#rorschach lives bitches

[verushkak70]

Fraser's anger

Fraser is so angry here, he swears:

"He was your friend, you son of a bitch!"

Fraser is so angry that not only does he swear, he also draws his gun, and he aims it POINT BLANK in Gerard's FACE.

This is why the perfect, polite, well-mannered Thank-you-kindly canon Fraser of dS feels... a bit "off," to me. There is anger in Fraser. He has the clear potential to do bad things to bad people (who, let's face it, completely deserve it, plus more).

I love this Fraser. This is my head-canon Fraser. He has suffered loss after loss (shall we talk about his ACE score? it would be kind of high, don't you think?), starting very young. He appears fine on the surface, but let's not forget that (absurd) psychological test with the Rorschach images in S3 episode Strange Bedfellows. He is not okay. He's not fine. His psychological state is eventually deemed "acceptable" in that ep - but, c'mon: "acceptable" is not exactly well-adjusted or healthy. "Acceptable" is like getting a C on a paper when you should have gotten an A or at least a B.

And ftr, of course he is not okay! That's completely understandable given his history: an adult man lost his mother at age 6, was subsequently abandoned by his grief-stricken father (a child does not understand why a parent leaves/is gone - only that they left), whose entire life is uprooted to move to live with his grandparents (and let's just point out that his grandmother's ghost slaps Fraser, Sr - who is himself a ghost - in Letting Go! if you presume that, like most grandparents, she mellowed with age, and that is the mellower version of her - what was she like with child!Fraser??)... the constant moving/losing friends/having to make new friends/being the new kid because they were mobile librarians...

That is all canon. But there is never any canonical mention of therapy or counseling, which a kid with such a background (or his adult self) would surely need to process the many traumatic changes he experienced at such a young age, and develop some healthy coping mechanisms (because the ones you sort of fall into as a child - I certainly wouldn't call it "choosing" when as a kid, all you're trying to do is find a way to cope that WORKS) - aren't usually the healthiest in a set of circumstances this bad.

Then, in his early adulthood and RCMP career... the Victoria thing happens. Of course Fraser is not okay. (And that is okay.) How on earth could he be?

[revdrb]

Stuck Between Myself

I used to get stoned and leave love notes for myself; reminders that life was worth living. I’m not sure why I could only enjoy life while riding some kind of high, but here we are…

Seven years later, I stopped getting drunk and stoned all the time and I’m back to thinking about what it's like to die. But the truth is: I don’t want to die.

Don’t really want to live either, so where does it leave me? And do you want to leave me as much as I want to leave when I get like this?

I can’t stand the way I get frustrated by noise and overwhelmed by feelings. My therapists tell me to stop and name my feelings, but I find myself spiraling instead.

I can’t name things if they’re coming at me 2 by 2, 3 by 3. The way the world never seems to stop throwing shit at the walls of my room while I stare at them — it’s unbearable. I want to name each Rorschach shitblot and send it on its way, but it stays with me. I haven’t been able to pass the test in so long. I can’t name the shit and I can’t process my feelings. What a blur.

I may not get obliterated anymore, but dissociation is a bitch and a half. I find myself forgetting how to be the person who could take care of you and who looked at you like the sun was always shining. I believe that you deserve me at my best and I wish I could be better for you.

I guess the problem is I should wish I could be better for me, but I’m not there yet.

I’m stuck between not wanting to die and not wanting to live. I know you can see it in me, even while I sleep. So I started to sleep in the other room so it wasn’t so obvious. I sleep better knowing that no one can sense that I’m as stuck in my dreams as I am while awake. I hope you sleep better without the memory of my misery cuddling up next to you in our bed.

One day, I’ll be back to normal. I’ll take my shirt off so the sun can hit my back and chest, ride my bike into the hills, glide down without worry. I’ll tell you that the world feels safe again and that the place we’re in feels like home. I’ll clean the shit off my walls and invite you in again. We’ll laugh, we’ll be rowdy, we’ll be queer as hell. And instead of being stuck between myself, I’ll get stuck inside the wonderful life we’ve built for ourselves.

I guess it all starts with love notes and ends with loving myself again.

[yakglue]

Oh yeah, oh-oh yeah

Oh-oh yeah, oh-oh yeah

Oh-oh yeah, oh-oh yeah

Oh yeah, oh-oh yeah

Oh–

[Buzzy Lee:]

I should've held my tongue

I shouldn't have kept it going

I want a love like water through me

I should've poured my honey slowly

Wash it away, my Rorschach, Rorschach

Wash it away, my Rorschach, Rorschach

Like hell, my hands will give up to twenty times

Hm, my heart will give up too many times

Lucks fallen I've seen it

My intrusion, there's a limit I can take, and I'm crawling out

Hm-hm, hm-hm

I'm a loner, I'm a loser, stuck at home

I'm lover, I'm a winner, try me on

For size, for size, I want you back in my head

For size, for size, I want you back in my bed

Oh yeah, oh–

[JPEGMAFIA:]

Fuck out the deep end, go get you a float, uh

Y'all niggas always be doin' the most

Black Michael Phelps, just acknowledge the stroke

God-level libra, I swim with a ghost

I switched the channel then lost the remote

She for the world, she belongs to the globe

Gaslighting's popular, learn how to cope

Actin' like hoes, I throw these bands

She hit the floor (Let's get it)

Everyday people pushin' past the limit

Men only know, suppressin' what they feeling

I used to work for pennies on the minute

Hunger from struggle, stayed up, 'cause I live it

Worked on muscle, flex on all you bitches

I can't defend this bitch up in the mirror

I'd rather ask forgiveness then permission

Undo that cap, you can't restore the feeling

I'll never chill 'cause y'all really want a nigga broke, like

Fuck the excuses, but y'all really eat off the toxic narratives and jokes, like

Friends, they pass, and some opportunities never come back

If I don't know nothing, know one thing is set

Never react to the demographic with the swag of a cashier at Radio Shack

Talkin' to 'Zel like, when we start runnin', we ain't finna look back

You niggas makin' your trend through the trauma bond

Some depression is deeper than rap (Uh)

I'm not afraid for my life

I'm not afraid for my life

I'm not afraid for my life

I'm not afraid for my life

I'm not afr

[garak]

tbh im excited for the animated watchmen movie because even if dc has historically done poorly on both the fronts of watchmen movies and animated movie adaptations of comics i really like i do think there a significant chance of this one being good because the issue i normally have with the animated movies is that they change the plot too much and i think watchmen is a property where you CANNOT change that damn story, and the issues i have with the watchmen movie are too numerous to the point i had to stop writing them down halfway through but mostly are just because zack snyder had his fingerprints all over the project and i hate zack snyder superhero movies. i think the only problem, and this is a problem with any modern watchmen media, is that watchmen is so entrenched in the milieu of golden to bronze age comics that it does not read as well to people who dont know much about comics and reads pretty badly to a lot of people who only have read comics that came out after watchmen, precisely for the reason that it changed the game and in many ways was an omen of what was to come in the dark & modern age... to this audience, the idea the superheroes are more complex than just good guys or bad guys and that their decisions should be called into question is not new or interesting, and is in fact blasé and played out. these people don't know what charleton comics is and i can't blame them bitch! but a huge part of the reason watchmen did so well was that it was playing with a history of superhero comics that people knew because they were still living in it, which is a history that most younger audiences are not familiar with. on top of that, watchmen has so heavily influenced modern comics that the cynical takes it had on typical superhero tropes of the time have become typical superhero tropes themselves... look at the boys or the DCU or any serious batman comic or movie written after the year 2000 and tell me you don't see what i see. but either way i'm excited to see how they do rorschach's mask. you know im always excited to see him

[theboysfromaustin]

Halloween repost: The Ballad of the Creepy House

----

My paternal grandparents' house was built in the late 1800s, and I believe they acquired it in the 1960s or 70s.  Spent a good deal of time at that house, much as I could, my dad dragging us from Michigan to Indiana (ew) to Texass to Tennessee and back to the garbage state for computer work.  Lot of summers, lots of Thanksgivings, maybe a couple Christmases.  Large chunk of my family, paternal and maternal lives (or lived) around southwestern Michigan.

That house had an air of fucked-upedness.

It was a two story house, kind of Victorian, I guess?  Lot of gingerbread trim.  Very pretty.  It had a basement as well, I don't remember an attic - I never went into one, the basement was bad enough.

The basement was very large, and had a set of stairs (which I have fallen down), and had two distinct sections - the vaguely scary one with the washer and dryer along with The Closet, which is where my father told me a monster named Oscar lived.  He now denies this.  Classy.

The other half of the basement was, when my grandfather was alive (he died in 98 or 99) both awesome and ball-retractingly terrifying.  He had a big, badass electric train setup.  I am a man who can appreciate a fine train landscape and this thing was the tits.

The bad part was, this section was well-lit.  The rest of this godforsaken hole in the ground was pitch goddamn black, and just full of…stuff, looming menacingly in the shadows. I did not go beyond the light down there, because I was terrified.  I was last in this house for Thanksgiving 2014, and I was sent to the basement to look for a pitcher.  No pitchers, but at least 5 coffee makers.  I looked through the door into the doom pit, felt my stomach clench in terror, and fled.

Nobody liked that fuckin' basement.  Redfin photos from when my aunt moved my grandma out due to that fucker Alzheimer's don't even go in the dark half.

Don't blame them, I don't think realtors get paid enough to potentially be dragged to hell.

First floor was fairly normal, except my mom once saw the ghost of an old lady in the kitchen.  Also to note, the door frames in this place were low as shit.  I'm 5 foot 7, and by the time puberty punched me repeatedly in the pituitary gland, I was constantly getting bonk bonk on the head and learned to start ducking.  There was also an office that, after my mom started using oxygen 24/7, had a bed set up in it for our visits.

Also, one time a squirrel got in the house and terrorized my grandmother over the course of a few days.  It was one of those lil' fuckers introduced by John Harvey Kellogg.  You know, that cereal fucker.

Upstairs was a bitch and a half to get to.  I think my grandfather, my delinquent dad and his delinquent brothers installed the Death Stairs.  Did a shit job.  They were steep, they were narrow, and they were covered in the slipperiest carpet the 60s or 70s could barf up.  Everyone hated these stairs.  I've always been stomping around in natural clown shoes, so these were A Special Challenge.  I think most people in the family fell victim to the stairs at some point or another, but I managed to fall from the first step down, Zetsu Tenrou Battouga'd my ass all the way to the hardwood floor below where I slammed onto my back.

Had a goddamn Rorschach test black and blue mark on my whole damn back after that.

Maybe that explains why my spine hurts so bad now at 35.

Huh.

Upstairs, there were 3 bedrooms and a bathroom with a shower.  The one bedroom was my grandparents', the other two were the guest rooms.  My sister generally stayed in the middle room after my parents started using the downstairs one, don't know how they both fit, that bed sucked.  It was narrow, the mattress was hard, and would tilt dangerously if you didn't stay dead center.

This room was adorned with photos of dead relatives, like really old photos where nobody is smiling and their eyes are emotionless because Emoting Was A Sin.  I don't know how my sister stayed in there with the scary photos because she's a total wiener about horror movies who had to come sleep in the bed with me after my mom took her to see Blair Witch.  And The Ring.

I always got stuck in the room next to the bathroom.

That room was….awful.

First of all.

From the time I could be in a Big Boy Bed without falling out and dying from cracking my soft, egglike head on the hardwood floor, there was a fucking baby crib in front of the wardrobe, which at least kept it closed and the Narnia shit at bay.  Now, for whatever reason, probably my Chihuahua-level anxiety, this baby crib scared the everloving piss out of me.

But Ian, it's just a crib, how is that scary?  I don't know, my brain is a mess, but the FEAR of waking up in the night and hearing Baby Noises™ was sufficiently terrifying as was the prospect of getting up to use the bathroom and there being some….thing….in the crib.  You know, like in Eraserhead.

But that wasn't the worst part, somehow.  Oh no.

The bed was in a corner.  Now, for some reason I can only describe as "total bullshit" there was a closet on the wall, you know, with a door as well as another, tiny closet a few feet up the wall, about half the height of the normal closet.  The bed blocked it, but the top of the door frame ended maybe 6 inches above the mattress.

This had no solid door.

This had a curtain that was supposed to protect me from whatever nightmares lurked within.  This was horrifying, because it was at such a perfect height for me to fling a limb into The Unknown.  Which was absolutely god damned TERRIFYING.  I don't even know what was stored in there.  Ain't no way I was looking, either.  I tried sleeping on the other side of the bed, away from the danger hole, but I am not what anyone would call a "serene sleeper." One vacation, I had to share a hotel bed with my sister, and at one point, according to her, I "sat up, violently elbowed her in the gut, and rolled over."

This does sound like me, so I believe it.

So, inevitably I would trundle across the bed and back to the object of danger.  Can't sleep on the floor to mitigate this problem because there was ALSO a motherfucking trap door, which was partially covered by the rug.  I don't know what was down there.  Probably spiders.  Maybe whatever cryptid was lurking Michigan.  Maybe the Dogman was hitching around Berrien county, I don't know.

Fuck that room.

I kind of would have liked to have owned that house so I could uncover the vast amounts of crazy bullshit that lurked within its walls, but I am not a rich man, and it honestly needed a lot of repair work done.

Also the stairs would have eventually claimed my life, this I know.

Also, there was a large garage in the back with an attic filled with things.  All I remember being in there was a vintage ride-on Dalmatian toy that had a terrible face and, given the rest of the shit about that house, probably rolled around there on its own.

Christ.

[generic-whumperz]

(Thanks @flowersarefreetherapy & @eatyourdamnpears for the tag! 🫶)

GOD THIS IS SO HARD because I don’t usually see myself in characters. But conceptually, these two weirdos who live on the fringes of society but in very different ways, partake on solo missions, and get shit done. They are part of a team, but like, also not? Idk, relatable.

Unproblematic answer: Obi Wan (rolls with the punches, deals with shit as it happens and acts like he isn’t bothered by it, reliable and dependable—the bitch you call for backup, a fucking G, knows what up, your favorite uncle, is in my intro gif post)

Problematic answer: Rorschach (angry child, slightly insane, obsessive, misanthropic, anonymous, vigilante, ginger, anti-hero asexual who is committed to the bit and does what the fuck he wants)

Open tag & tagging @3-2-whump @mj-iza-writer

TAG GAME: two fictional characters that make you go "omg it's me!"

randy meeks (scream)

charlie walker (scream 4)

tagging: @taintandviolent @fear-is-truth @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @marchsfreakshow @slutforgarlogan @slvt4jamesmarch @lacucarachapisser

[thxendisnigh]

That's some good shit right there

[warsmith-38]

How I would do RWBY pt.8

Season eight.

Salem knows Cinder is coming back home.

Is patiently waiting for her to arrive with Myrmidon at her side.

Cinder shows up, hoping for mercy.

Salem suddenly has an inconvenient gap in her vocabulary when Cinder says that word.

Reminds Cinder that not only did she tell them her plan, she told them how to destroy said plan.

Cinder makes her excuses, “I had to. I didn’t have a choice. We can make another plan,” et cetera.

Salem decides to give Cinder one last chance after fucking up a plan that was older than she was.

Defeat Myrmidon and she can have her old position of number two again.

Myrmidon kicks the absolute shit out of her.

Cinder keeps making little mistakes, blames her new (metal) arm, and Myrmidon exploits every opening.

Myrmidon is sadistically playing with Cinder at this point.

Cinder pops smoke and runs the fuck away.

Myrmidon is stopped from chasing her, being told that Cinder’s execution can wait.

They must finish preparing Plan B.

She does in fact owe this latest plan to Cinder in a roundabout fashion.

The dramatics in Atlas have made Salem remember a little detail that has helped her in the past.

