...

"Yes, you hate the idea of being a girl, but you also hate the idea of your friend being one."

How much did she know? Did you even know? Or, as a residual effect of your friend creating that place, was the wild magic...

"Fear, doubt, other emotions tied to depression... A desire, one single desire..."

You don't really want to acknowledge it, but the dragon girl has a point.

"All your friend really wanted... was you to accept her for who she is. And you won't even save her from the dragon."

"Shut the fuck up, you fake dragon bitch." You declare.

"Oh? Or what?"

Yes, or what? You ponder it over. What could you do to help your friend in their moment of need?

"Maybe all you have is words? Pathetic."

No, you have more than this. You know you do.

"Whatever it is you're doing, know that your princess is here, waiting for a knight of some sort. Preferably a girl, but a cute guy works too." You look. The arms have reached 35%.

"Depending how long it takes, I might decide to entertain myself... with predictable results."

The dragon girl offered her challenge to you. As you fixed the armor up, you learned your friend's theory of magic absorption. Maybe... Wait, even if you did make a staff for it, you'd still have to go in there... Unless you didn't? And you think you know a girl who could go in your place. You hurry into the containment area and find the Griffon again.

"You, Griffon girl!" You say to her. She starts to respond, but you cut her off. "If you think you can handle it, I have a task for you."

"And what do I get? Probably nothing I want..." She starts complaining angrily.

"A name, clothes, education and a home?" You offer.

"Tempting... Go on then." She responds. You explain the situation, your friend's problem and that you want the Griffon girl to remove the rest of the wild magic before the dragoness decides to search out another pocket of it. As you explain, you create a black staff inset with various hunks of onyx gems, connecting them with a core spell and ensuring the capacity is as high as possible.

"And, in order to remove the magic pockets, I'd need a tool of some kind to absorb them, right? I want it to be able to shoot the magic back out, turning any living thing it hits into more of me." She requests. You consider it. "Griffon girls, not copies of me." She seems a lot better at talking than you thought she'd be.

"Convince me that's a good idea." You say.

"You can give it a keyword to reverse the effect if you have to, but it'd be extremely helpful for me to have a girlfriend to snuggle?" She says. You kinda see the point, but you wouldn't exactly trust her. The upside is that you'd gain her trust immediately. The downside is you don't know her or what she'd do. There's every chance she'd go mad with power and turn an entire country into her girlfriend harem.

"If a time comes where I feel like I can trust you with that sort of power, I'll let you have it." You say carefully. You're thinking about implementing a timer instead of 'until a phrase is said'. Maybe a couple hours? Having given the Griffon girl an index of all possible clothing to choose from, she turns it towards you, pointing at a fairly covering, but just under the belly button up to the neck are exposed, covering most of the breasts.

"This looks comfy." She declares. "I want it."

"Are you sure?" You ask. She nods. You look at her, accounting for fur fluffiness, tail and wings, from all angles, and start creating it for her. You hand it to her, and she starts to pull it on. You turn away, as you don't really want to see her getting dressed. A feeling of what's likely her boobs pressing on your back tells you that she's probably done.

"Are you-" You start.

"Yeah, kinda. It's complicated." She answers the question you didn't finish.

"What's the problem?" You ask.

"Tits are out." She answers nonchalantly.

"Then get them covered." You tell her.

"Dunno how to." She states.

"Then let me-" You start to offer. You feel the boobs move off your back. "-help?" You turn around, and, true to her word, her tits are hanging out of the outfit. You sigh as you tug a bit at the almost rubbery clothing, working up from the belly, carefully avoiding touching her as much as possible, and straightening it out for her, so it actually does its job of covering her. You release the material gently, so as to not elicit unexpected reactions.

"Thanks. It seems like you have a good motherly instinct." She says. You're fairly sure it's sincere but the last part irritates you.

"Don't say that to me ever again." You state in irritation.

"So... the staff for magic collection?" She asks. You hand it to her, along with a set of eyewear to let her see where to go to do her mission.

"So, you know what to do, right? Head towards the places which look greyer than others." You explain.

"Sounds simple enough." She says. "How do I start? And when do I get my name?" You show her to the doorway to the teleporter.

"Just go in there, I'll send you there and bring you back when you're done." You say. "And... I think you should be named Safina."

"Alright, wish me luck~!" She... kinda squawks excitedly, as she heads off into the imitation reality. You look back to see how your friend is doing. 100% head, torso, wings and tail. 15% arms. 95% legs. All sorts of things in the log, challenging you, your resources, your gender, whether it'd be a good idea to breed with you, dismissal of the previous because you're not man enough to girl up once in a while... The odd muffled noises from inside. You switch the screen to split between map, glasses and helmet. Safina seems to be doing her job well already. You can't help but wonder though... Why wasn't she as horny as the rest? According to your research and experience, Griffons are amongst the horniest creatures, easily within the top ten.

"You found a way to deny me further magic, then? Good move. But how about this?" You glance at the magic levels. The gauntlets hit 0%. There's a brief moment but your friend regains control of their arms.

"What's the meaning of this? Didn't you want to tau-mph!? Mph mh phmhk, mhrl!" It's mildly amusing to watch the dragoness try to talk while her arms are trying to keep her mouth closed. As she struggles to make muffled noises more, you notice the distribution of the magic change. The longer the hands remain on the helmet, the more transfers into them, but leaves less in the helm. And as the dragoness is too unfocused to just remove them with her control, the drain continues at an increasingly rapid rate. The arms pull the helmet off. Most of the readings are cut off. 1% remains in the helmet as it's set down on a nearby rockpile, at about head level.

"Girl! Why do you reject my influence!?" The helmet demands. The shape of your friend's back is seen through the eyes.

"Maybe..." They say. "Because I'm not the kind of person who enjoys those things?" They turn to face the helmet. You don't really understand it. The armor should have taken all the magic. And dispersed it. And protected your friend. The armor shouldn't have become self-aware. It definitely shouldn't have done most of what it did. But there's your friend, looking into the eyes of the talking helmet with a drakyr face that rivals Onyx's in cuteness, a set of horns that don't seem impressive, but add to the cuteness overall... Your friend, in a pseudoreality you can't personally get to without great risk, has become a black-scaled drakyr girl, and you're not there to slap sense into them. How frustrating. And knowing them, they'll want to be like this for an extended period of time. Your friend is talking to their helmet about the hows and whys of being a black drakyr girl. Safina has almost entirely removed all the magic. You're doing your best to manage not to to let your irritation get to you. How could the day possibly get worse? You sigh as you contemplate. You hear the door shut.

"Oh no..." You mutter, dreading the worst.

