#and we did get a little bit triggered before the roulette really took off

[allergictoapples]

ah, the switching roulette, who will it land on, who will it be?

#we thought val was gonna be the default host for a bit but we keep rouletteing #though maybe he'll be in after the roulette #so far it's been #Ari Val GLaDOS Vox me Val me Angel me #though admittedly a lot of the Me is there because i'm getting attention via my hate mail to our boyfriend #maybe val will be in after #it feels like he probably will be #and there is often a roulette before a new default settles in #and we did get a little bit triggered before the roulette really took off #Vox is informing me that we were a lot triggered and that makes sense actually #one of the nameless alters switched in and cooed over voxxy for a bit #so yeah thats a lot triggered isnt it #for context voxxy is a big time dissociation caretaker #i mean he caretakes outside dissociation sometimes too but his job really comes in when someone's dissociated heavily #so all the heavily dissociated alters are crazy for him #as are the rest of us honestly. voxxy i love you im also crazy for you #duck duck luci

[sodone-withlife]

let's play, my love

for @yourlocalheartbreaker , who posted this painful idea, i really hope you enjoy this! also, apologies in advance for the pain that this might cause you?

characters may seem a bit OOC. as per usual, this had little to no proofreading, so apologies for any mistakes. i might also post a commentary later since there are parts i kind of want to explain (or clarify)

warnings: substances, gun violence, canon-typical violence, abuse, suicide, character death

word count: 3.2k words

They were always good at acting.

He might have forgotten practically all of his lines up on that stage as the Fourth Pirate, but even that fiasco did not detract from his carefully cultivated image as the lone wolf, injured and bleeding but strong enough to rip anyone approaching to pieces.

The fact that she had single-handedly created the drama department in their small school that accommodated all of the children and teens in that little backwater town was enough to demonstrate just how good she was at both acting and standing tall in the chaos.

They were just as good as seeing through bullshit and picking apart facades, no matter how well-layered it might seem to be.

They were also just as good as ignoring what they didn’t want to see, and while that might have done well to keep them together, there was only so much they both could take.

So when he started feeling woozy in his home office hours before he normally hit his limit and two weeks into a local serial investigation, he felt something inside him shatter, giving way to an awakened creature crawling out of its sleep before he finally blacked out.

A gentle light was filtering through the curtains when he came to with a pounding headache. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted over him, and he slowly opened his eyes, only to flinch at the bright light that suddenly flooded the room when the curtains were jerked open.

Hotch blinked the stars away, looked back in front of him, and froze as he was faced with the evidence of his complicity, his weakness, spread all over the table.

The old birthday card.

A single faux feather that he had recognized to have been ripped off from that old costume hat.

An old ticket stub for the opening night of Rent.

A wedding ring.

Even though they were sealed inside plastic evidence bags, he could still smell the perfume he had bought her as a wedding gift, that she had sprayed on all of those keepsakes that she had left behind as taunts.

His breath caught in his throat when cold metal momentarily pressed against the back of his neck, but he forced himself to remain still.

This is the endgame. You have to play now. You can't avoid it like you have been, with your evidence pilfering and self-imposed isolation from the team.

“Don’t bother trying to move. Your handcuffs have been put to good use.”

Haley walked around the table, helping Jack up onto his chair before settling down across from him with a revolver deliberately placed on top of the table. She met his eyes unflinchingly, a cold sort of amusement on her face at the stone facade he was wearing that was quickly falling to pieces.

“It’s about time you are here for breakfast, instead of in the middle of nowhere doing God knows what.”

Hotch couldn’t help his flinch at the sharp jab, knowing all too well how true it was. He tried to force himself together, just so he could gauge the situation with a profiler’s eye, but there was only so much he could do as the once-hibernating creature tried to rear its head.

He focused back on his wife, who was still staring at him, anger simmering underneath an oddly genial expression. “When did you realize?”

It was genuine curiosity, he realized with some faint surprise as he cleared his throat. “I knew something was off two weeks ago, after the first murder,” he said, trying to sound offhand. “The pieces fell together with the third murder.”

“Was it a shock?”

His swallow was convulsive as he attempted to keep the bile down. “No,” he finally forced out, looking away as he thought about why.

My fault. I knew exactly why you did what you did within minutes of figuring out it was you.

“Look at me.”

Hotch flinched at the tone that was so unfamiliar and so strange, and forced his eyes over to Haley after flicking a brief glance at Jack, who was playing with his cereal on the other side of the table. “I know the others,” she spat the word, beautiful features suddenly twisting harshly in hatred, “don’t know that you have had a full profile ready for days.”

“Haley, I know you—”

“Do you?”

The ringing question struck him straight in his core, sending the creature in his chest skittering back as he swallowed convulsively, unsure how to answer. She scoffed derisively. “Well, we’ll find out then, won’t we?” she asked rhetorically, fixing him with a cold stare, rage simmering underneath. “Tell me your profile.”

It was an order.

And with a revolver clenched in her hand and their son only a few feet away, he could only agree.

“The unsub is a woman—”

“Wait.”

Hotch stopped, attention drawn to Haley’s hands, which were fiddling with the barrel of the revolver. Dread pooled in his stomach when he saw her empty the cylinder of all but one bullet.

Russian roulette

“You know what this is, so let's play, my love,” she said mockingly, closing the cylinder and spinning it. She looked him square in the eyes, steely resolve barely masking an anger that was becoming more and more clear. “I read your notes. You get something wrong in your delivery, and we play a round.”

He took in her clenched jaw and trembling hand and tried to summon up his years of expertise only to find himself at a complete loss, the storm in his mind frozen for the first time in years as he was faced with a situation he never could have anticipated. Haley tilted her head mockingly when he didn’t start speaking.

“Show me what you keep leaving me behind for,” she sent towards him tauntingly, hand twitching on the revolver as she lifted it up and let it linger as it was aimed towards his chest, only to bring it to her temple.

She lifted it up and let it linger as it was aimed towards his chest, only to bring it to her temple.

No—

She knows all of your pressure points, of course she would use them.

Use that brain of yours and think.

Eyes unable to leave the weapon, he forced himself to verbalize the stream of consciousness he remembered going through his head as he was writing notes three nights ago.

“The unsub is a woman in her mid-30s to mid-40s and exhibits traits of both an organized and disorganized killer. The killing of the first couple was spontaneous and unplanned, as shown by the messy crime scene. But it triggered something within her, and she killed again within a few days.”

How is it that, out of the two of us, she snapped first?

“This time, the scene was markedly cleaner and demonstrated rather high organization, which helped us narrow the age range. While the wife was killed quickly and efficiently, she loses all control when it comes to the husbands, evidenced by the immense overkill and the destruction of the mens’ belongings.”

How does someone so good snap before someone who didn’t even know love until they were a young adult?

Hotch abruptly came back to the present—you're not at a precinct, dammit, focus—as he swallowed, throat dry. He sent a quick look to Haley who seemed to have turned her attention to Jack, but the gun was slightly lowered and he could tell she was listening. He continued, now choosing his words carefully. “Victimology suggests she was inserting herself as the wife of- of absent husbands. She projects her rage at her own husband towards the male victims and her self-hatred towards the wives—”

“Stop,” Haley suddenly ordered, voice trembling in suppressed rage, and for a brief moment, Hotch wondered how far she had devolved since the last killing.

Look around you. Jack is just feet away.

She took a few deep breaths, trying and failing to return to the level of composure she was at before. In frustration, she slammed the revolver back onto the table, the noise startling both him and Jack, who only looked around in confusion.

She's losing control.

Well done for stating the obvious.

Didn't I tell you long ago not to listen to your heart?

The malicious voice of his father echoed through his head, an oft-ignored presence in his head louder, more present than it had ever been.

And look where that's gotten you.

“I'm surprised at how good your memory is, especially since you forgot about Jack's school performance two weeks ago,” Haley's scornful voice jerked him out of the storm that was once again gathering in his head. “No matter, there is another way we can do this,” she continued, pulling what he recognized to be his phone out of a pocket and dialing a number.

“I'm calling your team right now,” Haley said to him lightly, her tone a stark contrast to the manic anger that remained in her expression. “It takes about forty minutes to get here from Quantico. During that time let's tell them about all the secrets you've been keeping.”

The malice in her voice was like a blow to the chest, forcing all the air out from his lungs.

Haley…

Old lessons from the Academy profiling classes floated back into his consciousness—

Once someone devolves too far…

Years of working in the field, and faced with the woman he helped turn into a killer, he could only turn to the basics of profiling he had learned ten years ago.

Did I do this to you?

He flicked another look towards his son at the side, who was still happily entertaining himself and blissfully unaware of the sheer danger he was in.

… there’s no telling what they could do.

“Hello, Agent Gideon,” Haley suddenly greeted, voice still in a strange calm.

The team—

“Don’t talk, just listen..."

They'll kill her—

"I have a revolver on the table and we're about to play a little game of Russian roulette..."

They wouldn't—

“You would do well to start heading over here.” She sent Hotch a derisive look over, then turned back to the phone. “There are some things I'd like you and your team to find out about Aaron that I think you should know.”

Would they?

She placed the phone on the middle of the table and looked back at Hotch. “Here are the rules, husband. You cannot flinch, you cannot react, you cannot break eye contact with me, otherwise, we go through a round,” she began, her stare boring into him as she carelessly swung the revolver around. “Do you know why I'm doing this?” she asked, making her voice sound saccharine sweet and grating to the ear.

Hotch remained silent, all too aware of the team that was probably listening to him through the phone. Suddenly, his head snapped to the side as a sharp pain bloomed across his face, and the creature in his chest snarled.

“Say it, Aaron Hotchner,” Haley brought the revolver up. ready to hit him again. “Answer the question, or take the gun.”

Finish this.

His traitorous brain superimposed an old memory over her, his father's pose fitting perfectly, and something in him snapped.

A weight disappeared from his chest, it suddenly became much easier to meet her stare with his own dark look, the one he vowed never to bring home, to leave at work with all of the darkness that trailed after him.

Finish this before they get here.

Play the game.

“Uncuff me,” he requested simply.

The creature purred in satisfaction at the surprise that came across her face, but all he could think about how easily he was breaking his promises, ripping through them like they were tissue paper, why was it so easy—

“Try to leave, and I’ll kill everyone in this room,” she hissed into his ear, pressing the revolver up underneath his chin as she slowly freed his hands.

And there’s the threat.

He glanced towards Jack again, reassuring himself and the creature that the child, so innocent and so ignorant of what was happening, was still safe, and then at the revolver that had been placed in front of him.

To be a coward, or to lose everything. That is the question.

“You know I don’t want Jack to go through what went through, a vow I had made years ago. You’re doing this to punish me because in a way, this is worse than what I went through.”

The answer easily flowed from his lips, much easier than he ever would have expected, especially knowing that the team was listening in. The creature in his chest was strangely settled, and he vaguely wondered what that meant when his attention was pulled back towards Haley, who had sat back down across from him.

He looked closely at her, and the high that was in her expression was easily recognizable to him.

How many times had he seen that in unsubs desperate for control, no matter how temporary?

Hadn’t he recognized it in himself for weeks after that night, twenty years ago? When he finally reclaimed control from the alcohol-induced monster that prowled his childhood home?

Taking a gamble, he decided to ask a question. “Haley, you’re entirely in control, and you can choose what to do to me,” the familiar buzzwords fell from his lips, tinged with desperation while trying to be coaxing.

He couldn’t help but flinch at the loud smack that sounded when she slammed her hands onto the table and leaned over towards him, the sound bringing up too many old and unpleasant memories that easily broke through the odd veil of calm that had set over him.

“That’s right,” she began, an odd note to her tone. “I’m entirely in control, so here’s what I’m going to do,” she said, snatching the revolver from his side of the table and opening the chamber again to rearrange the bullet so that it was in the next cartridge.

Haley walked back over and pressed the gun into his right hand so that she was controlling his finger over the trigger. Slowly, she shifted the chair he was sitting in so that it was facing Jack in his chair and brought the revolver to his temple. Hotch could only freeze, mind rapidly moving through scenarios that accounted for his miscalculation, and—

“Game over, Aaron,” she said quietly. “It’s been lovely playing with you, my love.”

He felt the warm blood splattering across his face before he registered the gunshot and the body dropping to the floor behind him.

Slowly with his ears ringing, he stood up, turned around, and stared.

And stared.

The image shifted, and suddenly he was in the doorway of his parent's old bedroom, smelling the sharp tang of blood that was diffuse in the air.

He blinked, and he was back in his house in Alexandria, staring at his wife’s cooling body on the ground with an apathy he thought was left behind in his youth.

But reality suddenly crashed over him in a wave, and all of the emotions he had cycled through in the past two weeks sent him crashing to his knees and the creature in his chest fell silent and still when he realized—

Haley killed all those people.