Nothing unites quite like a war.

The free peoples of the world either need a single enemy to face together or they need a factory reset apocalypse to recover from.

Either or, Salem isn’t picky.

The people will be all the stronger no matter which problem they have to overcome.

Ozpin getting directly involved is a snag, but she’s worked around him before.

Regardless of outcome she’ll go dormant for a few generations until most people forget she existed and then it’s back to work.

Her first target is Vacuo.

She would have preferred Vale, but she’s willing to compromise.

Grimm begin to swarm into Vacuo territory.

They had their own version of The Maginot Line, for all the good it does them.

Myrmidon is leading the charge and is the one that tears a big ass hole in their defenses.

Ozpin realizes that Salem has decided ‘fuck it’ on the whole illuminati conflict thing they’ve been doing.

Open warfare it is.

Ozpin has RWBY, JN(P)R, and SSSN sent to Vacuo to see if they can help while he calls the banners with the rest of his council.

RWBY, SSSN, and JN(P)R link up with the Vacuo Defense Force.

Meet the grimm assault with an assault of their own.

Fierce fighting pushes the grimm back to The Maginot Line.

Victory is at hand.

Everyone has a moment or two for a breather and conversations.

Then the second wave of grimm arrive.

They’re not acting like grimm usually do.

They’re using actual military tactics.

Feigning retreats, denying strategic points, and attacking weak spots you wouldn’t think would be weak.

The Black Myrmidon is directing them.

RWBY and JN(P)R have a go at her.

Myrmidon is giving a good fight, but it’s still eight on one.

Penny starts convulsing then starts attacking RWBY and JNR while saying she’s not in control.

Yang’s arm stops doing what she wants it to.

Suddenly nobody can land a hit.

Reminds people of old sparring matches.

Ren dumps his pistols and goes full kung-fu badass on Myrmidon.

Knocks off her helmet.

It’s Pyrrha. (Audience was meant to know because obvious. It’s more about the in story reveal)

She may be fucked up with grimm taint and looking like a mini-Salem, but it’s very much the Pyrrha they knew and mourned.

Everyone is stunned.

Grimm are starting to lose more ground.

Pyrrha sounds the retreat.

Grimm pull back and Grimm Blitzkrieg has been halted.

RWBY and JN(P)R are reeling from events.

Nora is inconsolable and even Ren is failing to hold it back.

Jaune is just quiet.

Penny is trying to help her new teammates as best as she can, but they’re only so much that she can do.

Ask Ozpin + The Council and EMN via video call if they knew anything about this. They didn’t.

Qrow theorizes that Tyrian was a prototype of what was done to Pyrrha.

A dead huntress revived and controlled via grimm corruption that emulates an aura.

Not only still capable as she was in life, still being able to use her semblance, and still as intelligent, but also being powered up by Salem herself.

The Council shudders to imagine an entire army of that.

To take their mind off of the thing, RWBY go scouting to see if they can find any sort of intel.

On mission they find a beaten and almost dead Cinder.

Ruby says there’s nothing to see here.

WBY say that she could have intel they could use.

Ruby says there’s nothing. To. See. Here.

WBY pick up Cinder and take her back to base.

Ruby wants it on record that this was munity from WBY.

Cinder regains consciousness and is genuinely shocked that they helped her.

Finally realizes that Salem does not give the faintest shit about her anymore if she ever really did.

Doesn’t really vibe with Ozpin, but wants to fuck over Salem as much as she can now.

Ozpin says he does not trust her, but does trust her desire for revenge.

Sends EMN, who are firmly on Ozpin’s side now (if only for self-preservation), as reinforcements and to try to help keep Cinder compliant.

Cinder tells Ruby not to worry.

After Salem is dealt with they can sort things out between them.

Cinder provides as much strategic and tactical advice as she can.

Her intel wins a few engagements and saves quite a few lives.

Despite this, Jaune says that he refuses to directly work with Cinder. Nora and Ren both mirror that statement.

They say that they’ll work with her intel, but can’t be held responsible for what might happen if they are left in the same room as her.

To them, the current situation with Pyrrha is actively Cinder’s fault.

It would have been less egregious if Pyrrha was just dead and not some insane zombie.

Penny volunteers to operate as the middlebot.

Ruby is on Jaune’s side and her clout helps keep Jaune at the strategist’s table.

The Myrmidon is spotted at a forward position without a large garrison.

JN(P)R take it on themselves to go to her despite everyone saying it’s bait.

JN(P)R fight through cursory amount of grimm and get to Myrmidon.

Conversation is mired with combat.

Nora says that Ozpin might be able to help her.

Pyrrha says that Ozpin ‘helping’ her is the reason she died.

Penny says that her team still love her and miss her.

Pyrrha says that they replaced her with a robot the first chance they got.

Ren tries to appeal to her sense of logic and morality that Salem is an evil shithead.

Pyrrha says that Ozpin is no better and would rather work with the one that brought her back to life and didn’t lead her to an early grave.

Gets to the point where N(P)R is down and Jaune is the only one standing.

Their duel is hard fought, but brief.

Jaune tells Pyrrha that he knows that even with Salem’s ‘enhancements’ she still won’t kill him.

If she does, then Pyrrha Nikos is still dead no matter what magic Salem does.

Pyrrha says that that’s one of Jaune’s worst plans ever.

He tells her to shut up and do it if she can actually do it.

Pyrrha is having troubles not talking and is clearly delaying herself.

Jaune is shouting ‘do it!’ Rorschach style.

Pyrrha doesn’t. Still gives Jaune a concussion to try and take him out of the strategic fight.

Jaune, when scolded for doing something so stupid, says that he now knows there’s still enough of Pyrrha in there that he believes he can plan around her style.

Now begins the wait for the next offensive.

Cinder has moment with EMN, trying to continue as was, giving them orders and such.

EMN call her a shit and say that they ain’t got to do shit she says. Neo flips her off double deuce style.

Cinder has moment realizing just how hated she is by everyone.

Gets sad, then angry, then sad again.

Ruby and Jaune have a moment talking about their time as team leaders.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown type of thing.

The assault happens in the middle of the night.

Salem herself is leading the charge, riding a huge-ass T-rex looking grimm.

Gives a great big ultimatum to the defenders.

Surrender and join her crusade or die.

RWBY get on the loudspeaker.

Call her a bitch.

Salem does not appreciate their humor and signals the assault.

Myrmidon directing the grimm was bad enough but Salem is terrifyingly worse.

Myrmidon was connected to a sort of grimm hivemind, but Salem directly controls said hivemind.

Salem hits them like a truck on steroids.

The defenders formed a strategy, sure, but that strategy was for Myrmidon.

This was preparing for a linebacker to hit you then getting hit by, y’know, a truck on steroids.

The defensive line is swarmed, ripped apart, and overrun with little effort.

RWBY is separated by the horde.

The fighting is desperate and vicious.

Plenty of jobbers are killed or taken away behind enemy lines.

Then it stops.

The grimm just stop moving for a moment and then they retreat.

Salem then tells everyone that she did this to prove that she could kill all of them whenever she wants.

Does kowtowing sound a little more appealing now?

All the people that were just taken are released to further the point that Salem can do as she pleases.

She gives them all forty-eight hours before her next assault.

She also says that she won’t be taking prisoners that time.

Everyone has a collective moment of ‘wow, we are fucked’.

Cinder has an epiphany and takes it on herself to force a conversation with Jaune.

Jaune is about to try (and fail) to tear her head off when she says that she might have the solution to their problem.

Fuck the grimm, fuck mitigating loss, they need to snipe Salem herself with everything they have.

They can’t permanently kill her, no, but dropping her should send a sort of mental shock to the grimm and stun them for a good amount of time and make them vulnerable.

Vulnerable enough that the large amount of experienced hunters and defense troops will have the breathing space to kill as many as possible before they even get back to their default state.

It’s not much but having a window of working space before Salem gets back up is better than nothing.

Jaune asks her how the fuck are they going to manage to even touch Salem to begin with.

Cinder says to leave that to team CEMN.

He tells her to tell him or else he’s going to call in Ruby.

The plan is to exploit Salem’s fear of Ozpin using Emerald’s hallucinations and Neo’s illusions.

Salem is rarely scared, but when she is she is panicky and rather cowardly.

Cinder has only seen it once when Salem believed that Ozpin had somehow snuck into her sanctum.

They just need her to panic for a moment and then hit her with the biggest single hit they can muster.

Jaune says it’s a longshot and with the remaining forty hours they have he’ll be thinking of a better one.

But, y’know, needs must.

The next day Jaune, having failed to think of another plan, tells everyone of Cinder’s idea.

They do not care for it.

Everyone is skeptical of Cinder’s intentions (even EMN).

Cinder reminds them all that Salem wants to kill her more than most of the people present.

Even if she lets the rest of them live, ha ha, Salem is probably going to take the time to brutally execute her just to make a point.

That or Myrmidon will.

Her intention is doing the thing most likely to keep herself alive, despite the risk.

Ruby is about to threaten her until Ozpin (via video call) tells them to go through with it.

It’s basically all they have and they can’t spend their remaining time bitching about without a plan.

With great reluctance, they begin to work out a proper strategy.

One hour remains.

Weiss and Ruby have brief conversation.

Weiss commends Ruby on her maturity of being able to deal with Cinder in a non-violent manner.

Cinder has moment with EMN telling them not to take unnecessary risks.

The plan relies on them more than it does her and if they fail/die then she does too.

She also, believe it or not, cares enough about them to not want to see them die.

Salem arrives early.

She didn’t lie about the time of her attack, she just allotted about half an hour for a speech.

She gets interrupted.

By Ozpin.

Ozpin says that it’s time to settle things.

Salem wigs out a little and shies back from the front.

This behavior is mirrored by the grimm.

Defense forces strike out.

Salem is trying to organize and fight but her terror of Ozpin is keeping her on the ropes.

Eventually gets annoyed enough to try and send grimm to attack Ozpin.

Can’t land a hit.

Gets angry enough to try and attack Ozpin directly.

Lands a hit.

The illusion breaks away, revealing Neo and Emerald.

She gets attacked by Cinder and Mercury as a distraction.

Ruby has Salem in the scope of her rifle (have we all just forgotten the sniper part of Ruby’s weapon?).

Ruby has a specialized incendiary round that she can infuse with her white fire in the chamber.

She designed and fabricated it herself.

Takes the shot.

It gets blocked by Myrmidon’s thrown shield.

Myrmidon begins fighting CEMN.

Salem realizes just what has happened.

She’s impressed. Incredibly mad, but impressed.

She orders a halt to the combat.

Says that they deserve a token chance for their effort.

She will take one of the defenders for a one-on-one duel.

She’ll even hold back on her more overpowered abilities to make it more sporting.

If they win she will end her assault (and probably go somewhere else instead or just come back later).

If they lose she will continue her swarm into Vacuo.

Ruby volunteers.

WBY say that taking more than two seconds to make the decision might be a good idea.

Ruby volunteers.

JNPR, CEMN, SSSN, and the rest all agree with WBY that-

Ruby. Volunteers.

Salem has Ruby swarmed with bat/bug/whatever type grim and carries her into occupied territory.

Deep enough that they shouldn’t be easily interrupted.

Salem tells her that what she did to Summer was nothing personal, and now with the grimm nuke failed, there isn’t any reason for Salem to be against her personally.

The Cabal could use a few more capable members.

She reiterates her points on Ozpin.

He just wants to dominate the world ‘for its own good’.

Can’t have wars if you no longer have the mental ability to think for yourself.

Offer freedoms that Ozpin could nor would never give.

Tells her that she recognizes Ruby’s personality type.

She’s in love with combat.

Ruby admits that fighting makes her happy, that kicking ass gets her engines running.

Salem offers her war eternal, the chance to be fighting and winning for all time.

Ruby, once again, calls her a bitch.

Says that fighting is pointless without a good reason, like peace, to give it a purpose.

Also says that after they’ve all finally beaten her, Ozpin’s next.

Salem thought that the offer wouldn’t work but had to try.

Salem boss fight.

Salem is able to form myriad magic weapons out of thin air and change her fighting style at random.

Ruby fights as hard as she’s ever fought before.

Salem is, to her word, holding back a good amount.

It’s not helping that much.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch.

Myrmidon and the grimm were left to just awkwardly stand around the battlefield.

JN(P)R tries to approach her but she (conveniently) approaches CEMN.

She was told not to continue attacking the defensive line, not the bitch that killed her.

JN(P)R is now conflicted.

They could go and help an ally fight an enemy.

The problem is that that ally is Cinder and that enemy is Pyrrha.

Myrmidon has her hands full until she starts using her semblance.

Magnetism vs a team where two members have metal limbs, you do the math.

Cinder tells her to leave the rest of them alone. It’s her she wants.

Myrmidon says that since they got involved, they die too.

This is what prompts JN(P)R to action, saying it’s more about helping EMN than C.

Myrmidon grows enraged, turning her attention to JN(P)R in earnest.

In fact, everyone is so engaged that they don’t notice a dropship flying past them overhead.

Ruby is growing tired while Salem has quite literally godlike endurance.

Salem commends her for lasting far longer than she imagined.

She hasn’t been this worked up in ages.

But all good things must come to an end.

Tells her to say hello to Summer for her.

Right as she’s about to deal the final blow she gets cut off with a dropship ramming (crashing) into her.

WBY file out and scold Ruby for agreeing to try and solo a fucking demi-goddess.

Ruby apologizes but points at the dropship that Salem just threw past them.

Salem amends the fight conditions to welcome the new challengers.

RWBY vs Salem.

First real fight against the main antagonist.

Challenging fight, magic bullshit, brutal close combat, the whole nine yards.

Sways both ways until RWBY gains the upper hand.

Culminates in a big team hit that finishes the fight.

Salem congratulates them and begins pulling the grimm back from Vacuo.

She says that this is not over and reminds them that, no, she was not fighting as hard as she could have.

They eked out a win by the skin of their teeth mostly because of Salem’s survival of the fittest/fight smarter not harder type ideology was being pandered too.

Salem is then swept away in a swarm of bat/bug/bird/whatever grimm.

Myrmidon abruptly pulls away from the fight along with the grimm, giving JN(P)R one last glance.

Ozpin finally shows up in person, tardy to the party.

Gets reports from everyone that Salem has turned the Grimmland’s southern coast into a deathtrap.

If they’re going to get at her through Vacuo they’ll need a lot to dislodge her.

Ozpin tells them that he never said they were going to get her through Vacuo.

Season eight done.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Internal Disputes ch.6 (baon)

Summary: Something strange is afoot. Edge isn’t sure what, but he can guess he isn’t going to like it.

Notes: Here we go, last chapter. Who's up for a little easing of that ongoing angst, yeah? Add some more comfort to that hurt. 

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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Stretch didn’t know when Red left them. Truth was, he didn’t even remember falling asleep; one moment he was laying in Red’s lap and the next thing he knew he was waking up to a firm knock at the front door.

Snugged up almost on top of him, Jeff stirred, blinking sleepily as he sat up and there was no telling how long they’d slept curled up together on the sofa like a coupla lonely oversized hamsters, but it must’ve been a while because the light outside was coming in through the opposite windows.

That firm knock came again on the front door, shit, and Stretch untangled himself from Jeff and started shambling over.

“Wait, let me get it!” Jeff tried to scramble past him and for a second, Stretch didn’t get it. Until he did, and he could only shake his head in weary exasperation. This was what he got for letting Jeff go work at the Embassy with Red and Edge, he should’ve gotten him a job at the Bun Bakery where superhero tendencies didn’t go much further than rescuing cinnamon bunnies.

“don’t you start with the overprotective bullshit, andy,” Stretch caught the tail of his shirt and yanked him back, ignoring his yelp. “the door has a peephole and i’ll look, but my guess is ninja assassins don’t generally knock.”