"What's wrong?" You hear a voice say. Thankfully, it's only Ryana.

"Thought it was someone else." You explain.

"Yeah, mistaking people for other people can sometimes be awful. What are you looking at? " She takes a sip of her drink.

"A pseudoreality, need to wait for it to be clear of wild magic before I can bring... them back." You explain. "What've you been up to?"

"Spear training, break for reading some internet stuff. Y'know, the basic weekend fare." She says.

"And how's that going for you?" You ask. She shrugs.

"Managed to achieve a high score." She says. "My personal best was like half of today's."

"Good for you..." You say.

"So, what exactly was with the pseudoreality?" She asks.

"The wild magic causes almost everything to become monstergirls." You explain.

"That sounds..." You glance at her. She's kinda red in the face. Probably imagining the potential wives.

"Very nice for you, not desirable for me." You finish her sentence for her.

"Yeah, that." She agrees. It's silent. You watch the screens. Safina's logs indicate she wants retrieval. Your friend's logs show that they really might, low key, want to be more capable of being like a black dragon lady. You glance at where Ryana was. She left without a sound. What kind of spear training is she under, that she's learning assassin tricks?

"System? Retrieve Safina." You say. The signal from her glasses distorts, before you see the inside of a room like the one she was in through them. You head back through to retrieve her from the cell.

"Good job on clearing up most of the mess." You say.

"Thanks." Safina says. "I'm gonna want some food soon, probably."

"Yeah, you probably will." You consider the amount of people here you know can cook. It's just you. But you can't leave your friend without a retrieval option.

"Someone talkin' bout needing food?" Ryana says. She thrusts you paper bags that smells of McDonald's. "One for you... The other for her."

"Who's that? What is she?" Safina asks.

"Ryana Blood, or sometimes Azure, resident electric blue drakyr, spearfighter, and mostly ok at cooking." Ryana responds, offering her hand. "Glad to meet you, miss...?"

"Safina." You interject. "I named her Safina Griffs." Safina takes a moment, and shakes the hand of Ryana.

"I look forward to potentially working with you you in the future, Ryana." Safina smiles.

Ryana kind of killed your mood to talk by being her dumb self. Safina and her are pretty much just talking about their dumb stuff. According to the screen, your friend is still talking to their armor. It could be worse, but it could be better... At some point, you fell asleep, and are woken up by a jolt on the hand.

"I think it's time to retrieve them?" Ryana suggests, rewrapping her hand. "And, don't worry, Safina's been shown to her room." You look at the screen. It's a helmet view of a black gauntlet, all parts in the hud showing 0%.

"...Ugh... Retrieve them?" You say groggily. The view distorts for a moment, then switches to just an overview of the map. In a while, you're gonna have to let your friend out, but for now, you think you'll just rest...

[bluegrasshole]

do all the get to know your author questions bc they're all good and i can't pick

ko…. you need to work on your decisiveness (but thank you)

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

i mean.. not really. i had decided not to write any more fanfiction to focus on an original story i started but then… i wanted to get used to the setting, work through some personal stuff… kind of warm myself up while still writing the other one… so i’m writing a nurseydex lighthouse story like i said i would

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

my entire fanfiction.net account is bad. so so so bad. and surprisingly recent. also i HATE my early zimbits stuff, but of course one of them is like my second most popular piece so i can’t delete it. like really hate. and it’s frustrating because i have good stuff from that time period, so i don’t even fucking know what was going through my mind.

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

chronological but i tend to go back and add things obsessively. i like getting the skeleton down first just to get the basic plot and know where i’m going, then i go back to add in details – the meat of the skeleton if you will… and you know i like details

4) favorite character you’ve written

any dex is my favourite, but also specifically jack from samwell gentlemen’s hockey because he cracks me up, and i really loved writing parvati in that one parvender piece. 

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

camilla? in strange lovers i didn’t even know i was writing camilla until i realized like 3k in that my character who i’d named millie and was blonde was in fact… camilla. she snuck up on me

6) something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now

oh… i do go back and fix things often (in strange lovers i went back to rewrite parts of ransom’s character and his role months after i originally posted it because i realized i had written some pretty shitty stuff regarding black men) but, meh, row upon row is always one i’d like… want to go back and fix, especially the rushed ending, but i can’t go back and change it now because it’s been read by too many people…

7) when asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

super embarrassed. only my best friend knows because she’s also a writer but i still don’t feel super comfortable talking to her about it. we’re getting there with each other. she doesn’t write fanfiction ya feel though i think she’s read some

8) favorite genre to write

lmao idk i like writing comedy but plot is hard so i don’t often do it. character studies i guess, AUs, angst

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

music, and listening to people tell stories about themselves or others, just being around people is inspiring to me. i recently went to a show that was a mix of folk music and storytelling about prince edward island? and it was incredible i left there feeling so invigorated

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

i do most of my writing in a café a minute from my apartment, with or without music depending on if my wireless headphones are dead or not, always w a blended matcha latté

11) what aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

oh man. i mean since i started writing in like, 2010? i mean, everything, obviously. but since 2015 – christ. still everything? well, definitely verb tenses/points of view/epithets/general structure and technique, definitely better at rhythm though that took some serious work and a couple stories focussed solely on rhythm and flow. i think i’m much better at nuance now – weaving different themes together to make at least a semi-coherent story… and general prose, i think. finding a balance between minimalism and appropriate imagery. i’m more comfortable playing around with grammar then i used to be. idk, i think my voice has just overall developed into something clearer and distinct from others.

12) your weaknesses as an author

plot and dialogue-heavy scenes. i like writing dialogue and i think the lines themselves are good usually, i just have a hard time, like finding the balance between dialogue, dialogue that has to accomplish something, and prose. and writing a neat point-a-to-point-b plot is a losing battle

13) your strengths as an author

i’ve been told setting, and i think that’s about right. i get obsessive about crafting like, a complete world where it feels like there are things that happen outside of the plot and the main characters. building fucking lore into the setting is the most fun for me. i think the details make the story.

14) do you make playlists for your current wips?

heeeelll yeah

15) why did you start writing?

idk i spent a lot of time on the internet and all the quote unquote cool kids were doing it. i was in a RP where we were all pretty close friends (still follow them on all social media including fb) and we just like, wrote each other fic. i was pretty good at writing before then (for a kid) and even was runner-up for a national award or something in grade six? i barely remember what it was for but i do remember the piece was called “autumn’s opus” and it was comparing the seasons to an orchestra or a piece of music idk. it was pretty killer for an 11-yr-old if i do say so myself

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

oh i don’t know about haunt but i do get sad about jack and kent all the time

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

read your dialogue out loud to see if it sounds natural (it probably doesn’t) and put dooooown the epithets. it’s lazy writing and you don’t need them. and reread reread reread reread. in different fonts, different colours, on differents days, out loud, by different people… reread!!