She killed all those people because of me.

All of those people are dead because of me.

She forced me to pull the trigger

I killed her.

…

And Jack—

He whirled around to pick up his son who was crying his heart out in fear of the loud bangs and wanting comfort from his parents, but he saw that a few droplets of blood had made their way onto his face.

And as quickly as the grief had cascaded over him, an inferno of rage was suddenly ignited within him, burning through his grief.

Stronger and more wild than he had ever felt in his life, it scorched its way through the remnants of his person, burning him from inside out with all of the passionate emotion and hatred and anger he had suppressed over the years until all he could hear was the roaring of the creature inside his chest and all could see was the child that had been the catalyst to a series of events that got his mother killed—

she protected me and he beat her to death

—had gotten the woman he had loved so much killed

she showed me what kindness was, she was a mother of two

–killed because of the one who should have loved her with all his being—

she was too good for this world, and even the darkness of their home couldn’t dampen her spirit, so she had to be killed—

The front door burst open just as another shot was fired.

And then silence.

Silence.

…

Aaron? Is Mama okay? I heard loud noises.

Mama’s fine, Sean She's just sleeping. The noises were my fault, I’m just making sure I didn’t wake her up.

Oh. Okay.

Go with your friends, I know they’re waiting for you.

He knew they were looking at him in horror.

Why wouldn’t they?

He was, after all, standing above the bodies of the two people he was supposed to love and cherish until his dying day.

But they only saw the obvious. They didn’t see that it was his own fault this happened, they didn't see the masks fall and they didn't see the creature prowling about, preparing to rip anyone approaching to pieces.

They didn’t see that this was the only way to make things right, to make sure his cold, ravenous darkness didn't swallow everything now that it was free after twenty years of waiting.

The cold metal tasted of bitter victory.

He smiled.

His father remarried within months, and Sean grew close to their stepmother.

But his little brother was forgetting their biological mother, and soon, he would be the only one in the family who thought about her.

That revelation had hurt more than he could bear.

Over the years, though, he had hardened, and the creature in his chest that was born when he saw his mother take her last painful breaths had learned to bide its time.

He knew of his father’s plans already.

He knew where the note was, where the will was, where the gun safe was.

He was supposed to be on the way to college for his freshman year, and Sean was over at a friend’s place for a sleepover.

It was a warm night, and his father hadn’t raided his stash of alcohol yet, hadn’t turned into a creature of rage.

Which meant they were both fully aware and cognizant when he shoved the metal into the man’s mouth with an ease and apathy that shouldn't be seen in a healthy, well-adjusted teenager—

His smile had always been too sharp, his eyes too dark.

His love was twisted and broken.

Hidden, it lay in wait, ready to destroy everything that posed a threat.

…

He tilted the gun upward, pressing into the roof of the man’s mouth.

He pulled the trigger.

#dedicated to sumayyah lmao #aaron hotchner #haley hotchner #sodone let's play #criminal minds #bau #tw character death #tw guns #tw violence #tw suicide #tw substances #tw abuse #tw murder

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Rewind Chapter 3

Awareness came in pieces, like waves lapping over the shore, slowly bringing back each sense. Ford yawned and rolled his neck to ease out a crick. He really should stop sleeping sitting up.

The warm form cuddled against him stirred and he placed a soothing hand on their head of soft curls until they stilled, burying their face in his shirt. Ford hummed happily and let his head rest back against the headboard, content to just stay here forever…

…wait a second.

Ford’s eyes flung open with a jolt.

What had he been thinking, falling asleep? Sleep was the one thing he couldn’t afford! He looked around quickly, heart pounding. He was still sitting against the headboard of his bed, pillows propped behind his back and a child-sized Stanley curled up in his lap, the way they had been when he must have fallen asleep part way through telling stories of his previous discoveries. His journal lay open at his feet. To his relief it was bereft of cryptic code and taunts. Bill must have been busy, or perhaps had not noticed Ford’s slip-up. He hadn’t been possessed.

Ford cursed himself. How could he have made himself vulnerable like that? The portal was wide-open for the taking! And there was no telling what Bill Cipher would do to his brother – his child brother, who was currently helpless and foolishly, trustingly snuggled against the front of Ford’s turtleneck.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn’t change the past, only the future. Now he had other things to concentrate on – namely, building a Bill-proof barrier, since his investigation on how to cure Stanley had hit a snag – he had none of the components he would need to start reverse-engineering a cure. The sun peeking through his window told that he must have been sleeping for at least an hour. Morning was already slipping away from him.

“Mmmph.” Stanley mumbled. Ford’s hand was still in his curls. Ford couldn’t resist ruffling those curls as Stan pulled his head up, yawning and blinking sleepily. “F’rd?”

“Good morning, Stanley.”

Stan rubbed at his eyes. “Whaza time?”

“Time to start working. Come on, up you go.” Ford lifted his brother from his lap. Stan whined at being put down on the covers.

“Nooooo, ‘s cold!”

“Then hurry up and get moving.” Ford swung his legs over the bed and stood. “I have a lot to do today.”

Stan grumbled the whole time. He was still wearing that old shirt. Perhaps Ford should get him something that fit better? No, it would be useless in a day or so anyway.

Ford spoke to himself as he walked.

“Now, I’ll have to go as soon as possible to get that hair – what’ll I do with you? Oh, children need to receive their daily nutrients, don’t they? Hmm, when was the last time I ate?” He couldn’t recall. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter, I’m an adult, I can stand to skip a few – hmm. Weeks? No, that can’t be right. I should eat too. I have coffee? Is it safe to give a child coffee?” He opened the fridge and stared in dismay at the rows of empty shelves. “Oh. That’s why I haven’t eaten. Guess I’ll just have to – buy some supplies. Yes. Come along Stanley, we’re driving into town.”

“Who’stha whatnow?” Stan stumbled into the kitchen after him. That was right, his brother was certainly not a morning person. Ford wondered again how ethical it was to give a child coffee. Probably shouldn’t risk it.

“Town, Stanley. I have to do some shopping. And come to think of it, you’ll need someone to watch you…” Unless he could just leave the child locked in a room? Ford wasn’t exactly familiar with babysitting protocol. Maybe it was better to just bring him along for now.

He dropped one of his old coats around Stanley’s shoulders and ushered him outside. The coat was a good call ­– it was still freezing. Ford was climbing into the car when he hit another snag.

“…ah.” He didn’t have a booster seat. Stanley would be riding in the back seat, it seemed.

 Luckily the town was still waking up, so it was quite simple to walk in, grab some supplies, pay and leave without having to deal with the hustle of crowds. Ford pulled up in his driveway with a relieved sigh. He thanked his lucky stars that Gravity Falls was slow to wake on a Sunday… wait, no, what day was it?

Didn’t matter.                            

With his arms full of groceries, Ford nudged the door open with his foot. He could hear Stan grunting under the weight of his own load as he placed the bags on the kitchen bench.

Maybe he had gone a little over the deep end, Ford admitted to himself as he went about sorting groceries. He hadn’t realized until this morning that his fridge was empty. That did explain the hollow feeling in his stomach though. Come to think of it, when was the last time he ate? Not counting the copious amounts of coffee and energy drinks he ordered weekly.

It also explained Stan’s rumbling stomach. Honestly, Stan should have said something if he was hungry!

Said child wobbled his way into the kitchen with a shopping bag in his arms. Ford took it and started unloading it as well. Marshmallows – he didn’t remember buying those. Maybe Stanley snuck them into the cart. Ford could remember the gleeful giggles he and Stan would break into when they’d managed to sneak a treat into their mother’s shopping cart. Stan was always better at it than Ford.

Ford shook his head to clear it. He had no time for nostalgic thoughts anymore. He snagged two frozen single-serve pies plates and started searching for clean plates to put them on. Finally he found two with only a few crumbs on them – he brushed one off and placed it in the microwave, trying to remember if he’d paid his electricity bill recently.

He must have, because the microwave was heating and glowing when he pressed the right buttons. Ford sighed and leaned against the bench to wait.

Stanley was in the process of pushing a chair towards the table. He paused to let out a gigantic yawn, rubbing his eyes with his too-big sleeve.

“Tired?” Ford found himself asking. Stan nodded and yawned again.

“Mm hmm.”

“Did you have trouble getting to sleep?” The uncomfortable position must not have helped.

Stan finished pushing the chair and now he crawled up into it and rested his elbows on the table. On closer inspection he did look tired, dark bags collecting under his eyes.

“Nah.” Stan rested his cheek on one hand, squishing his round face slightly. “Just had weird dreams.”

A shiver ran down Ford’s spine.

He hadn’t even considered if – what would happen if Stan made a deal with Bill Cipher? Had already made a deal? It would explain why Bill wasn’t in Ford’s dreams. Ford hadn’t warned his brother about the demon, he’d been so sure that Bill would focus on him and him alone, but Stanley was vulnerable here and Ford hadn’t even thought about it-

“Did you make a deal?” He demanded. Stan blinked at him blearily.

“What?”

“A deal. In your dream. Did you shake anyone’s hand? Talk to anyone?”

Stan shook his head with another yawn. “Don’ think so.”

He was a child, Ford reminded himself sharply, a child that didn’t grasp the significance of what was happening. He needed to have patience. Or else Stan might clam up and refuse to talk to him further.

“Stanley.” Ford forced his tone to stay even and slow. Stan send him a curious look. “I need you to tell me everything that happened in your dream. It might be important. Okay?”

Stan frowned. “Uh – okay. Are you gonna interpret my dream, like Ma does?”

“…something like that. But it’s very important you don’t leave out any details.”

“Okay.” Stan hummed for a minute, in thought, before he brightened. “Oh, yeah! So I was in my car – I mean, I don’t have a car, but it was a dream and you just know stuff in dreams so even though I don’t have a car I knew it was my car – and it was all snowy outside. I think I was stuck in a snow bank or something. Hey Ford, where do snowmen keep their money?”

The microwave beeped. Ford placed the hot pie in front of Stanley and searched for a fork. “A snow bank. Continue.”

Stan pouted. “You ruined my joke!”

Ford handed him a fork. Stan sighed and poked at his pie while Ford started heating up his own. After a moment the child continued, his voice uncharacteristically somber.

“It was really cold. Like, really cold. I could see my breath and it wasn’t even cool. Haha – cool. I… didn’t know cold hurt so much. It was like my bones were made of ice, all cracking and popping.”

“Was anyone in the car with you?”

Stan screwed up his face in thought. “Um, no. Just me.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, I had some matches and I was lighting them for warmth, but then they ran out.” Stan paused for a moment with a frown, comedic on his childish features. “I, um, was looking for some more in the glove box and a gun fell out. An’ I don’t know where I got it but I know it’s mine. S’ gotta be, if it’s in my car, right? But I don’t remember where I got it and I don’t know if it’s got any bullets in it.”

Ford nodded along. If Stanley could recall the dream so vividly, it probably wasn’t a normal dream, the likes of which tended to fade as quickly as they had appeared. But so far it didn’t seem like Bill’s style.

“What happened then?”

Stan bit his lip, wincing. “Um, you remember how we used to play Russian Roulette with soda cans? How we’d shake one up and take turns opening ‘em and try not to get the fizzy one?”

Ford got a bad feeling in his gut. “Of course.”

“I, um, I can’t remember why, but I wanted to find out if it had bullets in it. So I put it to my head and pulled the trigger.” Stan pulled a face like he’d tasted something sour. “There was this click and I guess it was empty because nothing happened. So I put it back and curled up all small, because it was still super cold, and I think I went back to sleep.” Stan shrugged with one shoulder. “Then it ended.”

Well, there was a lot to unpack there, and Ford could unpack it later. The microwave beeped to signify his breakfast was sufficiently warmed. He took it and slid into the seat opposite Stan.

“Is that everything? No one talked to you? How clearly do you remember it?”

“S’weird.” Stan admitted, pulling off the top of the pie to get at its insides. “So normally dreams kinda fade, all fuzzy-like, right? But the ones I had last night aren’t fading. It feels real but not-real.”

“Vivid?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stan shrugged. Ford took a bite of his pie and was chewing before he registered what had just been said. He spluttered a little.

“Ones? Plural?”

“Uh, yeah.” Stan shrugged again. “The other one was weirder. Do you wanna know about that one too?”

“Do I – why wouldn’t I? Why didn’t you mention that?”

“Well, it was shorter and way more blurry. I couldn’t even see anything so I don’t think it really counts as a dream.”

“Tell me.”

Stan scrunched up his face. “You sure? It’s kinda silly.”

Ford sent him a look and Stan sighed.