Jeff nodded sheepishly, but he still crowded in close as Stretch checked out the front porch. It was a Monster that Stretch didn’t know, the curling tentacles that made up their ‘hair’ pulled back into a neat ponytail, but they were dressed in the same generic suit that all of Asgore’s personal bodyguards wore, so it wasn’t much of Jeopardy question to guess who sent ‘em. Last Gyftmas, he’d sent them all Ray-ban sunglasses, and gotten a politely worded ‘thank you’ letter back. He still wondered sometimes if they’d gotten the joke.

It couldn’t be bad or Asgore would have come himself. Even if Stretch had been a dick to him earlier, he would have—Stretch opened the door a little, poking his skull out, “yeah?”

“Good afternoon,” they began formally, in a calm, fluting voice, “apologies for disturbing you, I’m sure you’re busy--”

“can we cut to the part of the speech where you tell me what you want?” Stretch interrupted tiredly, “because if you’re selling vacuums, i’m not interested. i’ve been having a hell of a day, and i’m not up for giving a golf clap for the effort.”

The Monster only nodded, and that bland expression shifted to faint sympathy. “Yes, of course. I came to tell you that the Ambassadors’ plane will be landing in about an hour and if you’d like to accompany me to the airport, you can meet them there.”

“seriously?” They must’ve taken off the moment he and Tori got off the phone to get back home so fast and Stretch wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Tori said they were all okay, but wouldn’t the authorities want them to hang around for a while after an incident? That was the vibe he always got about police bullshit, unless…unless they needed to get back to Ebott because this was where they kept the Monster hospital. Or maybe it wasn’t safe to stay, that could be it, right? He didn’t know, could keep guessing all day but the Monster in front of him was waiting for his answer with a bland smile that didn’t reveal shit.

Anxiety was churning inside him, not much he could do about that, but maybe it was time to channel a little Edgy-calm. He’d been living with Edge for a while, and this wasn’t exactly the way he’d imagined trying out a little roleplaying, but fuck it, worth a try.

If it was Edge here, he wouldn’t go borrowing trouble; he’d head over to the airport and wait patiently to see what the fuck was going on.

Patience might be asking a bit much of his acting skills, heading over to the airport wasn’t. He’d never been to the airport himself, there wasn’t much point. All those movies that showed happy couples meeting at the gate with flowers and kisses were a load of bullshit as far as Stretch knew. All that shit was on the other side of the security checkpoints these days and Edge always told him he preferred to come home and get his kisses there rather than down at the basement levels, surrounded by grouchy travelers in the dirty baggage claim.

He thought Edge might be proud of the way he nodded and said evenly, “yeah, i’ll come.”

The Monster nodded placidly. “I can take you now, if you like. It’s already been cleared through Security.”

Which meant Red was doing the voodoo that he do so well and thought it was safe enough. Good to know. Stretch glanced down at himself and grimaced. His clothes were made up of about 75% wrinkles and 25% moldering grape juice, not exactly the best reunion outfit.

“let me change real quick?” Stretch asked. They nodded and made no move to come in, so he closed the door. Only to nearly walk right over Jeff, who’d been practically plastered to his back the whole time.

“I’m coming with you,” Jeff said stoutly. Even with everything running down the tubes around him, Stretch couldn’t help smiling a little. Jeff wasn’t a big guy and he looked about as fierce as one of those little weenie dogs, but Stretch would bet his favorite lighter that nothing was gonna pry him away, certainly not one of Asgore’s goons. Kid was loyal and that was a fact.

“i wouldn’t even try to leave you behind, handy andy,” Stretch told him sincerely. He waited until Jeff nodded and then shortcutted upstairs directly into the closet, not even bothering to try the stairs. The sleep helped but his soul still felt raw and bruised, aching faintly in his ribcage. That meant everything else ached too, and as comforting as sleeping next to Jeff was, the sofa wasn’t really great for extended cuddling.

Eh, but he might’ve been weird about it if Stretch suggested going upstairs to the bed. Humans were awkward about that shit, and Jeff might’ve agreed just to make Stretch happy. Better to stick with what he knew wouldn’t wig out his best bud.

As he pulled on a fresh sweatshirt, he wondered glumly if he’d be taking another trip to visit Alphys’s lab for a deeper peek at his soul. That his visits to the therapist would be going back to twice a week for a while wasn’t even a question, but he didn’t much want to think about it right now. Now, all he really wanted was to see Edge. Tori’s reassurances were nice and all, but he wasn’t going to believe it until he had that asshole in his arms.

When he came downstairs, Jeff was attempting to clean up the stains the grapes left on the carpet when Stretch dropped the bowl. He wasn’t making much progress, the faded purple splotches looked like a Rorschach test. Butterfly, Stretch decided, but Edge would probably only see a dirty mess.

“I put the grapes in the fridge, they seem okay, but I don’t think this is going to come out,” Jeff said apologetically.

Edge was gonna have a fit but that’s what happened when you ditched on your anniversary and almost got blown up for fuck knows why. Only the darkest humor lurking in Stretch thought that little joke was funny, but hey, he was a tough crowd for himself today.

“don’t worry about it,” Stretch told him, helping him to his feet. “edge probably has a secret formula to shout it out.” And if thinking about Edge grumbling while he scrubbed the stain made a flare of affection rise in his soul, welp, that was probably only a sign of what an idiot in love he was.

The car was sleek and black, one of those fancy ones with a glass partition in between the back and front seats. There was a mini-fridge and lots of buttons, and normally Stretch would have made it a mission to push every single one of them because one of them had to be an eject button, had to be.

Today he buckled up and let his head drop back against the rich Corinthian leather seats. He was still tired and the only food he’d had today was less than a handful of grapes. Edge would have a fit if he knew, he would be in the kitchen in a flash to stir something up, bitching at him the whole time that it wasn’t good to go without meals and could he go for five minutes not thinking about Edge, it wasn’t fucking helping and--

“andy?” Stretch said, low.

Jeff, who’d been exploring the buttons that Stretch ignored, jerked guiltily. “Yeah?”

That anxiety was rising, clenching in his chest and making it hard to breathe, “can you talk to me?”

“Um. Sure,” he bit his lip, considering, “About what?”

“anything,” Stretch swallowed down the pleading that tried to leak out, “make my mind shut up for a little while.”

A warm human hand settled over his own, squeezing gently. “I can do that. Okay, check this out, back when I worked at Classic Books, we had this guy who would come in every once in a while. He was a little odd, but a nice guy, and he’d usually hang for a while to chat. Anyway, this time he comes in and--”

Stretch closed his sockets and listened as Jeff rambled on about the grueling adventures of retail customer service, telling him about the guy who’d dreamed about a book and thought somehow Jeff should be able to find it.

Before he could find out how the quest for ‘the blue book with gold writing about Jesus riding dinosaurs’ ended, he felt the change of speed from the car leaving the expressway. The airport was right off the ramp, but they didn’t go through the main loop where Delta and American Airlines hunkered and instead, they were directed to a hanger off to the side.

He wasn’t really surprised. Money talked, sure, that was part of it, but for reasons of sheer practicality the Ambassadors always took a private jet. Not like many of them were going to fit in coach and even first class would be asking a bit much of Papyrus and Edge’s knees, along with Toriel’s girth.

The car pulled up in front of a single building off to the side that looked brand-spanking new. When Generic Driver and Bodyguard led them to the door where two of his huge brethren stood with unsmiling solemnness, it proved to be comfortably warm inside, with furniture that included a table set up with coffee machine and a plate of sandwiches in plastic wrap. One of the squashy chairs held Asgore, who was still dressed in his weekend casual. He was holding a coffee cup that looked comically small in his large hands. Red was sprawled out on a sofa and he gave the two of them a mocking little salute as they came in.

“c’mon in, join the party. get something to eat, honey bun,” Red called, “came right from the embassy cafeteria, it’s good stuff.”

“from the embassy cafeteria?” Stretch grimaced. He’d eaten there a couple of times and if he’d been allowed to review it on his twitter, it would have gotten a 5 on the barf scale. “you sure it isn’t poisoned?”

“The food quality has greatly increased since Edge hired Hussain to take over leadership,” Asgore said quietly. He didn’t look up from his coffee cup, probably afraid Stretch was gonna spit in his face, but his anger of this morning seemed distant as a fading dream.

“hussain? from the beanery?” Stretch poked one sandwich with a long finger even as Jeff inspected the supposedly-tasty largess hungrily. “edge didn’t tell me he did that.”

He’d noticed Hussain’s absence at the Beanery, but only in the periphery, vaguely assuming it was his day off or maybe he had class. No one else mentioned it to him, either, probably thought he already knew. Why hadn’t Edge told him—

Red only snorted, interrupting his unraveling thoughts, “he prolly forgot, he don’t have time to tell you all the shit he does. quit fussing and eat a sandwich, brat.”

Not the worst advice he’d had today. He grabbed a random one and took a seat on the empty sofa. It turned out to be some kind of curried salad. Pretty good, but his magic seemed reluctant to incorporate it, letting each chewed bite sit for too long until he was close to choking. He managed to gag down about half, ignoring Red’s beady look. Next to him, Jeff scarfed down his own and when Stretch handed over his leftovers, he took it without question. At least someone should get a decent meal.

Asgore didn’t look like he was going to take on that role. He only sat with his too-small coffee cup, staring into the depths of it without taking so much as a sip.

The room was so painfully quiet, Stretch wished there was a radio or a television or a fucking mariachi band. Anything so he didn’t have to sit here in this smothering silence. A quick check of his phone showed there wasn’t a single message or missed call, definitely not his normal. He suspected that a little gremlin somewhere was holding back his messages, but all Stretch could work up about that was reluctant gratitude. Let the frantic texts and well wishes come later when he could better deal with it.

He hesitated over the twitter app and decided not to open it yet, tucking his phone back away.

No one spoke, all of them surrounded in a choking hush only broken by a sofa creaking whenever someone moved or the occasional shuffle of a shoe. Waiting was not one of Stretch’s strengths, coupled with his lack of patience and his feeble endurance and half those noises were from him squirming around.

The furniture was probably perfectly comfortable in reality, but to Stretch it was about as cozy as sitting on freshly hardened cement. He shifted, crossing and uncrossing his legs, picking at his shoelaces and wishing he’d thought to grab the pack of smokes Andy gave him earlier. Smoking was the best timewaster he’d ever had to miss, and his magic was pleading for a nicotine fix.

That Asgore was sitting right there made it impossible not to look at him, not unless Stretch wanted to close his sockets like a toddler, tempting as that was. Every involuntary glance revealed tired unhappiness tempered with worry, and it wasn’t a king

(murderer)

sitting in this little waiting room, nothing of the cheery, dignified ruler. This was someone whose ex-wife and kid were nearly killed, someone worrying about friends and family, and Stretch was unfortunately very familiar with that.

The muted, aching hurt in his own soul wanted to reach out, to offer what comfort it could, and finally, Stretch gave in and did. Because he knew would make Edge happy.

“i talked to tori,” Stretch said, slowly. He didn’t have his lighter, nothing to fidget with and instead kept his eyes on his hands, picking at his knuckles. “she said everyone is okay.”

Out of the corner of his socket, he saw Asgore nodding slowly. “I haven’t spoken to her directly, but all the information we have thus far is clear that there were some injuries, but nothing critical.”

Critical was a horrible word and as soon as he could, Stretch was starting a twitter campaign to have it ripped out of the dictionary.

“do we...i mean…” His fingertip slipped and dug in too hard against his knuckle, sending a sprinkle of dust into his lap. Next to him, Jeff made a soft, stifled sound of dismay and reached over to take his hand, stilling him. Giving in to those overprotective instincts he was starting to take on, but Stretch let him, ignoring the tiny throb in his finger. “do you know what really happened yet?”

“not yet,” Red interrupted, all laconic ease as if the coiled tension in him wasn’t practically dripping from him like a leaky faucet. “got ‘em all on radio silence until they get back. right now, looks like just your basic monster hater attack that got lucky, but it ain’t nothing that’s been even a blip on our radar. i don’t like that shit, but the useful info is low to the ground yet.”

“yeah, sure,” Stretch muttered unhappily, “i get it, i don’t have clearance.”

A sharp kick against his shin made him yelp and Stretch jerked up to stare at Red in disbelief, who only glared back. “as soon as i know what happened, you’ll know,” Red said bluntly, “you deserve that. and if my bro doesn’t tell you, i’ll do it myself.”

“i…okay,” Stretch stuttered out. Asgore made no protest of that, only took a sip from his probably ice-cold coffee.

Red relaxed back against the sofa cushions. “for right now, we’re keeping communication on the down low until i can talk to everyone face to face. they’re out of range of monster cell towers and i ain’t taking any chance of anyone listening in.”

That made sense, it did, but some part of him still didn’t believe that Red of all people didn’t have an inkling of what happened. Or maybe it was too frightening to think it, Red knew everything, he was The Spy, and he only needed an eye patch over his cracked socket to cosplay as Nick Fury. That and a hovering base of operations, maybe Sans could get on that—

The muted roar of an engine interrupted that rambling thought and as one they turned towards it.

“They’re here,” Asgore shifted his weight, starting to stand, but Stretch was already on his feet, shortcutting outside to watch the plane taxiing towards them.

It seemed to take forever and if he’d ever taken a gander at the inside of that plane, Stretch would’ve shortcutted inside, fuck security protocol. He didn’t know how Red was resisting the urge. But he stood next to Stretch, impassive as ever as they waited while a crew of Humans wheeled a ramp up to the door and it finally opened.

The first one off the plane was Blue, and Stretch’s soul skipped a beat as his brother never hesitated, running down the ramp directly towards him as he cried, “Papy!”

Catching him as he flung himself at Stretch was automatic, the same as he’d done a hundred times before in Underswap and all the wrenching emotions Stretch had been bottling up since Red showed up in his living room that morning finally slipped its cork. Drowning in a crushing wave of guilt and relief, he hugged Blue desperately tight, burying his face into his shoulder and breathing him in.

“hey, bro,” Stretch whispered hoarsely. His arms ached from the force of his grip, holding Blue as he’d never been able to after the resets, never able to show him the depths of his grief. Blue didn’t so much as squirm in protest, clinging just as tightly. His suit was rumpled, his tie missing, and he smelled like smoke mingled with the burnt sickly-sweet remnants that came from straining magic to its limits. “don’t do that to me again, okay?”

“I never meant to do it the first time,” Blue choked out. He drew back, Stretch reluctantly letting him lean away, and his smile was tremulous. There were dark shadows beneath his sockets where none had ever been, like a week’s worth of lost sleep, but not quite. Bruises, Stretch realized with shivering horror, Blue had the skeletal equivalent of two black eyes, but the soft blue-yellow lights within were shining stars, “Come on, Edge should be next. I know you want to see him.”

Heavy guilt filled him, followed by a ghostly memory of his brother weeping that he missed him, was it possible that was only a couple days ago? But Blue only squirmed down from his arms and pulled him over to the ramp, his warm smile nothing but sincere.

A back appeared first, not Edge’s but a Monster that Stretch vaguely recognized as part of the entourage. He was guiding a gurney down the ramp and Stretch could only watch mutely as it was carefully brought down from the plane. There was an IV bag hanging from a short pole, glowing softly, and the occupant became clear as the battered curve of a skull came into view.

He barely noticed Asgore and his guards skirting around them to go up the ramp into the plane. All that freed emotion from seeing his brother coagulated in his chest in a dense, frozen ball.

Distantly, Stretch could only think that Edge looked so impossibly small. Edge was only a little shorter than him, but he always seemed like this larger than life presence, one that Stretch could tuck himself into and trust to keep him safe, not only from the world but from the demons in his own mind.