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

absolutely anything by fluorescentgrey but especially her historical AUs, familiar’s character designs and rawness, waspabi’s dialogue and humour, montparnasse’s prose and tenderness, misandrywitch’s everything, and this piece which inspired a tattoo and pushed me to start experimenting with my own writing a couple years ago… among many others

19) when it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

oh i usually just give up halfway through that’s how

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

usually i go to the café and sit for like 5 hours and if i get a few hundred words out of that i’m happy

21) what do you think when you read over your older work?

ugh it’s so bad and shitty and i hate it all

22) are there any subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

well, yeah. i don’t like writing about religion so i just… don’t, much. strange lovers had the most religion of anything i’ve ever written. and i’m cautious about writing about race though i’ve done it a few times… i don’t super like writing traditional coming-out stories because i just don’t care all that much so i’ll usually twist them around somehow if they’re necessary. 

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

all of my life experiences inform my writing. that’s not me being facetious i just mean that i really like listening to people tell stories and telling stories myself and gossiping etc that i think it’s clear that i prioritize that in my writing

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

ah yes coal mining in 20th century nova scotia lmao

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

the very first paragraph from my nurseydex wip: 

There are days where you think you could lose yourself in the fog and there are days where you wouldn’t mind. When you wake and it’s there eating the world up, surrounding it all like a living thing, voracious, and it’s even hungrier at night, and the only thing that reminds you you belong to the earth and are tied to it like the oldest and most solid daybeacon in the harbour is the horn, loud and long and haunting and filling. And the light. The light, the light, always the light.

[garden-ghoul]

bloggbblog, part 8

“my GOAL for this one is to do 2 chapters since I have jack else to do. idk if I’m using jack correctly in this sentence.”

FLIES AND SPIDERS

Why is it my most vivid memories of this book are of the dwerrows getting captured in sacks/spider webbing. Is it just because it’s KIND OF WEIRD that this exact thing gets repeated. Wait shit the point is probably to contrast “Gandalf has to save everyone while Bilbo hides” and “Bilbo saves everyone because getting the Ring made him suddenly competent.” No uh why is he competent now? I like the bit where he’s the only one with eyes sharp enough to spot Beorn in chapter 7, and now he’s turning into a real hero. I think what might have done it was the moment when he steps out of the cave, finally free, and then realizes he’s going to have to go back into danger to save his friends. That bit was really good, like just understated enough that clearly Bilbo doesn’t even realize how much he’s changed.

Sorry. That’s what I got from the TITLE of the chapter. Uhh let’s start reading it. So far the first paragraph informs us in a very fun way that the forest is dark because it’s covered in trees. It’s also full of cobwebs bigger than any Bilbo has ever seen, though thankfully (but mysteriously) they don’t go across the Path. And at night many eyes come to stare at our heroes--the forest is completely zero-photon black, though, so honestly this just proves that Tolkien put all his points into mythology and none in biology. I’m pretty sure spiders don’t even have tapeta lucida, so what the fuck. Basically Tolkien spends a couple pages enumerating all the ways the forest sucks, and then the party stumbles upon the Lethe. They don’t want to wade it, for fear that forgetfulness is absorbed via skin contact, BUT there is a boat on the far bank that they are able to hook with their convenient grappling hook (it’s not a grappling hook it’s like one of those bungee hooks).

As they’re just barely across a hart runs over Bombur and knocks him into the water, causing him to fall asleep. In the distance: a horn, baying hounds. Maybe they were hunting the hart! Or maybe they were hunting these other deer that show up--the dwerrows use all of their remaining arrows trying in vain to shoot them, and now the bows are useless. Fools. Tolkien informs us that they are actually getting close to the eastern edge of the wood, but they don’t know this and are beginning to despair, because they’ve been carrying Bombur for four days. Um is he just. Asleep now, permanently. In time the trees start to thin, even as the party begins to hear strange eerie songs and laughter. I wonder if the elves also don’t want to live too deep in the forest. Bilbo is made to climb a tree to try and see the end, because he’s lightest; finds some spiders “after the butterflies.” Listen. Butterflies are a fool’s errand. They’re mostly wing and they destroy webs really easily. Don’t bother with them. I get that this is like a metaphor or something but I’m cheesed. Oh they’re cool butterflies, though, and tons of them. With velvet black wings. Bilbo sees no end to the forest, because he’s in a valley, and everyone is miserable.

Bombur wakes up. I’m not sure if this is of consequence yet, but he has dreamed of feasting with the elves. He sees torches and fires lit, a ways off the path, which is honestly very will-o-wisp and oh great there he goes. He’s trying to go over there. It is decided that a couple people should creep over and spy, but since they might get lost forever, uh, everyone decides to go, which is the opposite of what makes sense in this situation, but whatever. They smell roasting meat and all try to leap toward it, and the elves vanish. Orrrr possibly they were an illusion the whole time, unclear. Now everyone is lost, so good job. Should have! left someone! on the path!

The lights come on again. Thorin decides to send Bilbo, the least scary, to parley.

The lights go out, and Bilbo is lost. They find him asleep a while later (weak from hunger?)

"I was having such a lovely dream," he grumbled, "all about having a most gorgeous dinner."

"Good heavens! he has gone like Bombur," they said. "Don't tell us about dreams. Dream-dinners aren't any good, and we can't share them."

This is just cute dialogue. The dwerrows STILL haven’t learned their lesson, because the next time they see lights--a huuuuge feast--they go and try to crash it again. Look the elves are just trying to eat and they keep having to pick up all their stuff and sprint away while they’re trying to have a good time. Let them alone. Thorin steps out and everyone looks at him for a moment, and then they snuff the lights and kick ashes in the dwerrows’ eyes. All the dwerrows get lost, and Bilbo can’t find any of them. So he lies down against a tree and goes to sleep, the only reasonable course of action.

He wakes up and a spider is trying to wrap him up. He panics but manages to kill it with his sword, and then passes out again. When he wakes up there’s a dead spider and he’s still alone. But.

Somehow the killing of the giant spider, all alone by himself in the dark without the help of the wizard or the dwerrows or of anyone else, made a great difference to Mr. Baggins. He felt a different person, and much fiercer and bolder in spite of an empty stomach, as he wiped his sword on the grass and put it back into its sheath.

"I will give you a name," he said to it, "and I shall call you Sting."

Birth of a legend.