“Fine. In the second one it was all dark, I couldn’t see anything. Well, not at first. There was this… man.” Stan shuddered. “This, uh, really creepy guy. And he put me in a coffin? No, um, a car trunk I think. It was all dark and then I couldn’t see anything. Then there was just lots of noises, and rumbling, and it got all wet.”

“Wet?” Ford echoed. Stan shrugged.

“Yeah, all wet. And cold. Like I’d been dumped in a lake or somethin’! Cause the whole trunk started flooding, which was really scary. An’ I don’t remember how I got out but at some point I was swimmin’ up feeling like my lungs were gonna explode.” Stan shivered, hugging himself. “An’ my mouth hurt and the water tasted like metal an’ it was so dark. Then, um… I dunno, I woke up or something?” He frowned. “Wait, no, there was something else – about a llama that knew too much? It all kinda gets smudgy.”

Unsettling, certainly, and something to ask questions about later – but for now it sounded like Bill had missed his chance to mess with the Pines twins. Ford let himself relax slightly.

“Thank you, Stanley, for telling me.”

“So are you gonna read my future or something?”

“No.”

Stan poked out his tongue. Ford sighed. The matter aside, he still had to find someone to look after Stanley while he got the unicorn hair! But there was only one person in Gravity Falls he trusted, and…

Well, that person might not pick up the phone.

But desperate times called for desperate measures. Surely, surely Fiddleford would at least hear him out? And if that failed Ford could always lock the child in a room for a couple hours.

Mind made up, Ford excused himself to go make a call.

His palms were oddly sweaty as he dialed the number he knew off by heart and pressed enter. The phone rang once, twice, thrice in his hand. Surely a hopeless endeavor. Ford was sure he wasn’t going to pick up, when there was a click and a crackly voice sounded tiredly down the line.

“Hello?”

His old assistant’s voice sent his heart leaping in his chest. Ford hurriedly cleared his throat. “Fiddleford? It’s me, Stanford.”

In the half-second of frigid silence that followed, Ford began to realize he might have made a mistake by introducing himself.

“Wait!” He gasped out. “Please don’t hang up.”

“What do ya want?” Fiddleford growled out. He sounded so unlike himself that it made Ford pause. But – no. This was Fiddleford. His research assistant. His friend. The one person he could trust.

“I – I need your help.” Ford admitted. He plunged on before Fiddleford could interrupt, “I was an idiot. You were right – about the portal, about Bi- the demon.”

There was a crackly silence. Ford took a deep breath.

“I know that what I did is unforgiveable. I abandoned you and refused to heed your warnings. I understand if you can never forgive me. But please, I need your help to fix what I’ve done.”

“I aint goin’ near that portal!” Fiddleford’s voice lifted in both volume and pitch. Ford hurried to reassure him.

“No, no, of course not. That’s not what I need your help with. And it’s not for me, it’s for my twin brother.”

“You have a twin?” Fiddleford demanded, a lilt of curiosity sneaking into his tone. He sounded a little more like the man Ford knew. “Why didn’t ya tell me that?”

“Stan and I haven’t on the best of terms recently.” Ford explained. “Fiddleford, you’re a father, you know how to take care of children. I need you to take care of my brother – just for a little while.”

“Whoa, hold up.” There was shuffling on the other end of the line. “I’m gonna need ya to go back to the beginning. What did ya get yourself into this time?”

Ford chuckled humorlessly. “An experiment gone wrong. Stanley – my twin brother – has been reverted back into a child.”

A pause.

“Fiddleford?”

His friend let out a sigh. “Yeah, sure, course this is happening. Weird stuff always happens around you, Stanford.”

Ford chose to take that as a compliment. “I currently have my hands full. There is a spell – a magical barrier, in fact – that can protect us against the demon you warned me about, allowing me to disassemble the portal without risk. But to do this I have so obtain several rare ingredients. I can’t take Stanley with me, and I can’t leave him alone. I was hoping you would be able to watch him. Just for a little while!” He added nervously. “I know Stanley can be a handful but I’ll be back as quickly as I can and-”

“Ford, shut yer yap.”

Ford shut up.

“I’ll not leave a child alone, no matter what I think of his brother. When d’ya need him taken care of?”

Ford let out a breath and thanked any and all deities that may have lent a helping hand. “I was hoping, today? As soon as possible?”

Fiddleford groaned. “Fine, fine – but only for the kid!” He added. “And in the name of keepin’ that demon away. Not for you.”

“I understand completely.”

“Ya still at yer cabin?”

“Yes.”

“’Course ya are. Now, how old’s yer brother?”

“Ah…” Hmm. Ford had never been good at ages. He’d passed through them himself and never looked back. “He’s old enough to talk. And complain about not having clothes that fit. Maybe about as old as Tate was when I last saw him…?”

Another long-suffering sigh. “A’right, a’right. I’ll bring some old clothes of Tate’s, see if they fit, and I’ll watch the little tyke for ya. But I’m not goin near that portal. Or any of your hinky experiments, ya hear?”

“Certainly. Thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in an hour, maybe two.”

“Thank you.” Ford said again. Fiddleford hung up.

#fic #chapter 3 #gravity falls #The stans #stangst #rewind

[jpegjade]

Mr. Loverman (pt. 4) - Spencer

okay i may or may not have gotten sad about my own ending. but i promised you guys a special chapter. it will come after this. idk if i’ll make a part 5. 4 (almost 5) google docs pages later, it’s a little bit to think about. (i didn’t include any spoilers. but if you’ve seen the cat storyline, it’ll make sense. if you haven’t seen the cat storyline, then it will be perfectly fine). 

anyway, if we get enough interest for a part 5, i’ll give you guys another part. i kinda know what i want to write for it but you’ll just have to wait for the special chapter to see whether or not you’re satisfied or want a part 5. 

not gonna lie, kinda actually nervous about this one. tell me what you guys think!

enjoy part 1: Bloop

enjoy part 2: bloop bloop

enjoy part 3: bloop bloop bloop

__________________

“Let’s play a game.” Cat said, walking around the table. 

You felt more scared for Spencer than yourself because Cat never pointed the gun at you. It was always Spencer. She made you nervous. You couldn’t watch Spencer die in front of you. You wouldn’t be able to handle that. 

“I’m thinking Russian Roulette but that would go by too quickly. See that terror in your eyes? I want that to last.” She smiled like this was funny as she looked directly at you.

Spencer was internally freaking out but he had to stay calm and collected. He couldn’t let you see him scared and he couldn’t let Cat think she won already. Spencer’s mind was going, trying to think about the answer to all of this madness. Why would she be doing all of this? To scare him? To make him know what it felt like to lose someone? No. Then she would be pointing the gun at y/n. 

“So, we’ll play a game.” Cat kept walking and talking. 

“We always play games. Don’t you ever get tired of twenty questions?” Spencer said. 

You wanted to ask him to explain everything. You wanted to find out why he was talking to her so freely. You wanted to know what was the dynamic here but you couldn’t say a thing. You couldn’t speak. 

“I play games to win. I’ve always won. Except for when I was with you. I will admit, losing hurt. A lot. But I’ve had time and patience to think about this all up in my head.” Cat waved the gun in a small circle around Spencer’s temple. 

You didn’t realize the tears were streaming down your face until you felt them begin to drip onto your cardigan. 

“Y/n, you should know that men will leave you. They will build you up, make you feel special, wanted, desired, and then they will leave you worse than they met you. And you, dear y/n, are a fragile and broken little girl. Wait… That’s what he calls you, right? His little girl. Because he cares so much about you that he hasn’t told you about us, our connection.” 

“What?” Your voice was hoarse. You strictly remember him saying that you were the only connection he had. 

“Did he tell you he likes it rough?” Cat smiled, sitting on Spencer’s lap.

You noticed that he didn’t push her away. He wasn’t making eye contact with you. He wasn’t doing anything or fighting her. You noticed he didn’t look like fighting at all. He just looked blank. 

“Spencer, what’s she talking about?” You said, trying to make sense of what was happening. 

Spencer was calculating. He was trying to figure out where Cat could possibly be going with this. He couldn’t talk to you because if he sent you any kind of signal, Cat would catch on and kill him without hesitation. Or worse, he would kill you. So he kept quiet, trying not to show any emotion. 

“Oh that’s right. Darling Spencie’s little girl wasn’t here for that. Too busy hiding along in that pathetic excuse of an apartment. You left him. Talk about commitment issues. You couldn’t even commit to that friend of yours who tried to kiss you after your only date for 2 years. Just hearing about that sob story made me want to cry of boredom.” Cat Yawned. 

“How did you know about that? How do you know about me?” You were barely able to talk. 

Spencer was thinking about how to get you out of this room at least but this wasn’t making sense to him. What was Cat’s fixation with you?

“You should ask how I know he likes it rough. He couldn’t keep his hands off of me. That hidden dominant side of his took over and it was like he was a different person completely. Of course, he initiated and I just went with it. He’s truly something else when you make a real connection with him. Something different than the one you used to have.”

“Why are you telling me this? What’s the point of all of this?” You pleaded with the two of them. 

Spencer wanted so badly to look at you, tell you everything was going to be okay, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t see you so broken because of this. This was the exact thing he didn’t want to happen. This is the exact reason why you left him in the first place, because this was bound to happen. His chest felt tight. 

“It’s truly a shame I lost the baby.” Can ran one hand through Spencer’s hair with the gun propped under his chin in her other hand. 

The silence that fell on the room was incredible. No one said anything. Cat was smiling to herself, knowing how easy it was to break you. She was enjoying this more than you could ever imagine. Spencer was trying to keep up, knowing that most of this was being twisted into something that tells a different narrative than what it really is. You were beyond broken. All you wanted was to get out of the room, away from the two of them. 

“The what?” You finally whispered. 

“He hasn’t told you everything? Great way to start off a marriage. But that doesn’t matter. I think this little reunion of ours has gone on long enough. It needs something special to set it off with a bang!” Cat cocked the gun, finger on the trigger, as it rested at the base of his neck under Spencer’s chin, pointed up at the perfect angle. 

“Please.” You begged, barely getting the words out. 

You didn’t care about the baby. You didn’t care about whatever relationship they had. You didn’t care about anything but Spencer’s life right now.

“Isn’t this original?” Cat continued. “You’re coming full circle to where you were just a few years ago. Maeve’s murder-suicide of a death and now you? That has to be an exciting feeling.” Cat smiled again. 

“You said we were going to play a game.” Spencer said, “This isn’t one of your games.” 

“Oh, but it is.” Cat turned to whisper in his ear. 

Your heart was beating out of your chest. You couldn’t believe what was happening right now. You and Spencer were being held hostage in the bullpen and there was nothing you could do about it. 

“I’ve spent this whole time playing with your darling little girl’s head. It’s been a fun game, showing her everything you’ve been up to these past two years. It’s your turn now. What are you going to do when your darling little girl has to live without you? She can never change her mind and suddenly want you again after this.” 

“I’m not scared of you.” Spencer said. He felt the pressure of the gun under his chin grow as Cat pressed it harder. 

“Good. How are we supposed to get our happily ever after if you’re scared of your wife?” Cat smiled before everything got out of hand. 

Everything happened in slow motion. Cat went to kiss him and then Spencer heard the gunshot but he could still feel everything. He didn’t realize his eyes were closed until he opened them and saw you holding your heart. 

“I don’t miss.” Cat whispered before Spencer wrestled the gun away from her. 

He took her by surprise and suddenly, she was on the ground, hands behind her head. Spencer stood over her, gun aimed at Cat’s head. Finger on the trigger and emotions clouding his mind, he was ready to do it. He could do it. He could put an end to this right now. 

“Can’t you see it? We belong together. She was just a bump in the road in our journey. You even saw how similar we are in prison. You enjoyed your stay from what I heard. Just thought your little girl should know who you really are. You’re not the innocent brainiac you were before, the one she loved. You’re like me. I can see the real me. All you have to do is admit it.” Cat smiled. 

Spencer pulled the trigger. Cat screamed in pain as the bullet went through her leg. Spencer wasn’t a murderer, he knew that it would hurt much more if she went back where she belonged in one piece. 

The doors burst open, Prentiss and Garcia hurriedly stepping into the room, Prentiss’ gun drawn. They took a glance at everything that was going on. You were moaning on the ground, laying in a pool of blood. Spencer was standing over Cat who went from screaming to laughing. Spencer barely recognized that the two of them were in the room. 

“Spence.” You barely said. 

Spencer snapped out of it, putting the gun in his holster and rushing over to you on the opposite side of the table. You had tear stains streaming down your cheeks and he could see you looked more tired. His heart broke. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He repeated over and over. Garcia was calling for a medic but Spencer knew. By the way you looked and the way Cat aimed? You weren’t going to make it that far. 