To see him like this, so very still and buried in blankets with wide straps over the gurney to keep him secure. His hands were on top of the covers, bare and battered, there was even a spot that looked a bit charred, but Tori was right about one thing, there were no new cracks. Only plenty of darkly mottled bruises and scrapes surrounding his closed sockets, awful and undeniable. A wild, impossible impulse rose up in Stretch, to grab hold of Edge and shortcut off with him, to take him far away from everything, to keep him safe. Stupid, useless urge, but for one brief moment it was overwhelming.

Fuck, if that was how Edge felt all the time, no wonder he could be an overprotective prick.

Blue took his hand and Stretch startled so badly he nearly jerked away. But his brother only held on, squeezing gently. “I know, he looks a little worse for the wear, but I promise you, it’s nothing serious. The ambulance should be here soon to take you both to the hospital and--”

“hospital?” Stretch repeated thinly. “but you said…”

“Yes, hospital,” Blue said firmly. “He’ll be fine, but he was injured. I did what I could and Toriel is a skilled healer in her own right. He still needs to be checked over and they should at least keep him overnight.”

Okay. Okay, yeah, that sounded right and Stretch nodded dumbly. Maybe the change in atmosphere was registering because Edge stirred, shifting against the straps. His sockets opened, his eye lights wide and diffused, filling his sockets with swirling crimson. For a moment all Edge did was blink, looking all around him before focusing on Stretch.

Stretch smiled and managed a weak, “hey, babe.”

As he watched, that bleary confusion abruptly turned into a happily beaming smile, which only ranked at about the third most disturbing thing that had happened that day.

“Hiiiii!!” Edge exclaimed with loud glee.

Uh. Maybe Blue was wrong about how serious his injuries were.

“Ah, yes, he was hurting quite a bit and being stubborn about it,” Blue said dryly. “We may have slightly overdone the pain relief. Enjoy it while you can, I’m going to check that the ambulance is on its way.”

“wait, what??”

But Blue was already trotting off, stopping to grab Jeff who was standing awkwardly back and dragging him along, his chatter fading away.

Edge was still grinning with unsettling cheer. On his usually stern face it was like the beginnings of a nightmare and Stretch almost expected maniacal clowns to start crawling out of manholes and portacabins around them. Fuck it, that might make it less weird, at least then all this would make sense.

“I know you!” Edge went on happily, one hand reaching out towards him. Then his brow furrowed in battered confusion, his hand falling to hang limply off the gurney’s side. “Do I know you? You’re pretty.”

Smooth fucker, wasn't he. Very carefully, Stretch took his hand, gentle with those scuffed, bruised fingers. “you know me okay. i’m your husband, yeah?”

He brightened like a light bulb, practically glowing from within with soul-deep delight. A well drugged light bulb and he latched on to Stretch eagerly, his grip bordering on feverish. “My husband? That means I get to keep you!”

If anyone was stupid enough to ask, Stretch wouldn’t even be able to begin describing how he felt about everything right about now. All his emotions were in wild conflict, battering against each other for dominance. But fuck if he could hold back from that. He grinned, helplessly, rubbing his thumb over Edge’s somewhat tarnished wedding band. "sure does."

“Sans!” Edge shouted suddenly, loud enough to make Stretch wince, but when he automatically tried to take a step back, Edge’s grip held like Velcro, weirdly loose and still implacable.

Red stepped up next to the gurney, hands tucked into his pockets. “right here, bro.”

Even with being strapped down, Edge still managed to lift his head enough to look down at his brother and say gleefully, “You see my husband?”

“seen him a time or two, yeah,” Red said. For the first time that day the clouded grimness that surrounded him seemed to lift a fraction and his permanent grin widened.

“I get to keep him!”

“sure do,” Red agreed, “no catch and release on husbands.”

Edge flumped back on the gurney hard enough to make Stretch wince even as he sang out enthusiastically, “He’s reeeeeeally pretty. Isn’t he pretty?”

“uh huh, he ain’t bad.” Red gave him a leering look and Stretch felt a hot flush crawl across his cheekbones, glaring back. Not that he’d ever doubted Edge thought that, but it was always nice to hear. Kinda.

Edge scowled at Red comically, holy fuck, that much expression on Edge’s face? He was going to give himself a new crack if this kept up.

“You’re just jealous,” he grumped, holding on tight to Stretch’s hand as if he thought Red might try to scoop him up and head for the hills to start up a new horrifying chapter in the mocking fairytale that was this day.

“must be,” Red agreed, an odd note to his voice, but Edge ignored that, cheering again quickly.

“Mine!” Edge said happily and before Stretch could puzzle through any of that exchange, he was busy squawking as he was abruptly yanked onto the gurney.

“woah, hang on, handsome!” Stretch tried to squirm away, but whoever’d had the foresight to buckle Edge down should’ve included his arms in the deal. Despite the good drugs and the visible bruises, he was pretty damn strong and clinging to Stretch like living duct tape.

“Mine, mine, mine,” Edge chanted like some kind of musical, maniacal supervillain and where the fuck had everyone else gone? They didn’t need a damn parade to get an ambulance. Red was only watching with great interest, picking idly at his gold tooth.

“a little help here?” Stretch yelped as Edge started nuzzling happily at his collarbone. Okay, it was a little tempting, but for crying out loud, Frisk and Toriel could be getting off the plane anytime now and who knew what high zoom lenses were out there getting a frontpage picture for the gossip rags. No assistance was coming from the outside avenues, so Stretch went for the ‘hail, mary’ pass and tried coaxing Edge, instead, “come on, babe, you gotta let go now.”

“No!” Edge sulked, and fuck if that petulant sullenness wasn’t incredibly damn adorable coming out in his deep, raspy voice, “You said I get to keep you.”

“you do, promise, i’m all yours. but—" Just then Edge found the bottom of his sweatshirt, warm, clumsy hands suddenly petting his ribcage and Stretch’s squeal took on a panicked note. “damn it, red!”

“me? i ain’t doing nothing.” His glee nearly matched Edge’s, that asshole.

“that’s part of the problem, you shit! he’s gonna hurt himself!”

“hurt himself?” Red scoffed. “you could take off one of his arms and use it as a tennis racket and he wouldn’t notice right now.”

“that isn’t helping!”

“never said it was, honey bun.”

Most of his face was buried into Edge’s chest but the little he could see through blankets and bone made Stretch snap out in disbelief, “are you recording this??”

“fuck, yeah, i am. this shit needs to be in high definition.”

“he’ll kill you!” Stretch tried to sound threatening, but it wasn’t exactly easy with Edge’s unusually graceless but eagerly insistent fingers trailing over his hipbones. The combination was unfortunately arousing and if he popped a boner while Red was recording, someone was gonna pay. Probably him, in horrifying shame. “i’ll kill you!”

Red did not sound properly threatened, considering that he only chuckled out, “gotta get loose first.”

It turned out to be a grateful moot point. Before he could figure out how to get loose from the wild groper his husband became under the influence, those hands slowed, going lax. By the time Stretch was able wriggle free little, Edge was out like a light, already snoring faintly.

But the moment he tried to climb off the gurney, that grip tightened again and Edge mumbling out a complaining grunt. Stretch gave up and sank down, hey, a wee little base humiliation wasn’t gonna dust him. Just so long as they kept away from dying shame, he’d manage.

But he did whip around to glare at Red’s grinning face, demanding, “delete it.”

Not like his threats would penetrate Red’s elephant hide, only rolled off like so much baby oil. “nah, don’t think so, this is for my private collection.” His glee turned pensive. “you know, i don’t have much from the old days but i do have a thing or two. maybe a few old pictures and shit.” He paused, adding with a certain slyness, “might have some pics of the boss here as a baby bones hidden away someplace.”

Yeah, Stretch knew when he was beat. “i will pay any price.”

“that’s what i like to hear.”

Just then, he heard the ambulance pulling up, fuck, finally! The back doors opened and Blue climbed out, the attendants at his heels, “All right, let’s get Edge loaded--Papy!” Blue scolded, “He’s injured, you shouldn’t be letting him exert himself!”

Stretch only grinned wryly. “sorry, bro. he, uh, didn’t give me much choice.”

Blue harrumphed, but he didn’t demand that Stretch get down, which probably cost his full allotment of sympathy points. Worth it. “You two are going ahead and we’ll be behind you in the second ambulance.”

“second?” That made him sit up despite Edge’s murmured complaint, “who else was hurt?”

Blue’s smile turned fixed even as the paramedics bustled around them. “I’m not supposed to say too much, yet, but.” His voice softened, hardly above a whisper, “I don’t know how Edge knew. We were hardly off the plane and they’d sent a car to pick us up. There must have been something he saw or felt, because he turned back to us and…and then…” He swallowed hard, the luminescent shine of tears limning his sockets. “He shielded Toriel and Frisk, and Papyrus shielded me and Sans. He did the best he could, but he…Papyrus was hurt, Papy.”

“fuck,” Stretch whispered, horrified, “papyrus, is he—"

“He’s fine,” Blue said firmly. “He was resting comfortably the whole flight. Sans is with him right now and we’ll get him to the hospital, too.”

It sounded like he was hurt worse than Edge, shit, shit, “he should’ve come out first!”

“Sans told us to take Edge,” Blue followed along as the gurney started moving, the attendants pushing it along. “Papyrus is asleep and perfectly stable. He was already with his brother and Sans said you’d need to see us.”

Fuck, but he owed Sans a very big favor.

It was only as they were loaded in that Stretch realized Red was gone. He wasn’t in the front seat and didn’t climb in before the doors closed. Then there wasn’t time to worry about that as the ambulance pulled away and Stretch only settled down next to Edge, holding on with as much gentleness as he could muster.

The ambulance attendants were both Monsters and quietly competent, neither suggesting that maybe Stretch could ride along on one of the cushioned seats. Good thing, because Stretch wasn’t going anyplace without extensive use of a crowbar.

He didn’t budge until they got to the hospital and only then did he reluctantly detangle himself from Edge. The docs took some time to look Edge over, peeling back the blankets and Stretch could only wince at the sight of a neat splint on one of Edge’s leg, at bruises scattered over his battered bones. But they only confirmed what Stretch already knew. Toriel and Blue had healed Edge as much as they could, probably too much for their own good considering Blue’s bruises and exhaustion.

Rest and time was what he needed now and that didn’t need a prescription.

Edge never really woke up again, drowsily groping for Stretch whenever he roused, but for once Stretch kept back, letting the doctors do their thing. They finished quick enough, writing on their clipboards and offering reassuring smiles as they left.

Exhausted as he was, Stretch resisted the urge to crawl right back in next to Edge. He felt like a sticky, filthy mess and a quick shower sounded like a lemon slice of heaven right now. At least the room had a very nicely appointed shower, though he didn’t linger, washing up quickly and snagging a set of the hospital issue jammies from the bathroom cubby.

He kicked his clothes under the sink, those could be a problem for Tomorrow Stretch. But he only opened the door a crack before freezing as he caught sight of someone else at the bedside.

Red was standing next to his brother, watching him sleep. His back was to the bathroom door so Stretch couldn’t see face, only the weary slump of his shoulders. As he watched, Red reached over and picked up one of Edge’s hands with tenderness Stretch never suspected Red possessed, inspected his slim, scarred fingers. Likely he didn’t see them often, even Stretch didn’t and they lived together.

He wasn’t supposed to be seeing this, couldn’t look away as Red only held Edge’s limp hand in both his own, pressed a kiss against those lax fingers before setting it back down with deliberate care.

“always come back to me, kid, you hear me?” Red murmured, a low, desperate rasp, He was gone in the next moment, vanishing into an eerily silent shortcut and that was Stretch’s cue.

Edge was sound asleep and there was a large, comfy chair pulled up next to the hospital bed that Stretch promptly ignored, gingerly curling up next to him, as close as he could get without disturbing him. For the first time since Edge sat him down to tell him about this trip, his soul settled, that achy, raw feeling easing.

Exhausted as he was, Stretch only lay there, looking into that battered, beloved face, tasting the sweet salt of his own melancholy tears as he whispered a plea of his own, “don’t ever leave me. please.”

He didn’t expect Edge to stir with a sleepy sigh, his sockets opening to show a sliver of crimson as he slurred out, “Won’t, love. M’ yours.”

“mine and yours, like his and his towels,” Stretch whispered back, stifling a teary giggle and when Edge sleepily held out an arm, he took the invitation. Snuggling in with his skull resting on Edge’s ribcage, an arm strung loosely around him as Stretch listened intently to the soft, steady thrum of his husband’s soul.

-finis-

[wacem]

Alone in the Dark

An Until Dawn fic by Wacem

Read it here or check it out on AO3, where everything is definitely formatted properly, because I suck at Tumblr.

Chapter 1

Chris --- 5:35 AM 

Tunnel to Sanatorium

Chris stumbled back a few steps and craned his neck to watch Sam clamber up the wall like a spider monkey. He shook his head. He'd never understand how a person could make that look so effortless. Hell, he'd never understand the appeal of rock-climbing in the first place. He supposed it was useful in circumstances like these, but heights just weren't his thing. At all.

“Guess it’s just you and me now, A--”

He turned around and stopped dead in his tracks. He thought Ash was right behind him, but his eyes met nothing but darkness. With the agonizingly slow pace he'd been able to keep up, he hadn’t even considered the possibility that she wouldn’t catch up. Hell, that's the only reason he hadn't waited for her back at the manhole. She had just groused at him for moving too slowly, so he figured he might as well get a head start. That way, she could overtake him, and no time would be wasted waiting for his crippled ass to keep up.

Only she hadn't. 

And now there wasn't so much as a glimmer of reflection on a rock to indicate her existence.

"Ash?" he'd meant to call out, but it came out as more of a trembling whisper. 

The wendigo got her. The thought sent a cold dagger through his heart and made his legs feel heavy. No. Not her. I've already lost enough tonight. Please, God, not her, too. His throat tightened, and unwelcome tears stung his already aching eyes. 

"Ash??" His voice tore through the lump in his throat and cracked. It sounded way too shrill to his ears, and the way it echoed through the caves filled his soul with dread. As far as he knew, the wendigo could hear just fine; it was just its  vision that was funky. Biting his lips to hold in the rising panic, he took a shaky step forward. The pain in his ankle, objecting to having been temporarily forgotten, vigorously reminded him of its existence. He grunted softly. 

Images of the stranger, alive one second, gone the next, flooded his mind for the umpteenth time since it happened. Only this time, it was Ashley's body dropping to its knees. Ashley's head thudding heavily into the snow while he stood paralyzed with fear, clutching the stranger's shotgun uselessly as the air filled with the monster's shrieks. First, the wendigo, he'll render you immobile. Then he strips the skin off of your entire body, piece by piece.

Nononono. She can't be dead. I'd have heard something, right? Screams or something. I didn't hear anything, so maybe she just got lost. 

"Y-yeah… yeah... she just got lost," he murmured to himself, hoping its utterance would make it true. Chris continued limping toward where he'd seen her last.  He'd noticed a path branching off to the left on the way here. Maybe she took that by mistake. She did have a notoriously wretched sense of direction, and they hadn't exactly marked their passage. 

As he moved, his mind wandered to the time he and Ash had gone to see Star Trek Into Darkness in IMAX. There wasn't an IMAX theater in their hometown, so they'd had to drive all the way to the city-- an hour away. Chris had just gotten off an overnight double and was utterly wiped, so he'd given Ash the keys to his car and let her drive. He'd figured that way he could catch some z's on the way up and actually be conscious for the movie. Big. Mistake. Next thing he'd known, Ashley's sheepish voice was waking him up saying, "We're here!" When he'd looked at the clock, he saw that they were four and a half hours late for the movie. They couldn't even catch a later showing! Turned out Ash had driven them to every single movie theater in the city-- during rush hour traffic, no less! --before she finally found the one their tickets were for. It wasn't a total loss; they were able to get a refund on their tickets, since they weren't torn or anything, and they tried again (successfully) the following week, thanks to Chris' superior mastery of navigation. Now that he thought of it… that had been the first time they'd really gone anywhere together without someone else tagging along. Purely coincidentally (he told himself), that was also when Chris first noticed how very, very frantically the butterflies fluttered their wings in his stomach whenever he was near her. 