He uses his innate hobbit stealth and also the Ring to sneak up on some spiders. That is, he sneaks in a random direction and falls ass-backward into a rescue. Also I want to interject here that the cobwebs these spiders make, unlike normal cobwebs, are black. If their hugeness wasn’t enough, this is probably a Clue that they are descended from Ungoliant or her like. They digest the light and excrete the darkness that is left over! Maybe that’s why this forest is so dark! Hey hey did we ever get any good descriptions of Nan Dungortheb. I bet it’s like this.

Bilbo listens in on some spider conversation, which makes me really wonder if Shelob could talk and just didn’t feel like it. It’d make sense if she could talk, right? Anyway it’s really fun how all the Horrible Monsters in this book talk like average Toms, Dicks, and Harrys. Hang ‘em up for a couple days and they’ll be bee-autiful, says one of the spiders. I’m serious. One of the spiders goes up to inspect Bombur and almost gets kicked off the branch and everyone else laughs. It’s like. Every kind of sentient creature is essentially the same. Why does Tolkien keep making people relateable and humanizing them and then turning right around and having the heroes remorselessly kill them?? Johnald you might want to get that checked out???

Turns out Bilbo is a good shot with a stone, and always has been. This is one of those things where you just assume he has a lot of mundane skills and you can just make one up if it happens to be useful. Bilbo throws the stone at the spider that’s about to gank Bombur (?usage?) and it falls off the branch and lands flop with its legs all curled. I like how he sometimes puts onomatopoeias into sentences like that, it flows real nice.

The next stone went whizzing through a big web, snapping its cords, and taking off the spider sitting in the middle of it, whack, dead. After that there was a deal of commotion in the spider-colony, and they forgot the dwerrows for a bit, I can tell you.

Good diction thanks. AND THEN HE SINGS. I love these songs so I’m going to stick them right in for you to enjoy too.

Old fat spider spinning in a tree! Old fat spider can't see me! Attercop! Attercop! Won't you stop, Stop your spinning and look for me! Old Tomnoddy, all big body, Old Tomnoddy can't spy me! Attercop! Attercop! Down you drop! You'll never catch me up your tree!

I think I recall at one point looking this up and finding that ‘attercop’ and ‘cobweb’ have a common root that means spider in like Old English. Tomnoddy, from a cursory googling, means “hey dumbass.” Bilbo successfully leads the spiders away from his friends, but now they are weaving webs to fence him in. Tolkien doesn’t know how long it takes to make a web, either.

Lazy Lob and crazy Cob are weaving webs to wind me. I am far more sweet than other meat, but still they cannot find me!

Sounds like Shel Silverstein. Alsooo I’m very happy about both internal rhyme and alliteration. Bilbo is a great fight-for-your-life spur-of-the-moment poet. Bilbo books it back to where his friends are (impressive sense of direction) and starts freeing them. After killing another spider! And then half a dozen more when they start to return! He’s growing into quite the murderer, is our Bilbo! The dwerrows try and join in, but they uhh have all been poisoned, and aren’t doing too good. Eventually Bilbo decides in desperation to draw the spiders off so they rest can escape. It takes hours but finally they do. 

Everyone is bone tired. They rest in the elf campsites, which are maybe protected? And Bilbo tells them the story of getting the Ring, and they all decides that he Knows Things and must have a way to get them out of their pickle (still starving to death). Oh also Thorin is just straight up missing, he was kidnapped by the elves. Tolkien hastens to assure us that even though wood elves are dangerous and have kidnapped Thorin, “still elves they were and remain, and that is Good People.” Fake. Don’t tell me every elf is good. You’re the one who came up with Eol and Maeglin. Feanor. Every one of Feanor’s dumb ass sons. Anyway the woodland king is questioning Thorin. This bit’s hilarious.

"Why did you and your folk three times try to attack my people at their merrymaking?" asked the king.

"We did not attack them," answered Thorin; "we came to beg, because we were starving."

"Where are your friends now, and what are they doing?"

"I don't know, but I expect starving in the forest."

"What were you doing in the forest?"

"Looking for food and drink, because we were starving."

At least Thorin gets fed in elf jail.

BARRELS OUT OF BOND

The party is sort of staggering along, hopefully in the direction of the path, when twilight falls. Twilight is Elf Time. The dwerrows are glad to be captured, though; Bilbo goes invisible and sneaks after them, so as to have a hope of rescuing them. None of the dwerrows is willing to talk when questioned by the elf king, so that’s good. Apparently he has a great liking for treasure and is probably trying to get gold out of them. How the tables have tabled! He gets angry at them for just being in his kingdom and throws them in prison with some food but no talking. And he doesn’t tell them he has Thorin.

Bilbo lives for a week off stolen food, creeping out the door after hunting parties occasionally but unable to find the way out of the wood. It’s absolutely miserable, he never takes off the Ring and hardly dares to sleep. He finds Thorin eventually and acts as a secret courier between him and the rest of the dwerrows. Guys I Fuckin Love the narrative where people are imprisoned and have only the slimmest hope of getting out, someone sneaking around in desperation for their own life. It’s such a specific thing but I Love It.

Bilbo does not love it. He doesn’t like the hypervigilant life, and he doesn’t like having fourteen lives on his shoulders. Eventually he puts the river delivery service and a lucky break of the guard getting drunk... into a Plan. Steals the keys and goes around unlocking dwerrows. They don’t like “escaping in barrels on the river” but what are you going to do? Unfortunately Bilbo packs everyone into barrels and then has no-one to pack him. He panics while the barrel-rollers sing a barrel-rolling song that is much more elvish than their dialogue, puzzlingly. Bilbo has to cling to an empty barrel “like a rat.” It’s hard, because of how it is Round. The rest of the chapter is basically more “barrels are hard and the dwerrows might be dead.”

[danreblogsstuff]

Tagged by @darklordtomarry 

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (or however many you have altogether). See if there are any patterns. Then, tag your favourite authors.

So I tend to write really long opening paragraphs, so this might be more than a few lines. If it gets too long, I’ll put in a break.

So let’s split this into parts:

Fanfic:

Bird’s Eye View (Batman, Jason/Damian and Tim/Colin, among others)

It wasn't like Tim was unused to walking in on awkward conversations—and even more awkward...encounters thank you Dick—when he was in the manor. It was actually one of the main reasons he'd moved out, along with needing a place where his various vintage collectables could be displayed without the threat of cat attack or Damian sabotage—“You're not supposed to take them out of the box, Damian!” “-Tt- Nonsense, they look much better on display this way. You can even remove their limbs to simulate battle wounds"—and his desire to have the occasional night off—“Bruce, I'm kind of busy tonight, can't someone else look for Croc in the sewers? It's not like he's actually hurting anyone this time.” “You're not busy. You've been refreshing your Tumblr page for the past two hours, suit up.” “Wait you're monitoring my computer? Bruce!”