“Spencer. We don’t have a lot of time.” Every word took so much energy to say. You could feel it draining from you. 

“I know.” The tears fell from his face onto the ground. 

“I wanted to tell you before i fell asleep.” You took a shallow breath, “I loved you since the day I got to know you, your heart. I love you now and I will love you until my heart stops beating. And every day after that.” 

“I said that to you when…” A broken sob made him stop talking. 

“I wrote it down and kept it with me every day. I still love you. I never stopped. I will never stop. But you have to promise you’ll move on. You have to promise that you won’t forget me but you’ll honor my memory by giving all of that Reid love in your heart to someone who deserves it. Someone who loves you, all of you, just like I do and always will.” You were so tired and getting so heavy. 

“I promise. But you can’t leave me, y/n. You said you would never leave me.” He sobbed. 

“It’s not goodbye. Just a ‘see you soon.’” You started closing your eyes but fought to keep them open. 

“One more kiss.” You whispered. 

The world stopped around you in that moment. Cat’s laughter faded away, Prentis’ rights reading faded away, Garcia’s sobbing faded away. It was just the two of you for one last time. 

“I love you.” Spencer said as soon as it ended. 

“And I will love you forever.” You whispered, finally fading.  _____________________

Tag list: 

@dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal

@andiebeaword

@justanothetfangirl

@fanfictionreader05

@addie5264

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #cm #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine

[cdelphiki]

Jason and the Three Terrors, Ch 1, rough draft. 3k words.

I’ve posted bits and pieces of this before, but I actually rewrote a lot of it and now have it completed.  I’ll keep slowly working through this whole story.  I hope to get a complete rough draft, on this level, of the entire thing before I start posting to Ao3 but I have no self control so posting on Tumblr is how I deal with that.  😂 I’m anticipating ~25 chapters.  

--

Jason was awake the moment his bedroom door opened. 

Sitting up, ready to defend himself, awake. 

He kind of really hated being tested randomly, but like hell was he going to let some idiot get the best of him, either. 

But, for once, his vigilance wasn’t necessary. Because the person who so rudely barged into his room in the middle of the night was Talia Al Ghul. And Jason was pretty confident she wouldn’t attack him. 

No. Instead, all she did was throw a mostly packed duffle bag at him and start furiously digging through his meager possessions kept in the wardrobe.

“Ugh,” Jason groaned, flopping back on the bed and hiding his face under a pillow, “Can’t we do whatever this is in the morning?” 

He was fine with being shipped off to yet another trainer. It was what he wanted, after all. The training. But did it really have to happen at 2 in the morning?

“Get up,” she hissed, shoving something into the bag that was laying on top of his feet, “we haven’t time for your dramatics.”

Maybe it was the tone of her voice, or the ferocity at which she was throwing Jason’s clothes at his bed, but something made Jason sit straight up and stare at Talia. “What’s going on?”

“Get dressed,” she snapped, and yep. It was the voice. 

Because Talia sounded…. Scared.

She had that protective fierceness about her, the one he’d only ever seen on the streets in Gotham. When muggers were picking on single women with children. Fathers with young children. And…. Bruce… with him. A few times. Back before he let Jason die, then replaced him with a better Robin. 

Not the point. 

Talia was afraid. Afraid and desperate. And Jason couldn’t help but listen. 

He got dressed in about three seconds flat, then helped her finish loading up his bag before slipping on his boots. 

“We have to go,” she said, shoving the bag at him, “the children are already packed. We must leave immediately.” 

“Children?” Jason asked, whispering harshly. 

“Yes.”

All Jason could do was blink, as he followed her out into the corridor, allowing her to keep lookout for who, he didn’t even know. Because he had no idea who Talia was talking about. He had never seen another kid anywhere as long as he’d been with the League. 

Which, granted, it had been barely a year since he ‘woke up’ in that damn pit. But still. There were no kids, as far as he knew. 

“What children, Talia?”

“My children,” she snapped, shooting him such a withering glare that normally would have caused him to sit down and shut up. 

But Jason was going to blame his confusion on being woken so suddenly. “Wait,” he said, stopping in his tracks, even though Talia had a hold of his wrist and was dragging him along, “you have kids?”

“Yes,” she whispered harshly, “And they are in danger. We haven’t time for this. Keep moving.”

There were so many questions swirling around Jason’s head. How many children? How old were they? What were their names? Why had Jason never met them? Or even heard of them? But for some dumb reason, the only question that made it out of his mouth was, “Who’s the father?”

Talia’s glare turned vicious, and Jason knew that was so not the question she wanted to answer at that moment.

Which also answered the question for him.

Because she always got into a mood when he came up, in any context. 

“We are not going to him,” Jason snapped, because if that was Talia’s plan, Jason would not go along. He’d help Talia get whatever kids out, because, hello, the were just children. But that was it. He’d go his own separate way, after. 

“No,” she agreed, “but we must leave.” She jumped, slightly as a door slammed open somewhere down the next corridor, and Jason saw as she turned from frightened to downright determined. 

“There is no time,” she said, pointing down the opposite corridor, “Turn left, then right, then fourth door on the left. Get Mara.”

“Mara,” he whispered, nodding his head. A daughter. Cool. Bruce’s daughter. 

He so couldn’t do this.

Another door slamming pushed Jason forward. From the sounds of it, it was his door, just around the corner. They were running out of time. 

“Meet me by the cliff you like to frequent,” Talia whispered frantically, and Jason nodded. 

Get Mara.

Meet by the cliff.

Don’t think about Bruce.

He could totally do this. 

Jason swore as he ducked around the corner, listening to the footsteps stomping through the building. For a cult obsessed with being ninjas, whoever this dude was they were avoiding was pretty damn loud. 

Almost like he wanted them to know he was coming. 

Left then right, Jason reminded himself, trying not to think about his unknown enemy. 

One door, two doors, three doors…

He quietly cracked the fourth door open and slipped inside, then immediately had to duck. Because the occupant had thrown a dagger at him.

“Shit, can you not?” he snapped, whisper shouting as he put his guard up, “I’m already stressed as fuck as it is. I don’t need this.” 

It was only after he took a breath did he take in the ridiculous little girl, crouched low, standing on her bed. Her hair was sticking out every which way, a red streak prominently hanging right over her eyes. How the hell she could even see was beyond Jason.

“What do you want?” she hissed, in English, which was such a fucking Godsend, because his Arabic was okay, but he was a little high strung and it’s hard to think when he was like that. And he definitely needed to think to speak Arabic. 

When the girl pulled another dagger out of her waistband, Jason snapped, “I’m not here to hurt you. Talia told me to get you and get out.”

“Lady Talia,” Mara asked, because Jason was just going to assume this was Mara. He supposed it could be a different child, but it’s not like kids were common in the League. Jason had thought he was the only one. And yet, apparently there were at least two other fucking kids he didn’t even know about. 

But coincidences were stupid and Jason didn’t believe in them. Talia said this was Mara’s room, so this had to be Mara.

She didn’t look anything like Bruce, though. Jason could see a bit of Talia in her. More of Ra’s, for sure. But nothing to hint she was Bruce’s.

Maybe he’d misread Talia?

Or maybe Mara just lucked out in the roulette wheel of genetics, and got all of the Talia and none of the Bruce. 

That was certainly possible.

“Yes,” Jason whispered, “That is what I said. She told me to get you and bring you to her.”

“Why?” Mara asked, her eyes so narrow, Jason was surprised she could see anything at all. Her demand to know every detail and make her own decisions was definitely a Bruce thing.

“I don’t know,” Jason huffed, “she woke me up throwing shit around demanding I help her save her children. She said you were already packed. Did she lie?”

Mara blinked, seemingly dumbfounded by what Jason had said. It took her a good two seconds to recover, because she asked in sheer disbelief, “And she sent you after me?”

“Yes, Mara,” Jason exasperated, “Do you have a bag? We need to go.”

After hesitating a second longer, Mara jumped down off her bed and pulled a backpack from under it, then slowly stepped closer to Jason.

“Who are you?” she asked, raising one eyebrow at Jason, as if her skepticism could make Jason spill the beans and admit he was actually an assassin there to kill her, “One of Lady Talia’s servants?”

Fuck no.

“Jason Todd, at your service,” he bit out, “now grab your shoes and let’s go.” 

“Where are we going?” she asked as she slipped on her boots. Jason ignored her in favor of listening to the hall outside. He needed to determine whether it was safe out there. 

He had no idea who it was he was running from. The League, he was going to assume. Why else would they be escaping in the middle of the night, in secret? If not to escape the League itself?

But who could he trust? Probably no one. But who could he distrust less? Did every guard and assassin pose a threat to them? Jason knew how to get off the compound without encountering a single guard, of course, but that assumed security hadn’t been heightened. 

Something had to have set Talia off, right? Triggered all this?

Who the hell was actively chasing them?

Jason grabbed Mara’s wrist and dragged her out of the room as soon as she was ready and said, “Hell if I know. Now pipe down.”

Mara yanked her arm away, even as she continued following Jason. “Do not touch me, peasant.” 

“Sor-ry your majesty,” he whispered, straining to hear. He could hear a scuffle down that hall, so he turned the other way. Hopefully it wasn’t Talia. Jason knew she could fend for herself, but he had no idea how old the other kid was. Or kids. He had no idea how many more children there were, either. If Talia was carrying a baby or toddler, fighting would be difficult. 

“Come on,” he told Mara, “Out the back.”

“I am not going anywhere with you.” She planted her feet, nearly stomping one of them, and Jason dreaded having to hoist her up and drag her, kicking and screaming. 

That was not going to be quiet. 

And he’d probably get stabbed a time or two for his efforts.

“Listen,” he whispered, kneeling down and not putting his hands on her shoulders, just barely, “I don’t know what’s going on, either. But Lady Talia was afraid. Of what, I have no idea. But she said you kids are in danger, and we have to get out of here. She told me to come get you and bring you to her.”

Mara faltered and looked at Jason, uneasy. “She really sent you to protect me?”

“Yes. And you’re making it exceptionally difficult. So come on.” 

With a single nod, Mara followed behind. And somehow, they managed to slip out of the building without running into anyone. Not even a guard. Which was just making Jason more wary. 

He decided their best bet for getting outside the compound was by scaling one of the walls. He chose one, on the far side, as far away from any of the guarded entrances as he could. 

But just as they slipped out from behind one building to run behind another, they finally found where some of those missing guards were.

“Fuck,” he said, side stepping a sword as it swung at him. He backflipped to avoid another guard lunging at him and used the momentum to land on the third’s shoulders and knock him off balance. He bashed the hilt of his sword against the guy’s skull, effectively knocking him out. 

Killing these guys was not something he wanted to do. It wasn’t their fault, after all. And Jason had no idea if they were actually on opposite sides. This could all just be one big misunderstanding. 

Mara drew her own sword and lunged at one of the remaining two, so Jason went for the final one. 

“Don’t kill them,” he said, as he watched Mara take a rather risky move, her sword swinging right for her opponent’s neck.

“What?” she hissed, “Why not?”

“They’re just servants, they aren’t our enemy.” 

“Hmph,” she huffed, leaping out of the way of a lunge before she retaliated with her own move, “This is ridiculous.” 

Jason’s guy managed to back him up against the wall, so Jason used it to jump up and over the servant’s head, grabbing hold of the collar of the guy’s robe as he went, bringing him down to the ground. With another quick blow to this one’s head, they were down to just Mara’s opponent.

She was good, Jason could tell. Despite her size, she knew how to wield a sword effectively, and was easily holding her own against the highly trained guardsman. 

But she clearly had no idea how to fight without killing. Jason pulled a knife from his belt, one with a sheath, and threw it at the man. 

The butt of the knife hit him square in the temple, sending him toppling over instantly. Jason retrieved his knife and grabbed Mara’s hand to drag her along to their destination. Because there was no way no one had heard that scuffle. 

“I had him,” she snarled, snatching her hand away from Jason, “I did not require your assistance.”

“Yeah, I believe you. Running low on time here, though.”

“Why did they attack us in the first place?” she asked, her voice only slightly lowered. It was kind of pissing Jason off. They needed stealth here. For the child of a cult obsessed with being shadows, this little girl could be fucking loud. 

“Less talking, more running.” 

Mara sighed loudly, but thankfully did shut the fuck up. 

At the wall, Jason quickly hoisted Mara up and over, then tossed both their bags after her. She seemed only slightly reluctant to leave the compound, but clearly they weren’t safe inside anymore, so Jason guessed that’s why she didn’t give him more lip over it. Jason just hoped Talia would be at the cliff to explain to her kid what the fuck was happening.

He backed up several long strides, so he could get a good running start at the wall. Just as he was about to run, he heard the sound of quiet feet on gravel headed in his direction. As quickly as he could, he ran at the wall and propelled himself up and over as quietly as he could, then landed gracefully next to Mara. 