After that day, she was firmly forbidden from ever driving them anywhere again. From then on, her official job on road trips was to be the in-flight entertainment. This normally took the form of her reading one of her books aloud like a live-performance audiobook. It was a duty she solemnly accepted and performed with gusto; she even did voices for the different characters. The memory made soft laughter rise up out of him like a bubble, and, like a bubble, it abruptly vanished at the thought that he might never hear her silly voices again. 

Oh, God, Ash. Please be okay. I could probably handle losing Emily and Jess… maybe even Josh. But not you. 

Emily's face, pale and gray in the light of the monitors, mouth drawn open in a silent scream, dark blood oozing from the hole where her eye had been. The contents of her blown-out skull adorning the wall behind her head like a macabre rorschach. The image he'd been fighting to suppress since it happened hit him like a freight train. He doubled over and retched the nothing he'd had for dinner onto the cave floor. The sudden shift in balance irked his ankle and made him stagger against a rock, aggravating the tender spot in his ribs and jarring his aching jaw. He groaned. As he pushed himself away from the wall, he wiped at a tickle under his nose, and his hand came away bloody. Great. His nose was bleeding again. 

Shit, he was a mess. 

At least his nose wasn't broken. Or… he didn't think it was broken. His jaw, like the proverbial fat lady, sorta dominated the chorus of facial maladies, and he'd had other things on his mind when he'd rammed his face full-speed into that damned tree. Like, for instance, not getting eviscerated by the wendigo hot on his heels. You know… something that could be happening to Ash right now?

Come on, Ash, where are you? Please be okay. 

Ignoring the pain in his ankle, he picked up his pace. It wasn't long before he came upon the drop he'd completely forgotten about. Only, going this direction, it wasn't a drop. It was a climb. A string of curses and obscenities ran circles around his brain. The ledge wasn't low, coming up just above his shoulders. Even his attempts to gently lower himself when coming the other way had yielded a sharp pain in his ankle on landing. How the ever-loving fuck was he supposed to get back up? "Dammit, Sam…" he muttered. "Remind me why you left the gimp to navigate these tunnels alone?" Of course, she’d been just as oblivious to Ash’s absence as he was, but that was beside the point.

Why had they even come here? Something about Mike and the sanatorium and the wendigo and needing to warn him about something and hell if he knew. He hadn't read the journal that had Ash and Sam up in a tizzy. Nobody thought to volunteer to him any information they'd found out, and frankly… he'd been too relieved at the prospect of getting away from Emily's body to ask questions. Now he regretted not asking. The decision to leave the safe room might have gotten Ash killed, and he needed to know it was for a worthy cause. At this point, though, even if it was for a worthy cause, if it was down to a choice between Mike's life and Ash's… well… was that even really a choice? Especially since Mike just…

A deafening bang, reinforcing the ringing in his ear. Ghostly face, mouth stretched open in a scream cut short. Dark blood trickling down from the blackness of her eye socket. 

"Oh, God…" Chris stumbled against the wall blocking his way, using it for support as his lungs tried to explode out of his aching chest. His body rocked back and forth; the arm holding the flashlight hugged his ribs in place, while his free hand clapped over his mouth to hold back his sobs. The burns near his mouth shouted their protest, and he stifled a moan. 

Oh, God, how had this night gotten so fucked? This was supposed to be a good night! A night of remembrance and catharsis. A night of reconciliation and rekindling estranged friendships. A psycho? He could handle that. It was horrible, but he at least understood a psycho. But curses? Monsters?? How do you fight something like that? How do you escape something that moves that fast? How do you protect someone from a fear so pervasive that it makes them murder their own friends? 

Oh, shut up with that 'they' and 'them' bullshit. You helped, Christopher. By sitting there and stoking that fear, you might as well have pulled the trigger yourself. 

No, no, no. He hadn't wanted Emily to die! 

You should have done something, then. Should have helped Sam calm them down. Should have disarmed Mike. You could have forced him to stop. Overpowered him. Something! You call yourself a man, but you just sat there like a pussy and let it happen. Just like with the stranger!

His head was swimming, and his ribs were on fire. Somewhere along the way, he'd sunken down to his knees, still rocking. He was hyperventilating. 

Let's face it, Chris. You didn't do anything, because you didn't want to do anything. You were just as afraid as Mike and Ash, and just as willing to sacrifice Emily to save your own ass. 

"I didn't think he was going to shoot her." The words were rapid, small, and gasping, barely audible. Mike hadn't shot Josh. He’d bitched at Chris for even thinking he would. So why would he shoot Emily? It was a bluff. Had to be. Just to scare her out of the room. Chris wasn't about to ruin Mike's bluff again. 

Her small legs falling from the desk, limp and lifeless, making her whole body jerk when they stopped short of the floor. Her head settling on the wall beneath the Jackson Pollock pattern of her blood and brains was the last movement she'd ever make. Chris squeezed his eyes shut, but the image persisted. 

How is that even better? You didn't think Mike would shoot her? But you were perfectly content to let him sacrifice her to that thing out there. You've seen what it does. You, more than anyone else here, know that compared to that? The bullet was a mercy. You didn't care if or how she died. You just didn't want to see it happen, you selfish asshole. You killed her, and you killed her for no damn reason. 

"We didn't know, we didn't know, we didn't know…" His hands and face were tingling. Shit, he was about to pass out. Now was not the time for this; he had to find Ash. He forced himself to take a deep breath in. The pain in his side kept him from holding it as long as he'd have liked, and it all came out in a pitiful sigh. But his head felt clearer, at least. He repeated this exercise until his thoughts stopped spiraling, sliding his free hand up under his glasses to wipe away the tears blurring his eyes. 

Now wasn't the time for self-recrimination or excuses. Ash was in here somewhere. The wendigo might have her. He keeps you alive and aware and feasts on your organs, one piece at a time. He couldn't let that happen to her. Melting down in a cave wasn't going to help anyone, and Chris refused to have another death on his conscience because he was too wrapped up in himself to lift a finger to stop it. Especially not Ashley’s.

He sighed, pushing himself back onto his good leg and regarded the ledge. How the hell was he supposed to climb this? Even at the best of times, he was a pathetic climber. He'd damn near broken his neck trying to clamber over the wall by the broken gate at the bottom of the mountain. And now? With a bum ankle, a jacked up face, probably a concussion, and whatever the hell was going on with his ribs? He groaned, grabbing the ledge and hoisting himself up until the edge was under his armpits. His legs scrabbled uselessly for purchase on the sheer rock. His ribs protested strenuously. He was just about to lose his grip when his right foot found an outcropping and pushed off hard enough to get his left leg over the edge. But the momentary victory was promptly shat upon by the blinding agony in his ankle. 

"Aggghh!" he hissed "Ow ow ow ow ow ow owwwww!!" Each syllable gave him strength as he pulled himself up the rest of the way and rolled over onto his good side. He curled into a ball of misery and grabbed his throbbing leg. "Shitshitshitshitfuckingshiiiiiiit!"

When the pain died back down to a dull throb, he slowly pulled himself up to his feet. It was more miserable than ever to put weight on his ankle, but it still held him, so he hobbled onward. Had to be getting close to the branch-off now.

He felt, more than saw, the side tunnel open up to his right. The air was suddenly less close, and through the passage, the wind sang a soft and haunting song. Dripping water served as percussion. It vaguely harmonized with the ringing in his ear. He flicked his flashlight over to the opening. 

"Ash?" His own voice startled him, deafeningly loud against the cavern's subtle symphony. What if the wendigo could hear? What if he was just broadcasting his presence?

C'mon, dude. Pull yourself together. Your nerves are fried. 

He thought maybe he heard something further down the side passage, but he wasn't sure what. It was hard to tell over the persistent ringing in his ear, but… it could have been Ash. Then again, didn't the stranger also say the wendigo could mimic human voices? If that was the wendigo, then Ash could already be dead, and he'd be walking to his own demise. Even if the thing hadn't gotten around to killing her yet, a rescue attempt would almost certainly end in his death. He wasn't even armed. 

But if it wasn't the wendigo… if Ash had fallen somewhere and couldn't get back up or something. If she was hurt, if she was calling for help... could he forgive himself for not checking?

Gingerly, he opened his mouth and felt the swollen skin from his cheek to his adam's apple pull tight in protest. The right hinge of his jaw popped enthusiastically. That was new. 

Ah, what the hell. He'd already sacrificed himself for Ash once tonight. Why not do it again? Maybe this time it'd actually matter. 

His free hand hovered over his jaw, afraid to actually touch it, lest it reawaken the fire in his skin. Bright flash, deafening bang, a ringing that drowned out Ashley begging him to shoot her instead. Shockwave smashing into his jaw and knocking his head back hard enough to give him whiplash. Burning agony in his face making him want to scream. But he wasn't dead. How was he not dead? 

He shook off the memory, "I- I'm coming, Ash. Hold on. I'm coming." And he limped forward.  

The entrance to the side passage wasn't level with the main passage, and Chris almost tripped over it. Which, he discovered, would have been very bad. There was a pretty sizable drop on the other side. He climbed onto the berm, hanging his legs off the far side, and just stared at the drop with his flashlight. You gotta be freaking kidding me. 

This was even higher than the drop in the main passage, and that one had hurt badly enough. Even if he didn't straight-up break his ankle, he didn't know if he'd be able to climb back out of this on his own. But, short of Ash noping back to the lodge without telling anyone, which seemed unlikely, there was no other direction she could have gone.  He should have just waited for her to close the grate. Dammit, he was such a moron. She was only lost because, after she’d refused to leave him behind, he’d gone right ahead and done it to her. There was no way he was going to abandon her again. 

That settled it. He took a deep breath and slid his butt off the berm. His stomach had an out-of-body experience for a second of freefall. His landing was rough and graceless, but he managed to keep his feet by reeling into a wall. There was a loud, painful pop from his ankle that he badly hoped was just his joint settling. His jaw snapped shut at the impact and its muscles seized up painfully, cutting his cry of pain into a muffled groan. His hand came up instinctively to massage the tension out of his fucked up jaw only to aggravate the burns. He hummed miserably through his nose. Damn it all. Josh, more than any one of them, should have known how dangerous blanks were at point-blank range. Chris wanted to believe that Josh, his best friend, hadn't meant for him to damn near blow his face off for a prank. But he also had a hard time reconciling that with all the rest of the batshit crazy bullshit Josh had pulled on him tonight. That and the fact that Josh seemed neither surprised nor particularly concerned by how badly Chris had been hurt by the muzzle flash. What chilled him to the bone was the very real possibility that Josh knew exactly what he was doing when he gave Chris a gun loaded with blanks and encouraged him to put it up to his own head and pull the trigger. He was damn lucky he'd decided to aim it under his jaw instead of at his temple. The latter probably would have killed him. 

Had Josh wanted that? Did he really hate Chris that much? God knows Chris had blamed himself plenty enough for his part--or lack thereof-- in Hannah and Beth's disappearance. If he hadn't had so much to drink, he might have been able to stop things before they got out of hand. Or at least he could have been the one to go after Hannah, instead of Beth. But no. He'd been too shitfaced to be of use to anyone. Classic Chris maneuver. Always present when things went tits up, but his presence was never beneficial. He'd had to find out what happened second-hand, despite being there. If Chris was being honest with himself, he deserved a good, healthy, superheated blast of explosive decompression to the face.

But if Josh felt that way, too, how had Chris gone a whole year without noticing? He wasn't completely blind. He'd known things weren't good with Josh, but he had no idea they were anywhere near homicidal levels of bad. Was he really so self-absorbed that he couldn't see how deeply his best friend was hurting? Had he been so busy pining after Ashley that he'd completely missed how much Josh hated him? 

That would make sense, wouldn't it? Just a couple hours ago, he'd literally sacrificed Josh to save Ash. Flipped a switch, knowing full-well that it would send a whirling blade of doom over to cut his best friend in half. It didn't matter that it wasn't real. He hadn't known that at the time, and Josh knew he didn’t know. And now Josh knew that Chris was perfectly willing to kill him for a girl. What an awful truth to discover about someone you thought cared about you. Chris knew he'd be upset if their positions were reversed. So perhaps this was his punishment for prioritizing Ash above everything else. After all, nobody would have been hurt if he'd chosen to shoot Ash, right? She'd been across the table from him; too far away to be affected by a blank. But no…no... the thought of shooting her… it was unthinkable. It made his stomach tie up in knots. Even now, knowing the gun had been filled with blanks, he'd still rather shoot himself. 

The pain in his jaw subsided as the muscles slowly relaxed. He pushed himself off the wall and limped through the tunnel, hoping there weren't any more branch-offs to complicate things. 

All right, jackass. You're down in a hole, playing hero to impress a girl who may or may not still be alive, armed with a flashlight and bad puns. You haven't even touched the wendigo yet, and you're already beat to hell. Like a dipstick, you left the shotgun back in the lodge. What, exactly, is your plan?

Find Ash? Not die? That was pretty much the extent of it. 

That's not much of a plan.  

Much as he hated his little Voice of Better Judgment and loved few things more than ignoring it, he had to admit it had a point. He'd be no help to Ash dead.

The earth shook. Like, legitimately shook, making him stumble. A deep rumble resonated into his very soul. Rocks big and small were shaken loose from the cavern's ceiling, pelting the ground all around him. One of the bigger ones nailed him in the shoulder. The blow, only slightly softened by the padding of his coat, drove him to one knee. 

"Shit!" he cried, raising his other arm up to shield his head. When the patter of falling pebbles tapered off, and it seemed the cave wasn't planning to collapse on him after all, he lowered his arm and tilted the flashlight beam up toward the ceiling. "What the hell was that?" But the stalactites above him had no answer. They just dripped menacingly, promising that, next time, one of them would fall on him and leave him with more than just a bruise. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Don't even think about it. I've got my eye on you. All of you." 

One of the stalactites dripped directly onto his glasses. "Aw, c'mon. Really?" He dropped his head and snatched his glasses from his face, unzipping his sweater to go to town on the soiled lens with his t-shirt. "Whyyy?" Chris did the best job he could cleaning them, but his shirt was drenched in sweat, and the water was… not clean. That lens was thoroughly smudged now. Wiping it might have actually made the situation worse. Squinting through that nonsense was gonna give him a headache in about three seconds. He put his glasses back on and glowered at the ceiling with one eye. "Not cool."

Defiantly, the stalactite dripped at him again, but this time he dodged it and got back to his feet, grimacing as he put weight on his right leg. "Onward and upward," he muttered and continued deeper into the tunnel. 

The tunnel wound and twisted. The floor was uneven and threatened to turn his ankle with every step. The walls and ceiling closed in around him, making him want to duck his head, to avoid the jagged rocks above. The path was so dark and claustrophobic, the beam of his flashlight seemed barely capable of cutting through it. Why would Ash ever come this way?

"Ash?" He paused to listen for any response, but the tinnitus was just too damn loud. He reached up to vigorously rub and bat at his ear, hoping to clear the stupid out of it, but, stubbornly, the ringing persisted. Who knew discharging a gun right next to your head could fuck up your hearing so bad? 

He sighed. Well… you knew that. That's why you always wear hearing protection at the range. But, like an idiot, you still did it. In fairness, though, he hadn't exactly been expecting to survive the gunshot. His hearing had been pretty low on his list of considerations. Now though? He was kinda starting to think maybe Van Gogh wasn't quite so crazy for cutting off his own ear.