Box of Memories (Batman, Jason/Tim)

It wasn't often Tim got nostalgic. How could he, when there was so little in his past to reminisce fondly over? It still happened occasionally, though. When he heard a particular song playing as a car passed him by, one Jack Drake used to sing under his breath. During a slow night on patrol when the air was clear and he could see the stars, and he remembered a younger Nightwing pointing out constellations until he realized Tim already knew them all, and then started making up new and increasingly ridiculous ones on the spot. When he saw Damian in full Robin gear bound into the car, impatiently waiting for Batman to join him so they could go out and protect Gotham together, and wished he could have had that for just one more night before it was taken from him.

But the one thing that never failed, that always pulled him in to lose himself in memories, was the box.

I Wanna Kiss You Like They Do In The Movies (Batman, Damian/Colin)

“Mr Batman, can I marry Damian?”

Colin looked up at Damian's dad—who was so, so tall—and tried really hard not to start shaking. He needed to be brave. He'd spent the whole last week—all seven days—gathering up his courage for this. It didn't matter that he wasn't supposed to say the Batman word if Damian's dad wasn't wearing the pointy ears, and it didn't matter that Damian's dad was the most scariest thing ever—scarier than closed spaces and spiders and even the Scarecrow. All that mattered was the thing that had happened to Colin last week. The thing that was like being hit in the face, kinda like the way Bobby back at the orphanage used to hit Colin sometimes, before he got taken away by that policeman and sent to the Jew Vee group home for sneaking into the apartment building across the street and taking off his clothes in front of Mr Norton's wife. Colin hadn't even known Bobby was Jewish, or that there was a special group home for Jewish kids, but really that didn't matter because Colin had had an Aunt Tiffany about Damian and he needed to do something about it.

Damian Wayne and the Ridiculously Expensive Wand (Batman, Damian/Colin, Jason/Tim, Author/Harry Potter references)

There weren't many things that could surprise Tim Drake these days. Damian skulking around the manor? Definitely not one of them.

Damian skulking around the manor while wearing a black robe and pointing a stick at the curtains?

Maybe.

More under the cut

The Utterly Devastating and Not in Any Way Ill Conceived Revenge of Damian Wayne (Batman, Damian/Colin)

“Father, the utterly unnecessary school you send me to has insulted me for the last time. I demand you use your wealth and influence to destroy them.”

Damian stared at his father, sitting behind his desk as he always was at this time of day. Just as Damian had planned. Because, though he currently had the appearance of a mere twelve year old boy, he was, as Grayson said, intelligent beyond his years. Grayson had smiled as he said this, as if he actually thought he had been giving Damian a compliment. It had been all Damian could do to refrain from stabbing him. As if there was anything special about being more advanced than the pitiful, uneducated masses that inhabited this country. If anything, Damian was what they should have been, if they cared to put in any kind of actual effort towards improving themselves.

Ask Me No Questions. No, Really. Don’t Ask Me This Shit. (Batman, Damian/Colin, Jason/Tim)

If Jason Todd was the kind of person to bother with mottoes or life philosophy, his would probably be something along the lines of this:

Nothing good ever happens in Wayne fucking Manor.

Which was why he tried to stay the fuck away as often as possible.

Three Date Rule (Batman, Damian/Colin)

“Mr Wayne, can I please marry Damian now?”

Colin stood on the other side of Mr Wayne's desk, trying as hard as he could not to fidget, or blush, or do anything but maintain manly eye contact. It was hard, because, Batman suit or not, it was impossible to forget that Mr Wayne was the actual Batman. At least he was sitting down. Dami was totally right about the whole being at eye level thing. Mr Wayne wasn't... Okay, he was just as intimidating sitting down as he is standing up, but Colin had grown a bit since the last time he'd had one of these talks with Mr Wayne and, if Mr Wayne was sitting down and Colin was standing, Colin was actually just a tiny bit taller than Batman and it did a world of good for his self-confidence. (Dami had called it a “psychological advantage”, and Colin had kissed him for being adorable) Honestly, he had no idea how he ever managed to summon up enough courage to ask for Dami's hand when he was ten and Mr Wayne was standing in front of him. He'd been either the stupidest or the bravest kid in the world, back then.

Original Fiction:

Everything Will Turn Out All Right

         "Hi, are you using the machine?", came a sweet voice from behind me.

         I jumped, startled out of my deep concentration. I hadn't heard anybody coming up behind me, I was too engrossed (I'm what well meaning but sort of insulting adults like to call "smart for my age" which means I tend to get good grades easily and use words like "engrossed", you'll get used to it.) in the incredibly important decision of whether I was in the mood for lemon-lime or orange Gatorade from the machine in question, which in case you haven't already guessed is a vending machine.

Oh Radio, Tell Me Everything You Know

        My story, like all good stories, is about a radio.

        Wait, no, that's not right. I mean my story is about a radio, sort of, but all good stories aren't about radios. Let's try this again.

        My story, like all good stories, is about love.

Original Published Novels:

Awakening Aidan

"Hello, my name is Aidan, and I'm a wizard." Aidan Collins smiled out over the group of fifteen or so people sitting in a circle around him, trying to project a calm he didn't really feel. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep the agitation he was feeling from showing. Which was sort of embarrassing, because wizards his age should have been made of self-control.

Awakening Arthur

Aidan watched the wheels of the carriage bounce as they drove over the rough desert terrain. It was so strange, seeing them shudder so violently and yet barely feeling it. Suspension, the People called it. It was a way of putting some kind of springs on the wheels to absorb most of the impact of driving on anything that wasn't a road. They'd also added new tires, ridged to grip the ground and thicker to avoid damage. It had been fascinating, watching them work.

He also had to fight the sudden, unreasonable urge to yell at Eallair. It was completely unfair that someone who had never driven before was doing it so well, keeping straight even over the sandy 'road' and deftly avoiding sudden dips and large, half-buried rocks.

The Autobiography of the Dark Prince; As Written by Elias Sutterby

Strangely enough, many of the cultural practices of the Calvian Empire seemed to have survived the Great Collapse, with several being adopted by the fledgling kingdoms that rose to prominence after its fall. Even as far away as the White Kingdom of Ellington, there can be found several examples of Calvian culture that have survived to this day, including the Clockwise Tea Ceremony, the Anti-Clockwise Funeral, The Collision of the Great Beasts, and many fornicary practices as detailed in Kellan Collander's illuminating tome, Furniture Fellatio and Additional Assorted Abnormal Amorous Advances. It is a known fact in Ellington that one can actually see the most bizarre of said Advances being practiced in the dead of night in the Great Library by Scholar Elias Sutterby, whose deviant tastes—

With a small sigh of indeterminate emotion, Elias Sutterby paused in his reading. He blinked slowly, as if such an action would dissolve the offending words from the page in front of him, and when that didn't work he reached up and squeezed the bridge of his slightly pointed nose.