“Why did those servants attack us?” Mara demanded, her arms crossed when she should have been admiring how sick Jason’s landing was, “Are we defecting? Because I do not wish to defect.”

“Fuck if I know,” he said, grabbing his bag and shoving hers back at her, since she hadn’t even bothered to pick them up from where they landed. 

“That is not an acceptable answer!” 

“I’m sorry but I don’t fucking know,” he snapped, as quietly as he could while directing her away from the wall. Where sound most certainly could travel across. And, like, reveal their location. 

When, after they’d gone about fifteen yards further down the hill, away from the compound, Mara planted her feet and refused to move any further, Jason growled and turned to face her. “Talia woke me up, threw a bag at me, and told me to come get you. That’s all the information I have.” 

Mara narrowed her eyes, so Jason just groaned and ran his hand over his face. 

Talia owed him so much for this.

“Talia will meet us out by the cliff,” Jason added, hoping the promise of seeing Talia would calm Mara. Maybe. Just a little? Please?

But of course it didn’t. Just made her more suspicious. “You keep calling her that.”

“What?” he asked, because now he was just lost. Kept calling her what? Talia? That was her fucking name. He wasn’t gonna go calling her mom like this girl probably did. Or mother. Talia seemed like the kind of woman who would teach her children to call her ‘mother.’ 

“It is disrespectful. I do not believe she would allow a servant to address her as such.”

Kid or not, Jason just wanted to smack her now. Yep. Smacking her would be fun. If the other kid or kids were just like Mara, Jason would have to learn more restraint than he already had to prevent from actually smacking children. 

Child abuse. Bad.

“I’m not one of her servants.”

Fear flashed across Mara’s face, quickly replaced by skepticism. She took a step back and grasped onto the hilt of her sword as she asked, “Then what are you?” 

Jason threw his hands up, hoping to convey that he wasn’t gonna fucking hurt her. 

“I’m— I don’t know” her lover’s charity case? Her enemy’s former partner? “Her project? Protégée? Something like that. She trains me.”

“Why have I never heard of you?” 

“I don’t know,” he exasperated, “Why have I never heard of you? I thought I was the only kid in this entire damn compound, but come find out there’s at least two of you.” 

“Everyone knows about Damian and me,” she said, narrowing her eyes again, and shit they didn’t have time for this. 

But also, great. Now he had a name. Damian. Probably a boy. Bruce’s son. Fantastic…

“Well Talia didn’t think I needed to know, apparently, can we go now?”

“I don’t trust you,” she said, still not moving. And if glares could kill, Jason would be toast.

“Great. Thanks for telling me, I could fucking tell. Now can we please go to the cliff? If you don’t like what Lady Talia has to say, then you can come back, okay? I don’t give a fuck what you do, as long as you come to the cliff with me to meet Talia.” 

After a moment of contemplation, Mara relaxed and rolled her head. “Fine. But if we are defecting, I will have nothing to do with it. I will turn you all in to Grandfather for your insubordination.”

“Fantastic,” he mumbled, finally turning back around to lead her toward his and Talia’s cliff. It was about a fifteen minute hike, down and around the mountain on which Nanda Parbat sat. They would, thankfully, be out of sight from the compound walls within a couple minutes. 

Mara’s steps behind him weren’t quite silent. Not with the slight crunch of snow under her boots. It was summer, but with as high in the mountains they were, there was never not snow on the ground.

It was rather tiring, in all honesty. Never having a break from the cold. But at least they weren’t in a hot desert, he always reminded himself. There was plenty of water around him, if he had to escape. If he had to run. And, thankfully, Talia had provided him with warm enough clothing that he didn’t usually have a problem. Besides, it would only be a days hike before they were low enough to feel the summer heat. 

He hoped that wasn’t what they were about to do. Because hiking through the mountains with few provisions was not on his bucket list. No sir. No thank you. Especially not with a couple brats, assuming Damian was just as bad as Mara. 

Whatever was going on, though, Jason had a feeling it was bad. 

#Jason todd #fanfiction #jtat3t #mara al ghul #Talia al Ghul

[warehouse13pod]

Show Notes 108A Duped - Part 1

Down the rabbit hole we go, Agents!

Here they are! At long, long last—the show notes for 108 “Duped!”

These notes cover 108 “Duped” Part 1.

You can listen to it in this embedded player:

Or on Youtube:

Let’s jump right in! 

Miranda and I started this episode with some fun facts about ourselves. Mine was that I once got a pillow from Sargento that said “Sweet dreams are made of cheese,” because I complimented it online.

First of all, here’s the song it references.

Now, here are the tweets of how it happened. Here’s the Tweet I saw from Warehouse 13 co-creator and legendary TV writer/producer, Jane Espenson and the conversation that followed:

And at this very moment, that pillow is serving as a laptop cushion.

Now, onto the show.

This week’s writer appreciation focused on another writing team, Benjamin Raab and Deric A. Hughes who shared some awesome behind-the-scenes pix with us on twitter! After we released the episode, Ben tweeted at us and told us the crew let Ben and Deric cameo on every episode they wrote/produced. Here’s the pic from “Duped!” They were on the elevator with Pete!

We got that tweet and some good corrections and fun facts from Ben and Deric themselves! What up, dudes‽

Miranda says that we start the episode “en media res” which means “in the middle of things” in Latin. Here’s a link to what it means in terms of narrative storytelling.

Later, we also compared Myka’s dress in the pilot…

…to her dress in Duped.

Great work by the costuming/hair/makeup team on emphasizing all the subtle ways that Myka was Not Normal™

Because we love to give due credit, so, the people responsible are

Costuming: Joanne Hanson

Hair: Susan Exton-Stranks

Makeup: Marie Nardella

We also have a good laugh talking about how Pete miscategorizes Alice in Wonderland as Chick Lit.

Alice in Wonderland is obviously not Chick Lit (although there’s nothing wrong with Chick Lit).

This led us to a brief discussion of how Miranda’s sister trolls her by calling “Doctor Who” Mister Who. That already wasn’t accurate, but now it’s especially inaccurate as The Doctor is a woman! As a side note, I personally would buy a T-Shirt that said “Mister Who” on it just to make a laugh. Anyone else? Anyone?

Next up, Miranda noticed that Pete was wearing a North Canton, Ohio t-shirt and connected the dots that Eddie McClintock himself is from North Canton. Further proof that Eddie and Pete are essentially the same person.

Speaking of Eddie, this is also the episode where we learned that Eddie was voted the 82nd Sexiest Man Alive, according to TVBuddy. Alas, alack, the link to the list is now dead. So I can’t link it. I tried.

Next, we talked about how amazing Eddie is at doing an impersonation of Myka sticking her neck out when she’s mad.

In the Warehouse, an artifactified disco ball plays Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.”

Here’s that song:

When Act II starts we get some really orange lighting that plays right into our color theory. I couldn’t find a picture of that scene and Amazon won’t let me screenshot, but, in general, most cinematography of Myka in this episode is very orange. Here are a couple examples of how orange most things are that involve Alice in this episode:

Then we talked about how weird it was when Myka actually took one of Artie’s pastries.

Actual footage of my face when she took one:

Actual footage of my face when she took SECONDS:

Then we got the introduction of Gary and Jillian Whitman—this week’s red herring bad guys and focus of this week’s dual Actor’s Spotlight, courtesy of Miranda.

Gary was played by Niall Matter.

Miranda recommended watching the TV show he was on called The Best Years.

Jillian (my name-thief) was played by Erica Cerra.

Miranda noticed a subtle Walt Whitman reference and gave the dates of his life and Lewis Carroll’s/Charles Dodgson’s life.

Walt Whitman: 1819 - 1892

Lewis Carroll/Charles Dodgson: 1832 - 1898

There will be a lot more information about Lewis Carroll/Charles Dodgson in the show notes for Part 2 of this episode.

Then we talked about how Artie was a tad too aggressive in telling Claudia to “back off!” and how this all reminded us of a scene in The Importance of Being Earnest where two characters grumpily eat cakes. Miranda later specified that it reminded her of the scene where Jack and Algernon eat muffins. Meanwhile, it reminded me of the scene where Gwendolen and Cecily get passive-aggressive over whether tea should be enjoyed with bread and butter or with cake.

Here’s a snippet of the scene Miranda was thinking of:

 Algernon.  If it was my business, I wouldn’t talk about it.  [Begins to eat muffins.]  It is very vulgar to talk about one’s business.  Only people like stock-brokers do that, and then merely at dinner parties.

Jack.  How can you sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in this horrible trouble, I can’t make out.  You seem to me to be perfectly heartless.

Algernon.  Well, I can’t eat muffins in an agitated manner.  The butter would probably get on my cuffs.  One should always eat muffins quite calmly.  It is the only way to eat them.

Jack.  I say it’s perfectly heartless your eating muffins at all, under the circumstances.

Here’s a snippet of the scene I was thinking of:

Cecily.  May I offer you some tea, Miss Fairfax?

Gwendolen.  [With elaborate politeness.]  Thank you.  [Aside.]  Detestable girl!  But I require tea!

Cecily.  [Sweetly.]  Sugar?

Gwendolen.  [Superciliously.]  No, thank you.  Sugar is not fashionable any more. [Cecily looks angrily at her, takes up the tongs and puts four lumps of sugar into the cup.]

Cecily.  [Severely.]  Cake or bread and butter?

Gwendolen.  [In a bored manner.]  Bread and butter, please.  Cake is rarely seen at the best houses nowadays.

Cecily.  [Cuts a very large slice of cake, and puts it on the tray.]  Hand that to Miss Fairfax.

[Merriman does so, and goes out with footman.  Gwendolen drinks the tea and makes a grimace.  Puts down cup at once, reaches out her hand to the bread and butter, looks at it, and finds it is cake.  Rises in indignation.]

Gwendolen.  You have filled my tea with lumps of sugar, and though I asked most distinctly for bread and butter, you have given me cake.  I am known for the gentleness of my disposition, and the extraordinary sweetness of my nature, but I warn you, Miss Cardew, you may go too far. 

Both of those scenes take place in Act II.

If you read nothing else in these show notes STOP AND WATCH THE FOLLOWING CLIP!

Here’s a clip from an early movie adaptation of The Importance of Being Earnest that features my favorite line delivery of anything ever:

Good luck ever looking at a handbag without thinking of that again.

While we’re on the subject, I played Cecily in the Importance of Being Earnest, so I’m legally obligated to share a couple photos of that as proof:

As a final note on the matter, you can read the entire play from project Gutenberg here (and I recommend that you do, because it’s one of my all-time faves.).

Later, Miranda and I wondered if the infinity tattoo on Myka’s ankle was Joanne Kelly’s or was something Alice did when they got to Vegas. I think someone tweeted at us about this awhile ago. If anyone has that info, I’ll update the show notes with that and credit to the Tweeter.

After that, we discussed Myka’s/Alice’s casual mention of Carson’s Rule of Linear Transfer and her assertion that it means “forced outcomes require tangency.” I posited that this rule is not a mathematic or scientific principle but rather a warehouse-specific rule. The only Carson’s Rule that Miranda and I could find when researching this was an unrelated rule about bandwidth. If you’re super into telecommunications, you can read more about Carson’s Banwidth Rule here.

Backing up a little bit in the episode, we discussed a little bit about the history of disco and disco clubs via exerpts from a written interview with Professor Carol Cooper.

She spoke with us about Studio 54, Vaughn Harper, and the roots of a Studio 54 laying in a black-owned club called Leviticus.

I didn’t mention it in the episode, but that makes the club in Empire (also named Leviticus) a truly nicely named homage to history. Bustle.com did a deep dive on that fact here.

Relatedly, when the disco ball drops earlier in the warehouse, Claudia does her own take on the Saturday Night Fever dance…

…then devastates Artie by incorrectly dating the Disco Era. Find approximate dates and more info here.

Then Miranda compared Deanna Troi from Star Trek: The Next Generation and Tara Maclay from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

First of all, the episode of Buffy that we referenced was Season 4, Episode 16 “Who Are You?”

Second of all, we made a Buffy reference, so… You know… Take a shot.

Then we talked about Myka’s reaction to Pete referencing a rabbit’s foot as a lucky charm.

That was both a great reference to the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland…

…and a great reference to keychains from the 1990s and early 2000s. For those who don’t understand that reference, I was gonna link to some funny pictures from that era, but googling “rabbit’s foot” actually led me to down a sad path, so… like.. Not gonna share that.

Then we talked about how Pete saying “Kirk out

…was an improvised line that referenced Captain James T. Kirk on Star Trek: The Original Series and the communicators they used as well as to the flip phones from the era just before warehouse 13 premiered.