The passage turned sharply to the right and opened up again into a room held up by mining beams. Moonlight filtered in through the cracks of a boarded up shaft, casting god-rays on a table beneath. In front of the table was a trap door, and in front of that…

"Oh no..." Chris blinked, not wanting to be sure of what he was seeing. Maybe it was just a trick of the light passing through his filthy glasses. He closed one eye, cutting off the interference from the lens smudged in cave crap, but that didn't help much. He'd have to get closer. 

But he really didn't want to get closer. Because that thing on the floor looked a lot like Ashley's beanie. And it was in a massive puddle of blood. If he moved closer, the comforting arms of doubt would vanish from around him. And he couldn't bear the thought of knowing something had happened to her. But what was the point? He already knew, didn't he?

"Oh my God, no..." his legs buckled, and he staggered forward to keep upright, dropping to his knees in front of the offending object, only faintly aware of the blood soaking through his jeans. There could no longer be any doubt. That was Ash's beanie, and it was covered in blood. The wendigo had gotten to her. Chris had seen what it does, how fast it works. He could see all the blood. So much blood. Surely nobody could survive that much blood loss. 

Ash. His Ash… with her long-suffering indulgence of his sense of humor, her big doe eyes, her adorable button nose, and the soft, warm lips he'd only just gotten to touch with his own…was....

The last beam supporting the mental dam that had been holding back his steadily mounting despair finally cracked. His grief came pouring out of his mouth in a flood of tears and sobs, unmindful of the danger he, himself, must be in. "Oh my God, Ash. No. No!" He scooped her beanie into his free hand,  feeling the soft wool slither over his fingers, leaving in its wake streaks of blood. Fresh blood. His hands felt like they were a million miles away, as he rubbed the blood-- Ash's blood-- between his fingers. The room around him wobbled and swayed; everything was surreal. It felt exactly like a nightmare. Yes. This was a nightmare. It had to be. But if so, why couldn't he wake up?? 

"I can't stand it…" he whimpered, his voice cracking. "None of this can be happening. This can't be real! Please tell me it's not real!" He lifted the beanie to his face, imploring it to respond. Begging Ashley to appear from around the corner or out of the trap door and tell him it was just a joke. A prank. A nightmare. That she was okay. But she didn't. The beanie reeked of iron, not corn syrup. Tears poured down his cheeks as he lowered the beanie and tucked it into his pocket. "No… no… no…" His eyes dropped to the cavern floor, looking for something-- anything-- to latch on to. Any sign that it wasn't hopeless. All he saw was a trail of blood connecting the puddle to the trap door, where it ended. If there was any chance whatsoever of finding her, it'd be down there. 

Numbly, he got back to his feet and shuffled over to the trap door. There was the gnawing sensation that he was just throwing his life away, but he couldn't be bothered to care anymore. If she'd died because he left her behind, then maybe he didn't deserve to survive the night. He bent down stiffly and opened the trap door. There were more support beams down there, some ancient, leaky hazmat drums, and pipes leading into darkness. The air was rank with the smell of must and whatever was coming out of those barrels. More blood pooled at the base of the ladder. Shit, there was so much of it. It trailed off in the direction the pipes were running. 

Setting the trapdoor down clumsily against the legs of the table, Chris started down the ladder. But after all the climbing, jumping, and… even just walking, his ankle picked that exact moment to decide it'd had enough. The first moment he put all his weight on it, it crumpled, and his foot slipped off of the rung. His hands, hampered by the flashlight, lost their grip on the ladder, and down he went, landing hard on his back. The air whooshed out of his lungs, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get his chest to expand and let new air in. 

God, this is how I die? By falling off a ladder that's like two inches high? After everything else, this is how it ends? For f-- Then his diaphragm started functioning again. His endless, involuntary groan stopped, and he took a huge, shaky breath. Nope. Not dying. His ribs hurt like a mother-- more than they already had-- but nothing in there seemed to be moving in an unnatural way, so he supposed he must be all right. Just knocked the wind out of himself. Slowly, he rolled over and fumbled for the flashlight that had flown out of his grasp during the fall. Once he found that, he rose unsteadily to his feet, his ankle grumbling like Yosemite Sam. 

With one hand, he rubbed at his leg conciliatorily; with the other, he cast the beam of the flashlight down to the pool of blood at the base of the ladder. Its structural integrity had been obliterated when he landed in it, but it was easy enough to follow the trail. 

He didn't have to follow it far. 

A few yards beyond the reach of the moonlight streaming through the trap door, his flashlight beam fell upon a big, red lump on the floor. Chris felt his stomach seize up into a tight ball and cram itself into his throat. For a long moment, he absolutely could not get his feet to move. When they did, they felt so heavy it was like moving through mud. Everything around the shape disappeared from his consciousness, and the closer he got, the more clear it became. Soon, it was impossible for him to deny the truth of what he was seeing. It was Ashley’s hoodie. But it was like those old crime scene photos from the Manson murders that Josh had shown him once. One of the victims was wearing a white nightgown so saturated in blood that the investigators initially thought it was red. Ash’s hoodie was the same way. You’d never know from looking at it now that it was gray. But there was something else wrong with it. It wasn't lying right on the cavern floor. It should be lying flat. Why wasn't it lying flat?

You know why, Christopher. 

"No," he hissed viciously. "It's just her hoodie. If she was in it, I’d see her head sticking out. Maybe her hoodie came off while she was fighting."

But down beneath the waistband of her hoodie were her shorts, and coming out the bottom of those were her leggings and boots, and those were definitely not empty. And there’s no way all of that would come off in a fight. But there was still nothing coming out of the collar of her hoodie! Then his eyes drifted down to her sleeves. Poking delicately out the ends were small, pale, crimson-streaked fingers. Unmistakeable. 

The ramifications of what he was seeing hit him like a ton of bricks. The stranger. Alive one second. Gone the next. His head toppling from his shoulders and thudding heavily to the snow. But it had Ashley's face when it landed. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." He wanted to deny it. He needed to deny it, but no matter how hard his mind whirled for anything to latch onto, there was nothing but the truth.

Where was her head?? Letting out a horrible yell, he dropped his flashlight, fell to her side and found her hand, but there was no head to cradle. No eyes to look into. No hair to stroke. No cheek to caress. And her lips… the memory of her kiss haunted him, a ghost of warmth on his icy lips. The sensation was so intoxicating, and now he would never experience it again. He had no way to feel close to her but to take her blood-streaked hand and sandwich it between his own. 

Noise was coming out of him, maybe he was saying something, but hell if he knew what it was. He didn't even know if there were words, or if it was just a mindless outpouring of pure anguish. His vision swam as it locked in on the perfectly manicured fingers of the hand he held, took in the blood caked in the cuticles and under her nails. Was it hers or the pig's blood Josh had used to fake his death? Did it matter? Did anything matter? Then he couldn't see anything but vague blobs. His vision was obscured behind a flood of grief, and even blinking couldn't clear his eyes. So he closed them and doubled over into a hopeless, rocking ball. Unaware he was doing it, he pressed the back of her hand to his mouth, sobbing into it, washing away the blood with his tears. Her hand was still warm. Still warm! Maybe if he'd realized she was gone sooner… if he hadn't wasted so much time being an emotional wreck… if he hadn’t been an idiot and hurt his ankle in the first place… he might have been here in time to help… to do something…

To take her place. 

Yes. That, more than anything else, was what he wanted right now. He wanted to die knowing that she'd be all right because of it. But he'd never get to do that, because… because... Ashley was-- 

His mind recoiled violently from the word. He just couldn't accept it. This was clearly someone else's body. Someone wearing her clothes. One of Josh's horribly realistic dummies, maybe, with the head ripped off. He desperately wanted to cling to that idea. It felt warm and comfortable. But deep down he knew better. The smell of her hand, like peaches and vanilla mixed with old books. The soft warmth of her skin against his cold cheek. They were as familiar to him as the weight of his glasses on his nose-- impossible to mistake for anything else. For anyone else. There was no escaping the reality. This was Ashley’s body. Ashley was dead. Her words echoed back to him. 

It's just not fair!

His face stretched in a rictus of grief as he lowered his head to her chest, using it to muffle his sobs.

It's too late, Chris. What's the point?

Her chest was silent and still. No heartbeat to be heard. No whooshing of air through her lungs. No rise and fall of her breast. Each observation came like the fall of a hammer on a nail being driven through his heart. 

We've wasted everything. 

"Oh, God, Ash. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." His voice was too high and broken, muffled by the fabric of her hoodie and coming out in quick, wavering gasps amidst the rapid heaving of his chest. "It should have been me. It should have been me. I should have saved you. I'm so sorry." His head was swimming. His face was heavy and tingling, and his lips were numb. His hands, still clasping hers, felt a million miles away. Chris was vaguely aware that he was hyperventilating again, but there was no stopping it this time; he didn’t want to stop it. He just didn't care anymore. If he died down here, what difference did it make? He’d failed in the one thing that mattered most to him; there was no living with that. Spots bloomed across his vision, even though his eyes were closed. Vaguely, he heard the sound of something clamoring in the room up above. He sat up, opened his eyes, and still couldn't see through the swarm of darkness blooming across his vision. At the movement, he felt the blood drain out of his face. Suddenly, his head lolled heavily forward, his shoulders went limp, and he slumped over Ash's body in a dead faint. 

[anunvalidcritic]

WATCHMEN (series) EP1

(DISCLAIMER: MY OPINION IS MY OWN AND CAN BE DEEMED INVALID TO THOSE WHO DON’T CARE FOR IT.) *SPOILER ALERT*

I’ve been meaning to do this show for quite some time now but I was so wrapped up and watching and not commenting on it because it was just that good! But here I am now talking about it and that’s all that matters. Thou this series so far only has 1 season with 9 episode it’s pretty fucking incredible and the cast and crew outdid themselves HANDS DOWN. So anyways I’ll be giving some reactions and thoughts that I have about this episode and the rest to follow as per usual on this blog. Please enjoy {:*) <-- do you get it?}

           It’s Summer and We’re Running Out of Ice

RORSCHACH is one bad motherfucker!

It’s crazy how ppl complain about subtitles now but just think of the ppl that had to watch the scene first and then read what the fuck was being sad smdh.... y’all bitchies got it made in the shade nowadays

“There will be no mob justice today. TRUST IN THE LAW.” - Black Marshall and the young boy

A siren is going off in the distance, the lady on the piano is fucking up now, and some type of bomb seemed to have hit the building wtf is going on is it some type of war?

TULSA 1921

Oh shit!

Racial injustice and public discrimination of African Americans but white members of the KKK...

The AA family of 3 is running for their lives

They meet up with some friends and they’re told that there isn’t enough room in the car. So the father of the young boy insist that they take their son only. 

While telling his son his final goodbyes he gives him a piece of paper. 

Bro that’s fucked up his parents didn’t even have a fucking chance!

There’s a car accident... the man and the woman are deceased and the boy is fortunate enough to be alive...

“WATCH OVER THIS BOY” - written on the paper

There was a fucking infant in the car bro!

All this shit was because a group of ppl didn’t like the success of a minority community coming up and being successful

PRESENT DAY (2019)

Aye that dude was really bumpin’ to that shit

Damn that light is bright as fuck!

lol PANDA must be dick if he didn’t want to talk to him

“It was a Rorschach mask.” - Police Officer

Bro the fucking dialogue going on in this scene while the office is in the car really had me dyin’ (from laughter)

MEMORABLE DIALOGUE

OFFICER - “Panda come on release my weapon.”

PANDA - “Probability of drugs and/or alcohol in the subject’s vehicle?”

OFFICER - “High.”

PANDA - “Probability of firearms and/or explosives in the subject’s vehicle?”

OFFICER - “High.”

PANDA - “What’s your overall perceived threat leave of this?”

OFFICER - “High. Just... buzz me, okay?”

PANDA - “...Stand by...”

FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!

PANDA took to fucking long!!!! (PANDA is the type of dude that does things by the book.)

That whole traffic stop had me tense af!

BLACK OKLAHOMA (shit was lowkey lit though)

That beat drop though!

Looks like the boss man is getting called in because of the incident. 

AYE Ol’ COUNTRY BOY FROM HOLES

Listen, man, if you don’t like the show can you at least appreciate the dialogue that the show has to offer?!?!

MEMORABLE DIALOGUE

LOOKING GLASS - “Maybe there was something in the truck he didn’t want found.”

CAPTAIN - “Something like what?”

LOOKING GLASS - “There was a head of lettuce in the Sutton’s car. The shooter must’ve tossed it in. I believe it was Romaine.”

CAPTAIN - “...Were there any croutons?”

LOOKING GLASS - “...Not that I could assertain.”

LOOKING GLASS has the best mask on this show hands down!

It is pretty how the police have to hide their identity from anyone around them. 

The fucking WATCHMEN.... how legendary

Vietnam's a whole fucking state of the USA?!?!?

Is it just me or doesn’t that little boy they keep showing looks like he could be related to the girl that plays X-23?... just me alrighty then...

Why do I feel as if ANGELA is about to traumatize these kids with a story that happened to her?

LOL the way the teacher

“Did Redfordations pay for it?”/”Your bakery... Did you pay for it with Redfordations?” - TOMMY

Idek what Redfordations are yet but that little boy looks racist lol so I’m not surprised he asked her that question. But he played his part so good for him. 

DAMN THE BOY VERSION OF X-23 KNOCKED HIS ASS OVER (his name is TOPHER)

WTF IS THAT?!?! Are those baby squids?!?! They didn’t even live for that long.

ANGELA doin’ her bad bitch walk while being watched by an old man in a wheelchair. 

LADY KNIGHT 

tiktoktiktoktiktoktiktoktikoktiktoktiktok

Of course, PANDA looks like shit!

“Black Oklahoma was delightful.” - CAPTAIN

LOOKING GLASS was right... she not happy about not being contacted when the incident happened.  

“I got a nose for white supremacy and he smells like Bleach.” - ANGELA

That integration pod is pretty cool lookin’

ANGELA got that man right on the nose when picking him. 

... just tell her what she wants to know man!

CATTLE RANCH

Dang, I hope nothing happens to those cows....

Damn so much for hoping the cows would be okay

LADY KNIGHT vs THE CAVALRY

ROFL the way she’s slapping him!

“They're right under you?” - ANGELA..... These motherfuckers are in the sky!!!!!!!

Wow JUDD was really about to risk both of their lives to get those dudes and he’s laughin’ like that shit ain’t nothin’...

alright... we’ve got some nice classical music playing...

Wow naked as a jaybird and has that girl rubbin’ his thigh like this ain’t nothin’ new.

Anniversary.... is a fan of Mariah Carey??? (get it because Mariah Carey refers to her birthday as an anniversary... boujee shit)

Proceeds to eat only a forkful of cake

A play in 5 fucking acts?!?!?!?

BLACK OKLAHOMA is the musical that’s the talk of the town... HAMILTON WHO?!? (jkjkjk)

Y’all I just had an epiphany.... in the musical of Oklahoma the “bad guy” character name is JUDD just like the captain... now Idk if that’s foreshadowing but... it's whatever.... for now 

The animation of that show that’s being played for American Hero Story is so damn good.  

Damn this dude really played himself... his wife suggested that he shouldn’t drive...

I’m sorry but once again I don’t think that scene was necessary but then again ig something needed to be put there for that transition my dudes. (kinda fucked up that they had to do it the closet tho DEAD)

“Is this ANGELA ABAR?... Is your father MARCUS ABAR? Big Oak Tree out on Rollin’ Hill somethin’ you need to see there. I know who you are so don’t wear no goddamn mask.” - WHEELCHAIR MAN

That’s probably the coolest fucking headboard to ever be created.