Awakening Camelot (Ohmigawg gaiz this one comes out May 19th this is UnReLeAsEd FoOtAgE, a SneeK PeeK, a preeeeeeveeeeU, it’s also just a really long description of a room which makes it probably the worst out of context cold open ever.)

Unlike every other office in the country, the office of the Prime Minister of the United States of America was very spacious. The decadently thick leather armchair, which rested behind the large, oak desk, was obscenely comfortable, with a matching, equally luxurious leather couch pressed up against the far wall. The small library to the right of the couch was filled floor to ceiling with any book a leader of men might need to occupy himself with, from dry magical treatises to the most bawdy of romances. And, if reading wasn't something a particular prime minister was interested in, across from the library was a fully stocked bar. There was even a small crystal ball which linked directly to the prime minister's personal kitchen, open twenty-four hours so not even a midnight craving need draw him from his office's confines. Since the building of the White House over two hundred years ago, every single new prime minister, without exception, had been stunned into an awed silence when confronted with such elegant and unusual accommodations for the first time.

And that’s that. The first few lines of everything I’ve ever written; including the stuff I’m embarrassed to admit to, lol. This was a lot of fun. Thank you for tagging me! If anyone wants to read any of these things, just message me for a link! Especially if you feel the urge to buy a book ;););) (<---Literally the first time I’ve ever marked myself in public. I feel ill)

[tessatechaitea]

Deathstork #11

Just based on this cover, I know this Creeper is five bershillion times better than Nocenti's Creeper.

You start out in 1954 by saying, "Nigger, nigger, nigger." By 1968, you can't say "nigger" — that hurts you. Backfires. So you say stuff like forced busing, states' rights and all that stuff. You're getting so abstract now [that] you're talking about cutting taxes, and all these things you're talking about are totally economic things and a byproduct of them is [that] blacks get hurt worse than whites. And subconsciously maybe that is part of it. I'm not saying that. But I'm saying that if it is getting that abstract, and that coded, that we are doing away with the racial problem one way or the other. You follow me — because obviously sitting around saying, "We want to cut this," is much more abstract than even the busing thing, and a hell of a lot more abstract than "Nigger, nigger."

Atwater readily admits that the change of behavior (a change you still see as the basic building blocks of the GOP) is due only because the language has become so unacceptable by the populace that the person saying it loses support. But like the euphemism treadmill, changing the language doesn't change the message or the asshole nature of the person using the abusive language. Those people will try to hide in plain sight but they can never actually succeed completely. They need a way to vent their hatred and anger. Which finally brings me to the word that, in today's climate, identifies the racist: thug.

If you don't know who David Duke is, bless your ignorance.

Thug is thrown around constantly these days with a wink and smile. It's the currently acceptable way of saying nigger and people using it need to be called on it. As an added bonus of winks and smiles and elbow nudges, you'll note that racist David Duke expects readers to understand that "decent Americans" means white people. This is the current narrative being seen on channels like Fox News and dining rooms across the country. To some of you, this is the most obvious thing in the world and you've probably been angrily rolling your eyes at the word for years now. But I wanted to talk it through a bit because I know, from my own family's posts on Facebook, that there are way too many people who find it way too easy to call Black Lives Matters protesters "thugs" while never seeming to use that word in any other context ever (except maybe if they're reading an old Batman comic book). Call it out when you here it. Point it out to your family. Don't let the racists get away with normalizing this word.

Dammit, DC! Maybe get a new model for your Thug Heroclix!

The Review! This issue begins like this:

Dammit, Deathstork! I don't have the energy to rant about guns now!

When I say "rant about guns," of course I mean it as much as when I say I want to "rant about dogs." It's not really the guns or the dogs I wind up ranting about. It's the gun and dog owners who are always the huge idiots that need a verbal wedgie. Although this first page ties in a bit with my thug rant (and not in the way you think if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, you racist piece of rat excrement). Smoking bans have happened because of consequences, both monetary and electorally. The only way a politician will change their views on a subject is if they face consequences for being on the wrong side of it. Right now, a lot of politicians are on the wrong side of gun control. But thanks to gerrymandering, the ability to self-delude, and a strong NRA lobby, they can't see it and have yet to face any career consequences. Until politicians begin losing their jobs because they don't give a shit about gun violence, they will continue to do nothing about it. Hell, they'll continue to do less than nothing! Fucking idiots just blocked a measure that would prevent schizophrenics and other mentally ill people on social security from purchasing a gun. That isn't just unsafe for the public, it's unsafe for schizophrenics themselves! You don't want somebody with schizophrenia to have a gun on hand when the voices begin telling them it's time to die. The police at the scene of the shooting come up with a typical cop description of the crime. Two black men stop to rape a white woman in a broken down car at one in the morning. She shoots at them and hits a kid going by on his bike. But Jack Ryder, Creeper Extraordinaire, describes what really happened. The two black men are mechanics who stopped to help a woman in distress. Woman panics because, well, two black men! She shoots off a gun with no training and kills the kid coming up to sell her the drugs she was parked in this neighborhood to buy. That's a lot of social commentary packed into a three page scene. The bottom line is that it's rumored Deathstork is in town to murder a bunch of murderers. The Creeper just wants to get to the bottom of it before Lois Lane does. Oh, and for people who actually read this comic and my review who are thinking, "That black cop written by the black writer and drawn by the black artist just called those black men thugs!"? Of course he did. The guy's a fucking cop, fer chrissakes. Edit: Later a priest uses the term but this time, it's in quotes. Get it? According to Jack Ryder, gang members responsible for child deaths have been turning up dead. But not one of them has been shot. The Creeper thinks Deathstork (I miss the nickname Douchéstork) is sending an anti-gun message. Also an anti-smoking message because not one used butt has been found at any of the crime scenes. Also an anti-rape message because nobody has been raped. Also an anti-Batman message because somebody has been scrawling "Batman is a dick!" on the wall nearby each death. The mothers of these dead children did indeed hire Deathstork. They want the people responsible for killing their kids to pay. Jack Ryder swoops in with his trench coat and his notepad and his Pulitzer dreams and begins discussing issues of race with them. The mothers are all "Dafuq?" One white man is helping solve their problems. Another white man is all, "Is this really appropriate?" (Said in that voice that black comedians do when they're imitating a white person! You know, basically Steve Urkel.)