Then, both Ben Raab and Eddie McClintock explained that the reaction on set to Eddie saying “Kirk out!” looked something like this…

…until the network gave them the all-clear.

Winding things down for this episode, Miranda and I figured out what a Roulette table looked like:

…and appreciated Claudia’s knowledge of CIA laser mics. Turns out, laser microphones are really a thing!

Finally, for this week’s

~HEAVY THEMES~

…we talked about how off-putting Miranda and I found it when Alice (as Myka) drank both on the job and in front of Pete.

Not all people in recovery are triggered when people drink around them, but some are.

Here is an article from American Addiction Centers on how best to support an alcoholic and support their recovery.

If anyone has resources that they find helpful, we’re always happy to add them to these show notes or create a page devoted to resources for things discussed in our Heavy Themes sections. 

And, with that, we are done with Part 1!

 See you next time, Agents.

#108 Duped #108 Duped Part 1 #108 A Duped #108 A Duped Part 1 #108 #heavy themes #alice in wonderland #alice liddell #vegas #las vegas #lewis carol #studio 54 #disco

[firebirdsdaughter]

Random Writing Tidbit That Is Longish…

… This is a kids’ show, I say.

I’m not a big fan of unnecessary edge, I say.

And then I come up w/ stuff like this. ^^;

So this is really messy and not great, but the idea wouldn’t leave my head.

In case anyone was wondering, this is why I was looking up stuff about Russian Roulette—bc I do not actually know much about guns. I eventually reached this version after a bit of debating about what to do.

This is also kind of a follow up on ‘Jin is the only person Horobi lets touch him, esp his head’ idea.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Horobi! You’re hurt!” The alarum in Jin’s voice was coupled with a reach for the gash on Horobi’s head, one hand tugging a little at the covering, torn slightly by the same attack.

“It’s fine.” Horobi snapped, returning to his seat at the computer.

Jin, however, was not satisfied. Pouting, he refused to be shaken off; taking proper hold of Horobi’s head wrap, he pulled it off himself, determinedly ignoring the small, irritated look and eye roll he got. Setting the wrap down, he turned back to examine the cut, trying to hold Horobi’s head still while the other HumaGear kept trying to work. “… It’s not fine.” He grumbled. “Horobi should take better care of his head.” After dabbing at the blue dripping from the cut with a sleeve, Jin turned away to search for something else, still holding Horobi’s head. “After all, it’s-”

When his son’s voice didn’t restart, Horobi frowned, pausing to turn his chair. “… Jin?” The other HumaGear was frozen, just standing there, one hand still sitting on Horobi’s hair. “Jin.” After another moment, Jin shuddered back to life, turning back to the cut on Horobi’s brow without a word, his other hand raising again to reach the end of the wound by the remains of Horobi’s earpiece. The frown deepened slightly. “Jin, are you alright?” His son still said nothing, fingertips drifting down to the damaged section of Horobi’s head, pressing closer than they ever had before, actually reaching right into the broken parts and wiring. But because it was Jin, it didn’t hurt at all—even when something clicked, then snapped.

His visual display flickered, and he was only vaguely aware of Jin’s touch vanishing from his head. He knew about the disconnect from his body even before the damage alert came up, when he tried to reach for his son, whether for his comfort or Jin’s, he didn’t know—only to find he couldn’t move at all. Jin stepped out of reach regardless, his ams dropping to his sides. “Jin…!?”

“He can’t hear you.” Announced a dreadfully familiar voice, and a white-clad figure stepped into view from behind Jin, standing out in the darkness of the room. Horobi struggled to move even more desperately in the silence that followed, frantically trying to reach his son. The screen of a device in Thouser’s hand flickered, and he glanced down at it, then chuckled slightly. “… Don’t bother.” The man drawled, sidling over to stand in front of Horobi. “I had him disable your motor functions.” Jin remained completely still, like he wasn’t even registering the human’s presence.

Finding his eyes still working, Horobi shifted his gaze to glare at the man. “What did you do to Jin?!”

Thouser laughed again, moving to lean on the edge of the computer box. “Oh, nothing unusual. We had to alter the program a little because he was so unique, but eventually it took on well enough.” He looked the still-frozen Jin over with another chuckle. “Suits him, really.”

Horobi scowled, glaring as best he could. “You…” The word was a furious hiss.

Thouser smirked again, straightening to close in and circle around Horobi’s chair. “It’s your own fault, you know.” A hand came roughly down on Horobi’s shoulder, an unwanted and horribly familiar contact that made every alarum in his system go off. “See, I noticed something. After the procedure, you got all paranoid. Wouldn’t let anyone, not even other HumaGears, near enough to touch you. But…” Another hand slammed down on his other shoulder, jostling him uncomfortably, making his hand drop to his side from where it had been resting on the edge of the computer. Gripping the paralysed HumaGear by the shoulders, Thouser forcibly turned him and the chair to face Jin. “… You let him touch you. Even your head.” One hand moved to prod carelessly at the disfigured part of Horobi’s head, and Thouser smirked when the HumaGear winced, unable to flinch away. “Goes without saying your damaged parts are your weak point, but we’d never had a way to get to them before. But with him…” The man’s arm reached around, grabbing Horobi’s face roughly by the chin and forcing him to look up at Jin’s expressionless face—his son’s eyes were empty, void of his usual brightness, and his smile was replaced by a stony blankness that didn’t belong there; he was staring through both Horobi and Thouser like he couldn’t see them. Thouser’s hand on Horobi’s chin was gripping so tightly that it would have hurt had he been human, but was unpleasant in another way. “… There was a way. All we had to was get to the one you trusted. Growing a heart is what left you open to attack.” With a small shove, Thouser released Horobi’s chin as unceremoniously as he had grabbed it, sending his head bouncing again until it fell against his shoulder. Straightening up, Thouser paused only to grab a handful of his hair to yank his head back upright, making sure he was still facing Jin as the man circled back around to his son’s side, leaning infuriatingly casually on Jin’s shoulder like the HumaGear was a bookcase. “And now here we are.”

“What do you want?” Each word was level—not from calmness, but from sheer rage.

Thouser smirked. “From you?” His tone was light and casual, in comparison. “All I need is admin access for the Ark.”

“You’d have to kill me first.”

Thouser laughed, a terrible, grating sound, from Horobi’s perception. “I figured you’d say something like that—but I also know you’ve never once feared for your own life. But then I thought…” He straightened up, keeping a hand on Jin’s shoulder. “… What about his?” Horobi stopped breathing, his voice abandoning him, unable to react, or even tense from anger and rising desperation and panic. Thouser saw it in his face regardless, and the smirk broadened into a grin. “That’s what I thought. So…” The man reached into his coat with his free hand. “Let’s play a game.” The hand returned with a revolver. Turning back towards Jin, Thouser let go of his shoulder to pull the HumaGear’s wrist up and tuck the weapon into his hand, curling Jin’s finger around the trigger. “Hold that for me, would you? Just… Like…” Hauling Jin’s arm up the rest of the way, he positioned the hand so that the muzzle was pressed against Jin’s temple. “… That.” The man stepped back, holding out his own arms like an artist displaying their work, then pivoted to face Horobi again. “Last chance before we start.”

After a bit of struggling, Horobi found some of his voice, an enraged whisper through gritted teeth. “You expect me to believe you’d damage Jin? You’re too greedy for that.”

Thouser let out another nasty chuckle, pacing back around to get behind Horobi again. “Ah, but we also have you.” The hands came down on his shoulders again, this time nearer to his neck like they were ready to curl around it. “You remember making him, don’t you? So all we’d need to do is go back through your memory to repair him—and there’s no way you don’t have backups hidden away. Which also means we can do this as many times as we need to for you to transfer the admin info. So…” The man leaned down to talk right into where Horobi’s earpiece had once been, clearly enjoying Horobi’s desperate attempt to flinch away from the sound even though he couldn’t move. In general, anyone but Jin getting that close was already unbearable—but it being Thouser was infinitely worse, the man’s very voice sending him spiralling back into the memories of the day he’d lost a part of himself. But then the hands tightened a bit around his neck, and the awful voice continued, “… How many times are you willing to watch him die?” Horobi’s voice caught again, and Thouser’s terrible laugh reverberated against his back again at his silence. “Well, if you’ve got nothing to say…” The words were punctuated with a firm nod toward Jin—who obediently pulled the trigger. Horobi’s eyes snapped closed.

There was a sharp click, and nothing more.

Very slowly, Horobi reopened his eyes to find the exact same scene he had closed them against. Still horribly close, Thouser laughed again. “Looks like you got lucky.” The man shook him once more, though not enough to move his head and let him look away. “Know how Russian Roulette works? There’s one live shot in the chamber, and I alone know where. You have until it goes off to give me the admin access.” There was another click as the hammer swung into another empty slot. One of Thouser’s hands moved to dangle his phone near Horobi’s face. “… Better hurry up before he finds it.”

Jin pulled the trigger again, followed by a fourth, harmless click. When his son’s finger began to pull back for a fifth time, Horobi broke, closing his eyes even as he gave the internal command. Thouser’s phone flickered, then beeped, and the man mercifully moved back, releasing Horobi’s shoulders, to look at it. “There you go.” He announced with malicious cheer, stepping back around Horodi’s chair. “Was that so hard?” He looked up at Jin and waved a dismissive hand. “You can put that down.” Jin immediately did as ordered, arm dropping back to his side as Thouser came back over to him. “… Because now…”  The man paused by Jin’s side to take the revolver back, tucking it safely away in his coat again, then looking back up to give Horobi another cruel smile. “… We don’t need you anymore.” He turned briefly back to Jin. “You can use your own, this time.” On cue, Jin pulled his personal firearm from it’s holster, flipping the safety off and stepping forward to set the barrel against the side of Horobi’s head, right against the damaged part, without a single hesitation.

“Don’t worry,” Thouser continued with the same faux friendliness, slinging an arm casually around Jin’s shoulders— Jin didn’t react at all, remaining expressionless, the gun still levelled at Horobi’s head, even when the man patted his shoulder. “… I’ll take good care of him. He won’t remember a thing. So…” There was a malicious glee in his eyes that was impossible to miss. “… If you have anything to say, say it now.” Moving back, the man made a grand, sweeping gesture with his arm, bowing deeply. “I’ll leave you two to yourselves.” With a spring in his step, he disappeared from Horobi’s line of sight, behind Jin, towards the door.

There was a silence between them—Jin still blank and cold, void of any emotion, Horobi feeling more than he could remember feeling at any other point in his existence.

Finally, he found his voice again. “It’s alright.” He told his son quietly, well aware that the words fell on deaf ears. “It’s alright.” There were tears he couldn’t shed in his voice, forcing himself to look into the empty eyes and admit the one secret he’d always kept the closest. “… You’re my missing piece.”

There was a massive eruption of sound next to his head when the gun fired, and he felt it when the bullet first hit, setting off every single alarum in his system—and then everything shorted out.

Horobi slumped sideways out of the chair, collapsing to the ground and lying still. For a moment, Jin, too, was completely motionless—then Thouser banged on the door and whistled like he was calling a dog. With slow, uncharacteristically mechanical motions, Jin snapped the safety back on and re-holstered the gun, falling back; he held for another spell, staring down at Horobi for a little longer. The banging on the door grew louder, and the whistle harsher. Still abnormally rigid, he twirled on his heel and trudged out the door after Thouser—leaving Horobi alone on the floor.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sooooo… Thouser’s a shit in this version. I don’t know his name yet, so I was just bouncing back and forth between ‘Thouser’ and ‘the man’ and ‘the human.’ Bc I consider reusing the same noun multiple times to be too repetitive. ^^;

Anyway. Hope this came out comprehensibly enough to be slightly enjoyable.

#Random Writing Tidbit #Kamen Rider Zero-One #Kamen Rider Zero One #Zero-One Spoilers #Zero One Spoilers #MetsubouJinrai.fam #my precious evil stoic scorpion dad #my precious evil cutie falcon son #I'm sorry boys #for anyone wondering where Ansatsu-chan is #he was out #he comes in after #bc I have obviously planned what happens next #like I would leave my husband like this ^^ >//////////////////< #Binary Retro Rider

[theashofwkm]

Sly Invitation

Summary: In which William’s trust in an old friend leads to a dreadful, irreversible mistake.

Prompt: Betrayal

Warnings: I say the f word once, angst, death, Russian Roulette, someone gets shot, Will loses his mind a little.

Note: I was kinda clueless on what to do for a while because I didn’t want to do something obvious, but I saw a post (don’t remember from who) about Will coming to the party to make amends and it all came together. Hope you enjoy! <3

———

William had been surprised when a letter came in the mail for him. He knew who it was from, recognizing the scrawl forming his name and gold seal sticking it shut.