Wow did he really hang that fucking man??

WHEELCHAIR MAN is the boy that survived the TULSA MASSACRE

A good way to end the first episode with the ICONIC blood splatter.

---------

All the episodes within the series are at least an hour-long so it’s good to binge it. Once again it’s really an amazing series and since the majority of the American population is under quarantine you might as well spend your time watching a show that has an outstanding production value. 

[machinekeys]

Let That Fever Make the Water Rise [Weiss/Yang]

(nsfw)

Sequel to Fire is the Devil’s Only Friend and part of the BAD END RWBYsona AU. 

Weiss and Yang decide to catch up with an old friend in the library.

________________________________________________________________

Yang’s fists connected with the library door again and again, knuckles leaving bloody smears on the rough wood. The rusted, pitted weight of Ember Celica around her wrist added more force to the blows, and the door was splintering under the onslaught. Through the cracks in the wood, Weiss could see the shelves and desks Blake had piled into a barricade quiver with every blow. Yang’s bestial grunts of exertion and the rivulets of sweat that dripped down her face disgusted Weiss, but she could swallow the bile a little longer. Some prizes were worth the indignities she was made to endure.

Yang paused to catch her breath, swaying drunkenly until she rested her forehead against the remnants of the door. Weiss tutted and prodded her with the toe of her boot, which earned her a yellow-eyed glare from Yang. Instinctively, Weiss took a step back out of range, but Yang made no move to follow.

“’m tired,” she mumbled into the wood.

“You’re lazy. There’s a difference.” Weiss crossed her arms. “Come on, you brute, don’t you want me to see how strong you are? Or was I wrong and there really isn’t anything about you worth my attention?”

Yang turned to face her, hands clenching into fists. When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous. “Careful, princess.”

It wasn’t an idle threat. Most of the time, Yang was a creature of ash and sullen despair, content to sleep and drink herself sick in the filthy lair she had made out of their dorm room. But each time her rage engulfed her it burned hotter and more dangerously than the last. More than once Weiss had to flee from her like pathetic prey Faunus until Yang returned to her bed and the sour-smelling bottles that littered the floor.

Weiss’ sword hand had unconsciously dropped to Myrtenaster’s hilt, pale fingers gripping the tarnished silver as if two feet of broken steel could protect her from Yang. Weiss forced herself to let go and stepped closer. Deliberately telegraphing the motion so as not to provoke Yang, she trailed a fingertip over Yang’s collarbone, leaving a white trail of frost. Her gaze lowered to watch the beads of meltwater slide down Yang’s chest. Weiss leaned in and licked up one of the drops with the tip of her tongue, smile sharpening when Yang let out a surprised breath.

“Hush,” Weiss murmured. “Don’t tell me. Show me.”

She focused on that cold, ravenous place deep inside where her Aura used to live and put a palm on the door. Tendrils of ice spread from her, spiderwebbing through the wood to freeze it solid. Yang tensed and for a moment Weiss thought she might have miscalculated, that Yang would grab her and hurt her and her plans for Blake would have to be delayed yet again. But Yang turned back to the door, smoke wreathing her body, the yellow of her eyes tinged with red. With a roar, she smashed her fist into the frost-rimed wood and it shattered, the force of the blow scattering the desks and shelves piled behind it.

“Good girl.” Weiss patted her on the shoulder and primly stepped over the wreckage.

In sharp contrast to the antiseptic emptiness of the rest of the school, the air inside the library was choked with dust and the scent of molding paper. Thin, wavering beams of light pierced through moth-eaten velvet curtains covering the windows, but did little more than throw shadows across the floor. Shelves loomed overhead, forming a labyrinthine path deeper into the room, and the thick carpet muffled all but the faintest sound from Weiss’ footsteps.

Wood and ice crunched beneath Yang’s boots as she followed Weiss, but she stopped just inside the door. “I don’t want to do this. Thought you wanted me, not Blake or Ruby.”

“Of course, I want you.” Weiss rolled her eyes. “Specifically, I want you to find Blake and bring her to me. Now, be a good beast and do as you’re told.”

“Do it yourself,” Yang said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. Though her pose was relaxed, her fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were turning white, and Weiss knew it would be unwise to push her any further.

“Fine, maybe I will.” Weiss marched off without a single backwards glace.

Despite her confidence, there was no evidence of anyone living in the library. The first few rows were all the same, empty and silent. Books rotted in place on their heavy wooden shelves, leather spines cracked and peeling. The layer of dust coating the floor appeared to be undisturbed in the dim light without any tracks to hint where her prey was hiding.

Weiss paused, glancing up at a worn placard that indicated she was in the reference section.  A slow smile curved her lips. Obviously, Blake wouldn’t make a nest near crumbling encyclopedias and dictionaries. Like Yang, she would choose to drown out her misery instead of bearing it with strength and dignity as Weiss had. They only difference between the two cretins was their choice of intoxicant. She turned and headed for the romance section.

Though most of the signs were faded to the point of illegibility, Weiss remembered the way. She could have crowed at her own brilliance when she saw the small pile of cushions at the end of the row. A few small stacks of books surrounded the bedding, their covers showing couples in various states of swooning infatuation. And there, lurking in the shadows, was Blake, nearly invisible except for the two burning yellow points of light that were her eyes.

“There you are,” Weiss breathed.

Blake’s Faunus ears were pinned back against her skull. She held up a clawed hand, Gambol Shroud’s tattered ribbon twining around her palm and up her wrist, its loose ends hanging limp in the still air. When she spoke, her voice sounded hoarse from disuse. “You shouldn’t be here. You need to leave.”

“Don’t be difficult, Blake. Yang and I have missed you so very much.”

Blake flinched at the mention of Yang’s name. “No, no, no, you’re wrong. You don’t feel that. You can’t feel that. Not for someone like me.”

“Someone like you,” Weiss asked, sensing weakness. She shifted her weight onto her front foot. She could cover the distance between them in a few steps, and she only needed to touch Blake to freeze her in place.

“Liar. Thief. Killer.” With each word Blake seemed to shrink in on herself.

Here was Weiss’ opportunity. Comforting Blake was sufficient excuse to get close enough to trap her. Blake needed to hear gentle, soothing words. Needed to be coddled and held and told that Yang and Weiss forgave her for her transgressions, that she could have the storybook redemption she craved. As if she deserved it. As if she wasn’t a coward and a traitor. As if she hadn’t abandoned Weiss.

“You forgot one,” Weiss said, soft and cruel. “Animal.”

Blake bared her teeth. “You sound like your father. When did you become daddy’s little girl?”

“How dare you,” Weiss spat. She was going to freeze the bitch’s tongue solid and watch her choke on it.

Drawing Myrtenaster from her belt, she lunged, but the distance was all wrong. Blake leapt out of reach of the wild thrust and landed in a crouch on all fours. Reckless, Weiss charged forward, aiming a vicious cut at her face that Blake barely dodged. She gave ground as Weiss continued to press her, falling back until she hit the far wall. Shelves rose high on either side of them, leaving no avenue for escape.

“Stay away! I’ll hurt you if you come any closer!” Blake’s chest rose and fell rapidly with every panicked breath.

What little light there was in the library grew dimmer like dusk fading into night. Shadows dripped down from the shelves and pooled around Blake’s feet. She squeezed her eyes shut and clapped her hands over her ears, claws digging into her own scalp, as wispy tendrils of darkness spidered up her legs and torso.

Weiss paused. The sight of Blake so distraught tugged at some long-forgotten part of her. Something that hadn’t yet been consumed by winter and loneliness. She lowered her sword, pointing its broken tip at the floor.

“I suppose I’ll be the bigger person,” Weiss said, graciously. “We can chalk your outburst up to typical Faunus hysteria.”

“Please just go,” Blake moaned, shadows rising up to cover her face in a translucent veil.

Weiss took another step towards her. “No, I won’t let any of you leave me. Not again.”

Weiss started to move closer and Blake charged, lashing out like a corned animal. She slammed into Weiss with her full weight, and her claws tore through Weiss’ jacket and the flesh beneath. Weiss stumbled and went down on one knee, pressing a hand to the gashes. Without pausing, Blake sprinted down the narrow corridor between the shelves. Weiss was on her feet a moment later, racing after Blake as blood streamed freely from her wounded side. The Faunus was too fast and Weiss knew she wouldn’t be able to catch up before Blake reached the exit.

“Yang,” Weiss yelled when Blake turned a corner, disappearing from view, “don’t let her escape!”

Weiss skidded out into the open in time to see Yang and Blake staring at each other, only a few feet separating them. Yang stood in front of the door, fists raised in a boxing stance, but she made no attempt to grab the Faunus. Shadows moved across Blake’s face in Rorschach blots and she was bent in a half-crouch, like a lioness preparing to spring, but she didn’t try to dodge past Yang. Neither appeared willing to be the first to act.

“You shouldn’t have run,” Yang said at last.

Blake cringed. “I tried not to.”

“I wanted to tell you things while there was still enough of me left to mean them,” Yang continued, dully, “but that didn’t matter—” She looked over Blake’s shoulder at Weiss. “—to any of you. I protected you. I loved you. But I was never enough. I was never first.”

“Yang—” Weiss started but Yang cut her off with a rough shake of her head.

“Shut up. This isn’t about you. For once, it’s about me.” Little trails of smoke escaped Yang’s mouth with each word as her face twisted in a scowl, clearly working herself into one of her moods. “Or do you even care?”

Blake’s ears flattened and Weiss gripped Myrtenaster so tightly its wire-wrapped hilt began to cut into her palm. Any move – any word – could be a match to the gunpowder of Yang’s temper.

“I’m sorry,” Blake said.

Yang stepped aside and gave a mocking half-bow, gesturing for Blake to go through the door. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. If I really didn’t mean anything to you, go ahead and run away. It’s what you do best.”

And there was the trigger. The moment Blake tried to leave, Yang’s rage would boil over with the Faunus as the closest target. While they were distracted with each other, Weiss could dart in and stab Blake in the back of the knee or slice through her Achilles tendon, some injury that would make it impossible for her to flee. Then, Weiss would stand back and let the two of them wear each other down, hopefully leaving the victor exhausted enough for her to subdue without too much fuss.

The shadows crawling across Blake’s face lightened, her expression taking on a less hunted cast. She straightened up and repeated, quiet but firm, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m so sorry. I wish I could have stayed. I still do, but I think we all know it’s too late for that,” she continued, glancing back at Weiss. “Goodbye.”

Blake must have understood it was a trick. Though she lacked Weiss’ tactical brilliance, she had that animal cunning that made Faunus so tiring to deal with. Still, she cautiously started for the exit. Yang’s mouth twisted, unable to settle on a single emotion. For a moment, Weiss thought she might actually stand aside and let Blake pass. She was only a few steps from the door when Yang lashed out, seizing her wrist in a brutal grip.

Blake hissed, whatever composure she’d managed to claw back gone in an instant. Her free hand raked across Yang’s cheek, drawing four parallel lines of blood before Yang grabbed it too. Blake writhed like an animal with its leg caught in a trap, but Yang was too strong. She began to force Blake’s arms down by her sides, Blake fighting her for every inch.

Weiss cautiously circled behind while the two of them struggled. One quick cut and then back out range to safely wait out the brawl, that was all she had to do. Blake and Yang would be hers, would look at her and love her and never leave. She was owed that after all the world had taken from her. She was owed so much more.

Schnees collected their debts with interest.

Heat shimmered around Yang’s fists where she gripped Blake, shadows boiling under the Faunus’ skin as her ragged Aura tried to keep her from burning. She went down on one knee, eyes wide with such desperation that Weiss unconsciously reached out to help her before coming to her senses. The long-forgotten protective instinct sat like acid in her chest, and Weiss swallowed hard, trying to dispel the feeling.

At that moment, the darkness wreathing Blake’s wrists dissipated, the last of her Aura exhausted. She screamed as Yang’s grip began to sear her skin. Yang flinched at the sound, her hold on Blake loosening slightly. She might have been about to let Blake go or it perhaps it had just been brief second of weakness, Weiss wasn’t certain. And she never would be, because she found herself lunging to bury Myrtenaster’s broken tip deep into Yang’s shoulder.

Shocked, Weiss dropped her sword as Yang released Blake to clutch at the wound. Blake was on her feet in an instant, vaulting over the wreckage of the library doors and bolting down the hallway. Yang pulled back her hand, looking from the bright crimson blood sizzling on her palm to Weiss, her expression molten with confusion and pain.

Weiss raised her hands in a placating gesture and started slowly backing away. “Let’s not be hasty, Yang. Mistakes happen in battle.”

“Why,” Yang asked, rough and guttural, like the rage had left her throat coated in soot.

“I don’t know,” Weiss answered honestly. “But the important thing is that we’ve flushed Blake out of her hideout—”

“I think you do know.” Yang sounded more collected with every word, her fury cooling into something crueler and more dangerous. “You’ve been using me this whole time, haven’t you? I’m just a tool to help you get Blake and your precious Ruby back.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” she spat. “I’m not stupid. I remember how you used to look at Ruby. No matter what I did, you were always after her. Nothing’s changed.”

Weiss didn’t like her options. Her retreat had taken her too far from Myrtenaster if Yang decided to charge, and Weiss doubted she could outrun Yang if she tried to follow Blake’s escape route.

“It’s not a lie,” Weiss said as sweetly as she could, her voice only shaking a little. “I want you. I only ever wanted you.”

“Heh, fine. Be that way. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” Yang’s mouth twisted, eventually settling into a vicious grin. “You want me, princess? Well, you’ve got me.”

Yang covered the distance between them before Weiss could run. She grabbed the collar of Weiss’ jacket and yanked her off her feet to hurl her into a nearby bookcase. It splintered, burying Weiss under a pile of books and rotted wood. The impact left her too stunned even to feel the pain and she gasped for air with lungs that refused to cooperate. Dust was in her eyes, blinding her, and in her mouth, mixing with the coppery taste of blood.

A hand seized the front of her shirt and dragged her out of the wreckage. Weiss had just enough time to draw a single breath, only to have it knocked right out her again when Yang slammed her up against the wall, white starbursts exploding across her vision. Yang got a better grip on her clothes and hoisted her higher, leaving her feet to dangle in the air. Blearily, Weiss braced for another blow, but Yang seemed content to let her gather herself. She didn’t even blink when Weiss wrapped a hand over Yang’s, frost spreading from her palm up Yang’s heavily muscled arm.

“I really should kill you, you brute,” Weiss said. After a moment to consider propriety, she spit out the blood and grit still in her mouth.

“Yeah, but you won’t, because then you’d be all alone in this big, empty school.” Yang let Weiss cup her jaw, leaning into the touch as it began to turn her skin pale and her lips blue. “I won’t kill you either, y’know. Because you’re mine.”

The sentiment was as nauseating in its arrogance and presumption as ever. Weiss’ hands trembled with the desire to rip and claw and freeze until Yang was finally cowed into her proper place at Weiss’ feet. But she wasn’t wrong, and that was the most bitter part of it all. Without an audience, an aria was just noise.

Yang’s tongue darted out to taste the frost forming on her lips, eyes never leaving Weiss’. There was a gleam of draconic possessiveness in them that Weiss craved as much as it sickened her. She had struggled since birth to be more than her father’s wind-up doll, pretty and isolated, loved only when she performed exactly as expected, but she might be able to stomach being a treasure in Yang’s hoard. Just so long as Yang coveted her. Never left her. Never stopped looking at her.  

Slowly, Weiss stroked Yang’s frozen cheek with the backs of her fingers. “Am I? Yours, that is.”