Okay. Maybe the Batman is a dick thing was a lie. He's writing DS.

Jack Ryder is aghast at these mothers perpetuating a cycle of violence. But the detective explains it to him logically: "Guns don't kill people. Deathstork kills people." Is there a test to find out how old you are "on the inside" by how many times the name "Deathstork" makes you giggle? I must be nine months old. Most of this is Jack Ryder working the clues and following leads and asking witnesses. It could end up being an M. Night Shyamalan shocker: The Creeper is responsible! Maybe the "DS" is actually an emoji of The Creeper's horrified face. Jack Ryder's story leads him to a different story and a different reason for Deathstork being in Chicago. It also leads him to getting shot so now he's going to have to get all Creeperfied before he dies. Then maybe he'll come clean as to what this is actually all about. It turns out Jack Ryder is actually a pretty good investigative journalist! He saw all the clues that I didn't. Like how did a bunch of mothers get enough money to hire Deathstork? Answer: they didn't! They hired a knock-off version who felt he was doing the right thing. Douchéstork manages to stop by to kill the guy impersonating him due to "brand dilution." Before leaving, Deathstork offers Jack Ryder his solution to the gun violence in Chicago, and it's pretty fucking cynical. I mean, I thought I was cynical but Priest's Deathstork easily has me beat.

See, the problem was innocent victims being gunned down and if...why am I explaining the punchline?!

The Ranking! +1! Priest tells a good fucking story. Also, I just want to point out that I wrote the rant on the word "thug" before I even knew what this issue was about. It's my super power! To discuss things appropriate to the comic book I'm about to read!

[specialchan]

I'm not just writing a novel via /r/writing

I'm not just writing a novel

I'm crafting a world!!! So far I've come up with a lot, and honestly I'm on a roll! I'm actually really proud of myself!

Uh, just read the rules... Idk if this violates personal sharing or not :/

Just a forewarning. Skip to RIGHT HERE if you don't want to read, or don't care about me as a person lmao. I'm talking about depression so just a trigger warning.

Probably a few weeks ago, I kinda just decided, "You know what? Today is the day I start my career as a fucking writer." I was going through a major bout of depression, having really bad thoughts of suicide. And oh yeah, crying. There was crying. But I'm better now.

I talked with a friend after finding some time to myself. It's kinda fucked, but I was actually thinking that if none of friends got back to me, I'd kill myself. Luckily I never got to find out if I would, because one of my friends answered straight away.

Anyway that's just a bit of backstory so you, reader, realize that this self revelation of me just deciding to become an author hasn't just come out of nowhere. It's had a massive cost. Now it's time for me to talk about what I'm writing.

Hi! I'm jacked up on coffee atm so please excuse me if I go on a tangent. An old mentor once told me that normal brains will stop at a red light. When a brain is on coffee however, all those lights go green, and the brain is gogogogogo until it hits a red light, literally crashing.

And I just went on a tangent holy shit STFU garrett. That's my name btw in case you're wondering lol.

------> RIGHT HERE

Okay, so the book. I'm facing a few decisions at the moment, but ultimately I'm still on the first draft. The world itself is all but created, now I just gotta write the damn book. Which btw is 11k words deep atm tyvm. I'm pretty happy about that.

I'm not going to reveal anything in this post, but literally any questions are welcome! Just ask away, really. More so, what I'm really after is just advice in general, and even more so impart useful advice as well.

So far, and what's working, is that I'm sticking to the pants'ing model, aka flying by the seat of my pants. In other words, I'm not worrying about anything except this: just write the damn book. That's also the title of the book at the moment lmao. For now, anyway.

With this, I'm aiming for approximately one thousand words a day. With all my other obligations right now, this is a very manageable task. However I'm also not working at the moment! If I was, I'd aim for about 500 a day to be realistic, but I could possibly get those one thousand a day.

So with this combined with copious amounts of coffee (for me, anyway), an interesting thing has started to happen. I already love writing, but now, the more I write, not only am I wanting to write more and more, I'm also thinking about it more as well. Got ideas coming out my ass! Ideas that I would also be happy to share, by the way, but like I said not in this post (which I feel MAY be removed, but whatever bro this counts towards my writing quota too! Bleeeh!!!)

All said, this hasn't just come out of the blue either. I didn't just create a world out of scratch! Shit takes time you know. Honestly I can't remember when I started creating my world, it was probably years ago. Up until now however, I've made many unsuccessful attempts to write a story in this world.

With this new model however, new for me anyway, I've been having a lot more success. I guess the moral here is, you've gotta find what works for you. I've been trying for a while now, and decided I'd just write. Some people might be better at the world building aspect by itself, crafting all those small little aspects and such.

Unfortunately, while I love world building, that's not writing the book. The same goes for a lot of other things, although making a game comes closest that I can think of. You can world build all you want, but until you start coding, until you start WRITING, you're not making any progress. So just write! Write and write, and write some more! Write, even if you hate what you're writing! Don't delete, don't backtrack, goddamn it, don't edit! Just write!!! You can do all that once you've finished writing. More than likely, you'll end up doing it while you write, in which you can just make little notes on what you're thinking about. But you must, and I must, make my main priority focused solely on writing the story.

EDIT bc apparently all the paragraphs I put in don't exist? Lmao

EDIT AGAIN I literally made this post for a reason and completely forgot the main point. That's coffee, for you! My main decision right now is basically if I should make my book a litRPG or not, which would not be hard to do at all. Would you like to read one? Are you sick of seeing them? Do you think, "oh, just another litRPG" or nah?

Okay that's it seeya

Submitted July 27, 2020 at 08:58AM by garrettcarotz via reddit https://ift.tt/3hJzBmv

[canaryatlaw]