He knew Mark was reaching out to him.

It was something he never expected — he had broken his heart, after all. He had taken what Mark took pride in, what he loved. He had stolen his wife, his money, his fame and glory.

So he opens the envelope carefully, slowly. It is sacred, to him. A message he believed would never come but one he always hoped for. The flap opens and William hesitates.

Part of him doesn’t want to open it, doesn’t want to know what it says. Part of him thinks this is an elaborate attempt at a ‘fuck you’, but what if it isn’t? What if it is a serious attempt to reach out? To try to rekindle their brotherhood?

He pulls out the letter inside and finds that it is a simple invitation. To a party he’s holding. William both relaxes some and tenses some.

It won’t be just him. There will be others — to act as icebreakers or buffers or whatever else. There will be others to ease the tension between the shattered bond of two brothers. He decides to go.

He’s missed Mark.

He dresses his best on the day of the party. He throws on his old military uniform and wonders what Mark will call him. (William, Colonel — are they still friends?)

He arrives on time, but his feet are stuck outside the door. He can hear muffled conversation and he fears that he is the last to arrive. He fears that Mark will take his tardiness as unwillingness to reconcile and that he has lost his chance to fix what he has done.

Debating, he hovers outside the door, half of him screaming to leave and the other half to stay.

Mark is your brother, the latter says.

The former rebuts. You broke his heart. He won’t forgive that.

So he stays, desperately wishing for something he believes he won’t have, unwilling to give up on it, but too afraid to face the possibility of failure.

The possibility of losing Mark for good.

Because, yes, William had slept with Celine, but he’d never wanted to lose Mark as a brother, never wanted him to suffer because of a stupid mistake he made.

It was a mistake he’d regretted almost immediately. But he couldn’t resist. Celine was beautiful, was kind and a tiny shred of his heart loved her. So when he had the opportunity for a one time thing, he’d taken it.

Except it hadn’t been a one time thing, had been more and before William knew it, he was head over heels for his best friend’s wife.

He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn her down, to stop loving her. The whole thing left a bitter taste on his tongue and he hates how everything turned out.

Celine had left him a few months after her divorce with Mark went through. He loved her, but she hadn’t been worth losing Mark. Maybe she would be, if she stayed, if William truly got to call her his, but she didn’t, so he doesn’t know.

He turns when he hears footsteps, is startled and relieved to see another party goer arriving. “Oh, bully! And here I thought I was going to be the last guest to arrive.” He laces his fingers behind his back, cheerful if only by force. “My friends call me the Colonel,” he says. “You’re welcome to do the same, should it please you.”

William pauses a moment, thinking that perhaps he rambled a little. He struggles to recover. “But, uh, after you,” he gestures, pointing them to the door.

Once inside, Ben greets the new person and they make their way to Damien. Seeing him tugs at Will’s heart. He lingers in the door, knowing that Ben had ignored him, had not greeted him or asked for his invitation. But he hadn’t asked him to leave, either. He supposes his presence must be hard for everyone, including himself. He’s only standing for a moment before Mark makes his appearance, dramatic and perfectly timed as always.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all,” he begins, eyes catching William’s for a brief moment. It warms him a little, seeing that Mark hasn’t really changed, despite what had gone down between them. He thanks everyone and rambles just a tiny bit, encouraging them all to drink. Ben is ushered to his side and Will gratefully accepts the liquid courage, striding to meet Mark at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hello, old friend,” he greets, feeling awkward and out of place. He’s not sure if Mark is a friend, but he’s not corrected, so he continues. “Do you happen to have anything stronger then this?” He lifts his small empty glass.

Mark lights up a little. “For you, of course.”

He orders Ben to go get him something stronger, something bigger. The first sip of his new drink tells Will that it’s his favorite whiskey.

Mark thumps Will on the back. “Shall we start the poker now?” The smile he’s displaying is blinding. William wasn’t sure if he’d ever see it directed at him again. It’s nice to see, he can’t stop staring. It’s relieving to know that he hadn’t broken Mark entirely.

“Come on, then, Colonel,” he teases lightly. “To the game room. Have you forgotten where it lies already?”

He’s almost offended, but the light in Mark’s eyes is unmistakeable. He scoffs. “Of course not! I know this house like the back of my hand.” The two men grin ruefully at each other for a moment, bad blood and betrayal forgotten.

“Go on, then,” Mark says, pushing Will. “I’ll gather the others.”

Everyone settles in and they play a cutthroat game of poker, even if it’s just made intense by the ample amounts of booze Ben provides. Mark, as usual, doesn’t drink.

The party makes it way from focusing on poker and old bonds and more about just being drunk. Will wrestles with Abe quite a bit, playfully shooting him and throughly enjoying the night.

He’s really glad he decided to come.

A few hours in, everyone partied out and at the stage of drunk where they’re just pointlessly blasting music in order to stay awake, Mark invites William to the basement. He agrees, mind muddled and thinks that maybe it’s just to supply him with more whiskey.

But when they get downstairs, Mark grabs the gun from Will’s holster. He freezes, then, sobriety coming back enough for him to feel fear.

“Wha- what are you doing?”

Mark studies the gun in his hand, twisting it to see how the light bounces off the barrel. His face appears empty, but Will knows Mark, and he thinks it’s regret he sees in the set of his eyes. It’s something sullen, something dark.

“I want to play a game with you, Colonel.” He stops examining the gun, lifting his head to meet Will’s face. “I know this evening has been rather light hearted, but I’m afraid I’ve been putting on a bit of a show.”

His neck bobs upwards at that, the admission of his insincerity of the night getting to him. He never did like to admit his wrongdoings. “I think,” he began again, voice a little stronger and backed by steel. “That we’re both still a little hurt by the fiasco with Celine, right?”

Will nods hesitantly, wondering what his affair with Celine has to do with a game, or what it has to do with his gun.

“I do want to make things up with you, old friend,” Mark says, sounding so sincere and sad that it breaks William’s heart all over again.

(It really is a shame that William never learned how to tell his acting from truth.)

“But I think we need to do something first, to rid the bad blood between us.”

William — the Colonel, is still lost, not connecting anything Mark is doing. “I’d like that too,” he admits. “I’ve missed you.”

A tendon in Mark’s jaw jumps at that. “How about a round of Russian Roulette then? We load one bullet into the gun and take our shot. If it’s a blank, then all is forgiven.” The gun waves through the air, animated by Mark’s fidgeting hands.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if the bullet fires?” It’s a bad idea. A really, really bad idea but... William does want to be friends again. Brothers.

Mark sighs deeply, dropping his arm to his side limply. “Then that person wins.” He seems to think it over some. “What are the odds that it will anyway? One in six? Pretty good odds for what we’re forgetting, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” William agrees. “You’re right. One in six. We’ll take our shot and be brothers again.” His smile is hopeful. Reconciliation is in sight, practically laying in his palm.

“I’ll go first,” Mark says, flipping over the chamber and checking that there’s only one bullet. He whirls it around and points it steadily at Will’s chest.

His heart leaps to his throat. One in six. It’s all over if the bullet fires. Everything they’ve been through, gone. Over an adult’s game of chance. The gun clicks. William is safe.

His eyes shut in relief because one in six isn’t really good odds when his life is on the line. He can hear the gun being fiddled with, but he thinks nothing of it. Mark is probably just giving him a moment to bask in the fact that they are half way there to being brothers again.

“Your turn,” Mark says eventually, pressing the cool metal into Will’s hand. He smiles, as conident as always, holding his arms out to the side in a welcoming gesture. “Let’s get this done with so you can move in, huh? I’ve missed having you in the house.”

Will smiles widely. “I have too,” he says, lifting the gun and pointing the barrel at his heart. Music faintly echoes down the stairs to where the men stand, playing dangerous games in dark rooms.

This time, when the trigger is pulled, the gun doesn’t click. Instead it booms, recoil throwing Will’s arm out of whack because he hadn’t set it, hadn’t expected the bullet to fire.

He rushes to Mark’s side, gun dropping to the stone floor as he presses his hands against Mark’s heart. He’s not breathing, his heart isn’t beating and Will begins to panic.

What has he done?

Blood begins to seep through the red of Mark’s robe and Will jerks away. He wipes the little blood staining his palms on the sleeve of Mark’s robe. He slides his gun into his holster and scrambles for the stairs.

He pauses at the top, takes a moment to hold his breath and gather himself. Abe practically tackles him as soon as he rejoins them and they tussle for a bit before they all head to bed, tired from all the drinking.

William doesn’t sleep. Out of curiosity, he opens the chamber of his gun, sliding it out to see what should be empty slots. All of them full, except one.

It seems that Mark had rigged their game. Driving Will to murder - his murder.

William shoves his gun under his pillow and tries to forget the way the gun echoes in his ear. Tries to forget that this whole night was a sham, a ploy by Mark to play a game of Russian Roulette purposefully gone south.

It turns out Will had broken Mark more then he’d thought. He supposes it’s fair that Mark broke him in return.

———

Masterlist

Sorry I’ve been so inactive lately with writing, but I’m trying to get back into things!

TAGGING: @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @electricprincess888 @berrie-b @mackenziplier @gerardwayslips @risiskifi @cawestad @theinvisiblespoon @californiakxng @just-another-starfish @superawesomeamazingname @moonstonefox12 @bones-and-tomes @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @itsbumblebunnybee @noisyfreakpersonlover @nightmarejim @schuyleryette @withjust-a-bite @statictay @harmonyofstars @cosmic-frapuccino @jmweezy

#my writing #wkm #who killed markiplier #wkm william #wkm colonel #wkm mark #actor mark #wkm angst #my angst

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Another Set of Updates

Okay, gonna try to keep this as brief as possible!

My poll regarding which Kidge-a-Palooza AU I should turn into a story proper is still available: [here]. I’m gonna leave it up for another week or so, so please give it a vote if you haven’t already!

Chapter 4 of Here (In Your Arms) is up and available: [here].

Chapter 2 of Paint me in Trust is up and available: [here].

Chapter 2(6) of Time, Space and Everything Between is up and available: [here].

Since the update for Time, Space and Everything Between is up, I wanted to clarify a few things about where it’ll be going from hence forth. That information (spoiler free) can be found below for those that are interested.

Okay, so, confession time! This fic wasn’t supposed to become what it is now. Originally, I planned for this fic to be about six/ seven chapters and go in a somewhat different direction than it has. There was going to be an entire chapter dedicated just to the Kogane and Holt families bonding. The rescue of Shiro was going to go almost the same as it did in the series canon, with Keith being kept on Earth with his father using his camouflage device and entering the Garrison in hopes of snuffing out who the Blue Paladin was. The only big changes to it that I intended to make was Keith and Pidge knowing each other prior, Keith actually being a Galra, and when they head back to the shack, they’re greeted by Papa Kogane. From there, I was planning to end the fic with them going through the wormhole and implying events played out mostly the same as canon. But, then I decided I didn’t really like that idea either, so then I thought I’d go the route of letting Keith grow up with the Holt’s. Like, Ethan moving out there and Krolia leaving Keith on Earth to have a tradional human childhood.

As you can see, I didn’t end up doing any of that. And you may be wondering why.

Because the last season of Voltron left me that disappointed but I will admit I had issues with the show even before that Spit-in-the-Face ending but we’ll get there and I was raised by parents who said “If you don’t know how you’d improve something, you shouldn’t be the one to complain about it.”

Well, fine then. I’m gonna do just that.

ALSO I WANT TO CLARIFY that I am NOT saying I could have written the show better than the show runners themselves! I’ve never been in the position(s) they were in. I do, however, have the benefit of hindsight, which allows me to look at where the show succeeded and failed respectively, and take steps that I think would offer a more cohesive, enjoyable story-telling experience as a whole. I am taking the things that I, personally, took issue with, as well as some of the bigger things I’ve seen the fandom at large take issue with. At the end of the day, though, most of these decisions will be made from my own personal desires/ whims (since, you know, ship-feels and all that jazz). I will, however, be open to criticism from any and all who read my fics, so please feel free to tell me what you think does or doesn’t work as we go along.

I’m gonna break this down into four main categories down below; Things I’m Adding, Things I’m Cutting, Things I’m Adjusting, and Cut Fic Content. All but one of these is pretty self-explanatory, I think, but I promise to explain that little oddity when we get there. I’ll also touch on what and why I chose to approach certain things the way that I did.