Yang stepped in so that her weight pressed Weiss harder against the wall. A hand kept Weiss pinned, while the other tugged one of her legs around Yang’s hip. This close Yang’s body felt like a furnace, her fingertips like brands as they traveled further up Weiss’ thigh, sliding under the hem of her skirt. Weiss couldn’t help but inhale sharply, leg tensing to pull Yang even tighter against her.

“I’ll prove it,” Yang murmured as she leaned in for a kiss.

Weiss put a finger on Yang’s lips and drove her thumb into the sluggishly bleeding puncture in her shoulder. Yang’s arm spasmed and she dropped Weiss with a roar of pain. It wasn’t far to fall and Weiss landed on her feet, her thumb still deep inside the wound. She viciously twisted it and sent a spike of cold piercing through Yang’s body to bring her to her knees, teeth chattering and eyes filled with murderous fury.

“Don’t bother getting up.” Weiss propped a foot up on Yang’s good shoulder. “You can prove it to me just fine from down there.”

Yang stared up at her for several long moments, expression unreadable. Without breaking eye contact, she turned her head slightly and kissed Weiss’ ankle, her calf, and the narrow band of skin where her boot ended just below the knee. Her hand traced a similar path along Weiss’ other leg, and this time Weiss’ did nothing as it dipped beneath her skirt, finding her wet and aching.

Yang hiked Weiss’s skirt out of the way and leaned in to lick at her through the soaked cloth, her height forcing her to hunch and contort to get the angle right. Weiss gasped and Yang looked up again, this time with a sly grin, her lips slick and shiny. She hooked two fingers in the waistband of Weiss’ underwear, dragging them down and burying her face back between trembling thighs. Without any barriers in the way, her tongue was fever hot against Weiss’ folds. The pleasure was an almost sharp, violent thing, and Weiss struggled to stay upright, fingernails scrabbling for purchase on the stone wall.

Yang was relentless. Ravenous. She seized Weiss’ hips in a bruising grip and forced her to grind down harder, dismantling Weiss’ composure with each greedy lick. Weiss grabbed fistfuls of golden hair as much to steady herself as to exert any sort of control. Growling, Yang redoubled her efforts, hands flexing just enough to remind Weiss of their strength, of how easy it would be for Yang to break her.

Yang was a forest fire, intent on consuming her until there was nothing left but smoke and ashes. A wild beast devouring her alive. Heat and pleasure twisted through Weiss, nearly painful in their intensity. Sweat dripped down her forehead and into her eyes. Her breath came in gasps only to be wasted on groans and stuttered demands for more.

Yang dragged her tongue over Weiss’ clit again and again, gripping Weiss so that she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but let Yang force her over the edge. Keening, Weiss doubled over as if she’d been punched, Yang’s hold on her hips the only thing keeping her upright. And still Yang didn’t stop, continuing until Weiss stopped trying to squirm away and was left hanging limp over Yang’s shoulder, face buried in matted curls, clutching at her shirt.

Weiss breathed in the scent of old smoke, so strangely nostalgic. Before the end of the world, before the mists fell and their eyes turned a poisonous yellow, she remembered the late-night study sessions they would have as a team, books, notes, and bodies all crammed into one bed. Blake studiously ran through past exam questions, and Ruby would blurt out the wrong answer, but then – after pausing for a moment to think – would come up with the correct one.

And Yang. She always looked so proud of her sister. So proud of all of them. Her head pillowed in Weiss’ lap as Weiss perfectly recited some aspect of dust technology or the history of a famous huntress. Her hair smelling of gunsmoke and conditioner, warm like a living thing when Weiss absentmindedly stroked a hand down the length of it.

Yang loosened her grip and let Weiss slide down the wall to slump in front of her. There was none of the triumph or gloating Weiss expected to see in her expression. Instead, she looked hard at Weiss as if she were searching for something and unable to find it.

“It’s rude to stare,” Weiss said, finally, but the scolding had no real acid in it. “What do you want now?”

Yang shook her head. “I—I don’t know.”

She reached out and pulled Weiss into an embrace, her heavily muscled arms trembling as they crushed Weiss to her chest. Where Yang’s face was pressed to the top of Weiss’ head, she could feel the faint dampness of tears. Over and over again, Yang mumbled the same few words into white hair, too low for Weiss to hear.

Swallowing, Weiss tried to reciprocate, but her hands stayed rigid at her sides, the comforting platitudes remained trapped in her throat. The scent of smoke clinging to Yang’s hair and skin became more cloying and unpleasant with each passing moment. Weiss gradually grew more aware of the dirt and blood staining Yang’s shirt. The crude, possessive way her fingers began to dig into Weiss’ skin. Of how the words Yang kept muttering had become mine, mine, mine.

How disgusting. How perfectly vile. Blake might have gone to ground, but once flushed out of her new den and brought to heel, Weiss could afford to be less careful in how she tamed her other beast. Yang would learn to bend her knees and bare her neck, and Weiss planned to enjoy every minute of it.

Hidden in the hollow of Yang’s throat, Weiss smiled, her teeth bone-white with frost.

[mysterioustomjenkins]

Yeah, nothing really made him seem like a bad guy, just an asshole. Yeah, he was sexist...but what do you expect from a guy who’s childhood was being abused by his single parent mom? He still became a vigilante because he heard of a woman being raped and hearing none of the onlookers helped and he became ‘Rorschach’ because a little girl was needlessly butchered by her kidnapper when she wasn’t even the right target so at worse, he’s just uncomfortable around women which is understandable given his background. He’s implied to be homophobic and the newspaper he follows apparently sees the KKK as heroes which is REALLY not a good thing, but the comic explains how Rorschach idolizes his father, the dad he never got to meet and all he knows is what his mom bitched about. Honestly I read that as he has his political leanings and opinions solely because he thinks his dad, the parent he looks up to, would be the same. He also never did anything racist so its likely he doesn’t share every view that newspaper has. Honestly, he’s a heavily flawed person, abused by his mom as a kid, had a chance to be on the right path, even became a vigilante to help people...unfortunately after seeing the kidnapper needlessly kill a young girl, it broke him and he regressed further into the man we see in the comic. And even with that regression, he’s still stopping crimes, saving lives, I think one panel before he’s captured by the police shows him stopping an attempted rape so his sexism doesn’t stop him from saving women. He even has actual good moments, he keeps Nite Owl from murdering a gang member even though Rorschach himself would do it in a heart beat, keeping his friend from falling down the same path and also apologizing for how he is, and showing appreciation for Nite Owl being patient for him. And even with all his land lady did to him, lie to the news about him being a ‘nazi pervert who tried to fuck her’, all he really did was call her a whore and when she told him to not say that in front of her kids as they didn’t know, he left. Could be wrong but I think he saw his mother in the land lady which is why he didn’t like her but the fact that she was actually protecting her kids from that life style seemed to change his perspective so he just left instead of continuing. And why does he die exactly? Because he is unwilling to let a man get away with killing millions of people. Regardless of the outcome of this, Rorschach can’t accept it, he wants to bring Ozymandias to justice for this despite the fact that its impossible and when Dr. Manhattan goes to stop him, does he run, beg for his life, try to fight? No, he accepts it and dies, having one last ace up his sleeve with his journal that reveals what Ozy did. This guy died trying to tell the world that Ozymandias murdered millions, he rejected the idea of hiding such a heinous crime regardless of the intended outcome of it. This isn’t a bad guy, this is a flawed person, heavily screwed up from life. He could have been nice, cool person but life broke him down and yet even with his low view of humanity and his bigotries he still risked his life to stop crime and save people and attempted to bring justice to the millions that were killed in New York, he was the only one who actually investigated The Comedian’s death which put him on track to learning about the plan that killed all those people. I can understand being wary of people who relate to him because again, he’s not a good person, but he is still a hero, still saves people, even people he doesn’t like, still was greatly disturbed by the death of millions and Alan Moore explained in great detail how he got this way and he was the only one who really advanced the plot. Why did he expect us to hate the most interesting character with the best costume who actually got shit done? Were we supposed to love the Savior Complex fucker who killed millions of people, the naked blue god who’s bored with humanity, the rapist murderer, the fat quitter or the chick who is only saving people because mommy pushed her to it? The only other character I loved in the series besides Rorschach was the original Nite Owl, a really nice, stand up guy who didn’t deserve to be beaten to death, loved reading his autobiography in the comics. In terms of main characters though, I guess Alan Moore is just too good of a writer because his attempts to create a strawman to villify Steve Ditko’s beliefs made an insanely popular character because he made a fleshed out, interesting and flawed character instead of the paper thin trash Marvel and DC makes when they want to critisize something.

[theboysfromaustin]

My paternal grandparents' house was built in the late 1800s, and I believe they acquired it in the 1960s or 70s.  Spent a good deal of time at that house, much as I could, my dad dragging us from Michigan to Indiana (ew) to Texass to Tennessee and back to the garbage state for computer work.  Lot of summers, lots of Thanksgivings, maybe a couple Christmases.  Large chunk of my family, paternal and maternal lives (or lived) around southwestern Michigan.

That house had an air of fucked-upedness.

It was a two story house, kind of Victorian, I guess?  Lot of gingerbread trim.  Very pretty.  It had a basement as well, I don't remember an attic - I never went into one, the basement was bad enough.

The basement was very large, and had a set of stairs (which I have fallen down), and had two distinct sections - the vaguely scary one with the washer and dryer along with The Closet, which is where my father told me a monster named Oscar lived.  He now denies this.  Classy.

The other half of the basement was, when my grandfather was alive (he died in 98 or 99) both awesome and ball-retractingly terrifying.  He had a big, badass electric train setup.  I am a man who can appreciate a fine train landscape and this thing was the tits.

The bad part was, this section was well-lit.  The rest of this godforsaken hole in the ground was pitch goddamn black, and just full of…stuff, looming menacingly in the shadows. I did not go beyond the light down there, because I was terrified.  I was last in this house for Thanksgiving 2014, and I was sent to the basement to look for a pitcher.  No pitchers, but at least 5 coffee makers.  I looked through the door into the doom pit, felt my stomach clench in terror, and fled.

Nobody liked that fuckin' basement.  Redfin photos from when my aunt moved my grandma out due to that fucker Alzheimer's don't even go in the dark half.

Don't blame them, I don't think realtors get paid enough to potentially be dragged to hell.

First floor was fairly normal, except my mom once saw the ghost of an old lady in the kitchen.  Also to note, the door frames in this place were low as shit.  I'm 5 foot 7, and by the time puberty punched me repeatedly in the pituitary gland, I was constantly getting bonk bonk on the head and learned to start ducking.  There was also an office that, after my mom started using oxygen 24/7, had a bed set up in it for our visits.

Also, one time a squirrel got in the house and terrorized my grandmother over the course of a few days.  It was one of those lil' fuckers introduced by John Harvey Kellogg.  You know, that cereal fucker.

Upstairs was a bitch and a half to get to.  I think my grandfather, my delinquent dad and his delinquent brothers installed the Death Stairs.  Did a shit job.  They were steep, they were narrow, and they were covered in the slipperiest carpet the 60s or 70s could barf up.  Everyone hated these stairs.  I've always been stomping around in natural clown shoes, so these were A Special Challenge.  I think most people in the family fell victim to the stairs at some point or another, but I managed to fall from the first step down, Zetsu Tenrou Battouga'd my ass all the way to the hardwood floor below where I slammed onto my back.

Had a goddamn Rorschach test black and blue mark on my whole damn back after that.

Maybe that explains why my spine hurts so bad now at 34.

Huh.

Upstairs, there were 3 bedrooms and a bathroom with a shower.  The one bedroom was my grandparents', the other two were the guest rooms.  My sister generally stayed in the middle room after my parents started using the downstairs one, don't know how they both fit, that bed sucked.  It was narrow, the mattress was hard, and would tilt dangerously if you didn't stay dead center.

This room was adorned with photos of dead relatives, like really old photos where nobody is smiling and their eyes are emotionless because Emoting Was A Sin.  I don't know how my sister stayed in there with the scary photos because she's a total wiener about horror movies who had to come sleep in the bed with me after my mom took her to see Blair Witch.  And The Ring.

I always got stuck in the room next to the bathroom.

That room was….awful.

First of all.

From the time I could be in a Big Boy Bed without falling out and dying from cracking my soft, egglike head on the hardwood floor, there was a fucking baby crib in front of the wardrobe, which at least kept it closed and the Narnia shit at bay.  Now, for whatever reason, probably my Chihuahua-level anxiety, this baby crib scared the everloving piss out of me.

But Ian, it's just a crib, how is that scary?  I don't know, my brain is a mess, but the FEAR of waking up in the night and hearing Baby Noises™ was sufficiently terrifying as was the prospect of getting up to use the bathroom and there being some….thing….in the crib.  You know, like in Eraserhead.

But that wasn't the worst part, somehow.  Oh no.

The bed was in a corner.  Now, for some reason I can only describe as "total bullshit" there was a closet on the wall, you know, with a door as well as another, tiny closet a few feet up the wall, about half the height of the normal closet.  The bed blocked it, but the top of the door frame ended maybe 6 inches above the mattress.

This had no solid door.

This had a curtain that was supposed to protect me from whatever nightmares lurked within.  This was horrifying, because it was at such a perfect height for me to fling a limb into The Unknown.  Which was absolutely god damned TERRIFYING.  I don't even know what was stored in there.  Ain't no way I was looking, either.  I tried sleeping on the other side of the bed, away from the danger hole, but I am not what anyone would call a "serene sleeper." One vacation, I had to share a hotel bed with my sister, and at one point, according to her, I "sat up, violently elbowed her in the gut, and rolled over."

This does sound like me, so I believe it.

So, inevitably I would trundle across the bed and back to the object of danger.  Can't sleep on the floor to mitigate this problem because there was ALSO a motherfucking trap door, which was partially covered by the rug.  I don't know what was down there.  Probably spiders.  Maybe whatever cryptid was lurking Michigan.  Maybe the Dogman was hitching around Berrien county, I don't know.

Fuck that room.

I kind of would have liked to have owned that house so I could uncover the vast amounts of crazy bullshit that lurked within its walls, but I am not a rich man, and it honestly needed a lot of repair work done.

Also the stairs would have eventually claimed my life, this I know.

Also, there was a large garage in the back with an attic filled with things.  All I remember being in there was a vintage ride-on Dalmatian toy that had a terrible face (and I’ll post a photo from eBay) and, given the rest of the shit about that house, probably rolled around there on its own.

Christ.

[blondrichclosetwitch]

“What about the police?”

“…….. They have a whole philosophy behind their tyranny.”

The drummer, he knew restraint

So let’s go back to ancient times when there were no 50 states

“They’re coming! Run, run!”

 Hungry ass hooligan stay on that piranha shit

so dumb, felt my leg burn, then it got numb left the hospital that same night

contemplating war bitches I was cool with before

A thug changes, Love changes and best friends become strangers

You know that it’s you

I will come when it’s right and I won’t stay all night, for I see something bad just a-looking above me

And I’m running to you

“You should be stronger than me.”

Blank Frank is the messenger of your doom & destruction—I had to really dig in to this one. Frank is the name of the rabbit in Donnie Darko, and who I saw in the ink blot tests twice. Obviously there’s been a lot about the rabbit ritual on the bed, but also a double meaning of the symbolism and of seeing him in the Rorschach, and what that meant. Basically, needing to unravel your own mysteries to truly understand what has happened to you. There’s also this line about frank: “he is the one who will set you up as nothing, he is the siren, he’s the air raid, he’s the crater. He’s on the menu, on the table, he’s the knife and he’s the waiter. “

I’ve seen love make a heaven of backstreet, bedsit and bombsight living room

“I don’t believe you. When I say love, you tremble at the knee.”

What doesn’t change dies

[thxendisnigh]

Sometimes I remember I'm angry. And then I remember Dan and Canned Beans exist and then I'm happier than before.