Well, today was kind of blah, mostly because I'm still in the same shitty mood from yesterday. And now that I'm back here even though I have a handle on most of my things I still feel ridiculously stressed out and can't stop my mind from racing and I could really use some fucking Xanax right now (I only say that because I'm awaiting my prescription for it from the company, I don't normally throw around comments like that). Ugh. But anyway. My alarm went off at 9:45 and I got up, got my things together and got ready, then ate some breakfast and my dad took me to the airport. I made it through all my goodbyes okay, despite having the feeling in my chest that tears were lurking right below the surface, waiting to be set off at the smallest trigger, but it somehow subsided and I was okay. The airport is small, so I made it through security and to the gate in no time. The first flight was fine, nothing spectacular. I mostly worked on my appellate brief, fixing citations and breaking up sentences (because I have a habit of making 4 line sentences, grammatically proper but I know my prof won't appreciate it) and just generally trying to get my word count up. We landed in Baltimore pretty soon and my next flight was in an hour, with the gate pretty close by to where I was. So I grabbed some sushi that looked appetizing from one of the places then sat at the gate and took advantage of the free wifi I finally managed to hack into without actually paying (it's not actual hacking, it's just knowing how to navigate the system). And with that wifi I looked up and downloaded the rest of the cases mentioned in the trial court fake opinion so I could use them for the second section of my paper. Flight boarded soon, and when we were in the air I started reading cases and working on them, and made a solid amount of progress. Landed after not too long, took for-fucking-ever for our bags to come, and then my uber app flipped out on me and kept saying my request wouldn't go through so I'm like fine whatever I'll use Lyft, so I do and the driver gets there a lot quicker than they usually do since the airport makes them wait in a special lot until they get a pick up. So I get in the car and we started chatting, apparently they had been leaving the airport after another pick up planning on going home but had their app on to see if they'd get anything going north towards where they lives and they got me haha so they turned around and so we went. And then I get a notification saying my uber driver was arriving now and I'm like ????? I bring up the app and it doesn't even have a trip going, so I'm like wtf....and then a few minutes later the poor guy calls wanting to know where I am and I'm just like....I didn't order an uber?? Haha it was strange. But my driver and I established pretty early on that we're both tumblr people, so that kind of set the level of understanding of each other for the rest of the conversation haha. So we talked about a lot of things, they talked about figuring out that they were non-binary and picking a new name, and of course we eventually got into religion and it's social effects and I was happy to hear that they were still actually a Christian even after having grown up in a crappy conservative Christian environment and dealing with all that shit. So they were telling me how much they love their church and I in turn told them how much I love my church, and yeah, it was nice. Got home soon enough, and as expected my white canary boots had arrived, so I had to try on my whole costume to make sure they work of course, haha (I'll post a photo when I'm down here). They fit, thankfully, and they match the costume pretty well- they're a little darker than the actual suit, but the jacket is a darker gray so with them together they just look awesome, so I'm very happy about that. So I settled in and started catching up on my tv shows, which I'll try to comment on if I can remember what I watched, lol. But I kept working on my appellate brief until I had about 4700 words (out of the maximum 5000). I had one more case I was gonna cover but the opinion was so confusing and its relevance to our case really tenuous, so I said ah screw it and called it there. Hopefully I can make up the last 300 or so words in final edits and adding transitory and other necessary things. I'm not worried though, which is good. I've said this a million times before, and I fucking hate it so much, but every single time I have to write something I get scared I won't be able to write as much as needed, even though I pretty much always exceed the word count and being too short is almost never an issue, and while knowing this, I still think it, and 5000 words was looming over me this whole week as some unattainable goal, so now that I'm a lot closer to it I'm feeling better about it. So yeah, tv. I initially picked out my recording of powerless, only to find out the dvr had actually recorded the premiere of trial and error. Okay, well I wanted to watch this anyway, so I might as well keep watching, and holy Jesus this show is amazing haha I already love it so much, although I know the legal inaccuracies are gonna kill me even when I'm telling myself it's a comedy ffs (but in the episode they were pulling shit like "oh homosexuality as a crime was never repealed here" and I'm like uh bullshit Lawrence v. Texas much???? Lol). But I enjoyed that a lot. I think I went to Designated Survivor next, which was a thoroughly epic episode, fairly major spoilers ahead (you've been warned) but ahhh I can't believe just like that MacLeish is dead??? The Vice President is dead?? And how that's just gonna look so much worse for president Kirkman and not just that MacLeish was a dirty traitor....ugh. I was glad to at least see my girl Hannah FINALLY getting vindicated cuz I was like ahh yes you go girl cuz I've hardcore been pulling for her this whole time, lol, so that was cool. But yeah, really intense and awesome episode, I liked it a lot. Riverdale next I think, and holy shit that episode was so sad???? Like dang man, Jughead's life is really fucking depressing. I was of course calling major bs when the sheriff supposedly took him in on literally no evidence and then had his school record because that's not fucking illegal or anything?????? Ugh. I'm glad he's at least living with Archie now though. Veronica continues to be awesome, and with the whole Betty and Polly situation I was thinking the whole time yo do not trust the Blossoms they evil AF so of course I was right there. Good episode though. Then I started last week's episode of Time After Time, which I managed to start in time to finish right before this week's episode started without actually meaning to at all haha so I watched the two episodes back to back. Continues to be an intriguing show, I think it's still finding its footing a bit, but the twists have been very interesting so far. I'm not sure how sustainable it is in the long run, like I'm not sure I can see it going more than one season really, which is unfortunate because it's clever, the plot just doesn't really allow for it. They also love killing people off haha I guess that's what happens when you have a show featuring Jack the Ripper. HG Wells continues to be an gem ("he came over right after world war 2" ".....there was more than 1???????") and the rest of cast does well too. So when that was over I knew I had just missed the live episode of Chicago justice, but I didn't really have much else to watch at this point so I watched the second episode. It wasn't bad, annoyed me less than the first, though that's likely just because they spent less time in the courtroom, lol. They're not quite mastering the time jump thing yet, where they go from crime to investigation to trial in one episode, without any real inference to time passing, which makes it feel like it all happened over like 3 days, which isn't just unrealistic, it's confusing, because they're like "oh who are we gonna bring to the grand jury?" and then the next scene is "the grand jury returned an indictment!" and you're just like da fuck?? Lol. The episode itself was interesting though, I wish they tied in their twist a little sooner, it seemed like too much of an afterthought with the entire plot they had come up with, but it was a well-thought out and well-played twist for sure. It kind of annoyed me that through the entire episode everyone was like "oh you know any cop who gets put on trial is gonna be found guilty" when that's pretty much categorically false, as cops are almost never convicted for officer involved behavior?? Lol, like I get that they're connected to Chicago PD or whatever but they gotta get that down a bit better. And yeah, when that was over I let the news play for a bit while I finished up the queue for the week on the company tumblr. Throughout the night I also wrote my "speech" (it's like a paragraph and a half) for the PAD election speeches tomorrow- so needless to say I decided that I would run. I had kind of come to that decision last night and was gonna text the justice (president) but I was already falling asleep, then I woke up and started doubting it again, but then came back to that conclusion and went for it. I'm not running for justice though because I know that would be too much, so I'm running for service chair (my current position) and vice justice. I don't know the current state of people running, but I have to imagine it's not gonna be all that many. I guess we'll see tomorrow though. And yeah, that's about it. Tired and about ready to fall asleep, back to real life tomorrow. So goodnight friends of mine. Hope you had a relaxing weekend.