Things I’m Adding

Melenor and Garett

Queen Melenor is kind of an anomaly in the series, don’t you think? It was kind of implied throughout most of the series proper that she died while Allura was still pretty young, which would have made a lot more sense for both Allura’s relationship with Alfor, as well as why Alfor was so distant from Zarkon when Daibazaal began tattering at the seams. But then Season 8 happened and threw all that out the window! All of a sudden, Melenor’s death suddenly carries this great significance for Allura, to the point she has a hallucination about her. Plus, it also kinda throws a wrench into scenes from the earlier seasons. Allura specifically says “Zarkon killed my Father and my Mother!” but… If Melenor was killed by Zarkon, where was she during the fall of Altea? Why wasn’t she with her daughter and husband in the final moments? And it makes even less sense when you look at that first scene where Allura and Coran were introduced. There were eight pods there. You mean to tell me Alfor didn’t think it might be a good idea to save an extra body or two to help guide Allura as she steps into the role she will have to take once he’s gone? Or even to help with maintaining/ rebuilding the Castle of Lions?

So, I’ve decided to add Melenor as a way to give some more characterization to not only she herself as a character, but also Alfor. Plus, I decided to make use of Garett (whose name I spell differently for reasons), Coran’s son from the original series, too. I think it’d be more fun to have an extra set of hands on board to help maintain the Castle of Lions and teach the Paladins, but maybe closer to their age range. So, we’ll see how things go with adding him to the roster. :3

Backstory for the Blades

This was something that we should have gotten a little bit of exposition on, considering how inflated their importance got. Like, the Blade became instrumental to the functionality of both Voltron and the Rebels due to their intelligence gathering. I think it’d have been kind of cool to see where it all started and what events in specific triggered it into becoming.

More Focus on Team Relationships

I didn’t really feel like the big victory against Zarkon was earned at the end of Season 2. I also didn’t think the team really earned any of their bigger victories, such as against Lotor and Honerva. They never felt like a real team that meshed because they just kinda stuck the same pairs/ clicks together. This was my biggest issue throughout most of the show and I really want to explore the dynamics we never really got to see. There are a few standout relationships that definitely needed some retooling, but I’ll mention those farther down. 

More Alien Worlds

Sci-fi and Fantasy are my big genres because I. Fudgin. Love seeing the designs for different technology, worlds and races. And while we did get some interesting ones with the series proper - which I’ll be mostly still including - I wish we’d gotten to see more. So, because I have no self-control, I’ll be planning to do that here!

Shiro’s Love Life

Shiro deserved better. I feel like that’s kind of something that most of the fandom can agree on. I don’t say this from a place of hate for Curtis, though, because… Well, what is there to hate? He was a literal background character who did nothing, said maybe two lines of dialogue, and that was it. Considering how much they pushed Shiro being the rep for the LGBT+ crowd, they did literally nothing with his love life. Hell, Adam was only revealed as his fiance because Bex fought tooth and nail for them to say it! If they hadn’t pushed the way they did, it would have all been subtext.

So, Shiro is going to have a romantic side plot in this fic, where we’ll focus on him and the character I’ve picked to be his partner.

Minor Side Romances

Some other little side pairings are gonna get a bit of love, here, too, since Voltron really only did the romance side of things well with, like, two couples. All the main couples are also gonna get plenty of spotlight, but I also think it would be fun to do some smaller side ships every now and then, too.

Things I’m Cutting

Villain Roulette

There was way too much jumping back and forth between who our main villain to focus on was. Bam, it’s Zarkon! No, wait, now it’s Lotor! Just kidding, here comes Zarkon again! Except that it was actually Lotor! Or so you thought; it’s actually Honerva haha great prank amiright? It was exhausting and I think it’d be a lot simpler to just… Stick with one villain who controls the smaller monster-of-the-day bad guys for an extended period of time and, once they’re for reals defeated, then move on to the next. I’ll be taking this approach for the sake of not only having a more focused story, but also my own sanity. I’ve never been good at gambling so trying the same thing as the show would probably turn out even worse for me.

Keith’s Excellent Blade Adventure with His Mommy

This is all unnecessary in this story, so we won’t be doing it at all. Keith’s sorry purple tail is staying with Team Voltron; no buts, no fuss, no coconuts.

Shiro’s Illness and Adam’s Death

Adam’s death is something I could go on about for hours specifically because it seemed unfair and kinda petty. Like, I feel they killed him specifically because they couldn’t kill Shiro, and they wanted to amp up the Tragic Backstory for our prior leader. So, instead, that’s getting the boot, as well as Shiro’s illness, since it’s also unneeded for plot convenience. Plus, it could have been nice to have a character that was willing to call Shiro out on the Atlus. Shiro always got treated like some kind of flawless entity, and I think it’d been nice to have someone call that Nice Guy Schtick out.

Allura and the Entity Plotline

This whole thing made no sense, got no proper development because of how late into the game they introduced it, and ended up being nothing more than a tool for them to kill Allura off. So, that can GTFO of my house post haste.

The Ending as a Whole

Some parts of the ending worked, but most of it just sucked. When the ending is so bad that it makes me feel obligated to stan characters I was ambivalent/ outright disliked? Yeah, gonna need to walk that back a bit.

Most of Seasons 3-6

The pacing in these seasons really was terrible. We derailed working on the team dynamic, building up the Coalition and Rebel forces, and developing the Paladins’ characters to instead focus on all that shit with Lotor. That… Was infuriating. Especially considering it was all basically a waste.

Additionally, we had Keith sidelined and his arc - which was clearly going to be center around him learning how to be a leader - completely pushed aside and then treated as if it did happened when he showed up late with Starbucks at the end of Season 6. That felt really unbelievable to me.

Time Skips

There were way too many time skips, for serious. Especially when those time skips didn’t include any kind of change in development/ character for the team. There’ll be smaller time skips, but nothing as egregious as what we got in seasons 6 and 7.

Things I’m Adjusting                                                              

Lion Swap

This’ll still be happening, but the circumstances that trigger it will be different. I may also shift around who gets to take which Lion when we get to that point. I haven’t decided just yet, but I’ll have it figured out before we reach that point. Most of this fic is already planned out and, honestly, the Lion Swap will be finalized once I figure out what I’m doing with a few of the other characters.

Shiro and Keith’s Relationship

This, right here? This was one of my biggest issues with Voltron. Keith was completely codependent on Shiro, while Shiro clearly cared about Keith’s well-being but it always felt like he’d have been just fine if something similar to what happened to him happened to Keith. It’s just… Really gross to me. It doesn’t help that I also find the whole “Dying for Your Lover” Trope – which I’ve seen a lot of people praise The Black Paladins for implying - to be incredibly disgusting and unhealthy. Also Keith’s flagrant hypocrisy never getting called out bothers me a lot since I actually like when a character behaves in a hypocritical manner, since it feels organic, but it has to be called out because hypocrisy can lead to double-standards and create harmful environments and I need to stop for now

So, Keith and Shiro are still going to be close, but they aren’t going to be that close.

Keith and Allura’s Relationship

Oh, look! Another potentially interesting aspect of the show that they kinda dropped the ball on! I really hated Allura’s heel-turn on Keith when it’s revealed that he’s Galra in S2 because a) It’s not like Keith himself knew this and was actively hiding it, and b) It felt out of character for the way Allura had been presented thus far. Her lashing out at Zarkon when she was captured made sense since he directly killed her father, her people and her planet. And I could understand being wary of the Blades – to the extent that she was in the first half – but after Keith’s heritage is revealed, she’s completely cold to him and only seems to decide he’s a good guy when he’s willing to take on a potential suicide mission! They either needed to drag the animosity out and show it effecting Allura’s ability to work with the team as a whole and also show the team sticking up for Keith because the fact that Hunk was the only one that said anything is kinda messed up like where tf was Shiro if he and Keith are oh so close? or they needed to tone Allura’s attitude towards him back a bit more, have her approach him in a manner similar to how she addressed the Blade members; acknowledging he is there and contributing, but not praising or thanking him outright.

And since Keith presents and knows he’s part Galra from the start in this fic? Well, we’ll actually get to play around with that dynamic a little more. And while I’m on the subject of our favorite Altean princess…

Allura’s Character Inconsistencies

Allura’s character jumped around a lot in some of the earlier seasons and I’d be willing to wager that this is because the writers never settled on an age for her. And I don’t mean during the big changes like her becoming a Paladin or Lotor’s betrayal, since it’d make sense she be shaken by situations that drastic. One minute, she’s this composed, confident and well-spoken young leader doing the best she can. The next, she’s a more temperamental sort who has low self-esteem/ confidence in her own abilities to even successfully contribute to a team. Now, I think I kniw what they were trying to do; they were trying to show that the more impulsive side of her is more genuine while the composed side is her trying to be the leader she is expected to be. I get it. They fixed this and improved on it later down the line, but they could have done better by maybe addressing it and using it as a chance to develop her relationship with another member or two of Team Voltron.

Season 2’s Ending

The defeat of Zarkon happened way too soon. Especially since then, because they wanted to play around with Lotor’s intentions, they had to bring him back as a cyborg-zombie fueled by quintessence. Zarkon should have only been defeated once and then we should have been allowed to move on to the next main villain. As such, I’m moving Zarkon’s defeat further down the line and will be modifying some of the consequences there in.

P Much Everything About Lotor’s Acr/ Motives

Lotor… Man, Lotor was confusing and a lot of wasted potential. They painted him as if they wanted him to be a morally grey villain, where he does terrible things for what he considers the betterment of others, but then, once it’s revealed that he was keeping secrets, he just… Goes full ham. He becomes Evil McAwful incarnate and it felt unrealistic. There were about 20 different directions they could have taken Lotor – before and after the reveal – and I just didn’t care for the approach they took. So, I’ll be doing things a little different and seeing how that goes.

What I’m Keeping from Seasons 3-6

Very, very little things are going to be kept from each of the aforementioned seasons and implemented in the fic. I’m not planning to keep too many of the big plot moments because they all bled into the issues I had with the story as it stood on its own. I will, however, take some of the small things from those three seasons and include them here. This also applies to certain elements from the other seasons as well, but we’ll get there when we get there.

Adopting Kosmo

Kosmo will be in this fic, come Hell or high water. He is the Best Boi and deserves to be here.

Cut Fic Content

Okay, so here’s the weird one in this line up! As the title implies, there’s some content that I have cut from the fic, even this early on. I actually have some of the Kogane-Holt bonding scenes still drafted up somewhere in my files. I removed them because I was worried that they’d feel too much like filler. There’s also some scenes I started to work out from when I planned to have Keith grow up with Pidge and Matt; specifically including a scene where Krolia and Ethan talk about the idea and decide to commit.

Some of these ideas won’t work in the fic as it stands now, though. I also, however, like the idea of putting it out for everyone to read. So, I’m debating on making a separate one-shot collection of things that could have happened, or just adding them as the occasional buffer between the arcs of the story. I’ll make a poll when I get closer to the point of deciding how to proceed, so keep an eye out for that. :3

That’s all for now! I hope you all enjoy the updates and I’ll hopefully be updating again sooner than this time!

#crumbles grumbles #info dump about my fics #I was planning to hold off on updating until I responded to all my current comments #But I was way too excited about having these ready to go!

[jenivadiamonds]

The Impact of Sudden Unemployment

 Preface

           The past seven years of my life have been a roller coaster of events that culminated at the development and successful launch of The Exponentials an online magazine and editorial that concerns itself with raising awareness on the issues surrounding unemployment and the impacts it has on the individual and the society at large. After being fired from my teaching job I have had for almost seven years, I became depressed and wallowed in misery, shame that came with what I saw as my downfall. It was during these hard times that my mum and siblings stuck with me and helped me build a career from scratch, and I found the most beautiful thing “love”. This story however would not be complete nor fair without the mention of the input of my now husband Chike Austin, a stranger turned best friend; confidant and business partner who pushed me to look outside the realms of teaching and helped me in building this business idea to what it is today. Am also appreciative of second chances, that brought my life together once again.

The Impact of Sudden Unemployment

“I have lost my job.” Saying this loud to my sick mum Tessy sounded so alien. I felt ashamed and concerned at the same time about the possibility of the hard times ahead. No matter how casual the statement may sound, its impacts on an individual are immense and far reaching. Thousands of individuals, not just in the United States but globally, lose their source of income every day; this trend is not a preserve of underdeveloped nations rather also hugely affects an alarmingly high number of people in developed economies too. According to Marinescu Ioana (17), “the impacts of not having a stable source of income for a long time can be quite devastating - especially for individuals who have families, since their inability to provide spells doom for those who are dependent on the fired individual”. Losing my job had come as a shock not just to me and my colleagues at work, but also to my mum, who knew how much I was dedicated to my professional life. Prior to this I had the perception that the loss of a job came because of bad luck and lack of commitment on the part of the employee; but having to go through it gave me a new perspective on the issue; I no longer felt callous toward unemployed individuals.

The news had evidently hit my mother way harder than it hit me; I felt guilty. “What are we going to do,” my mum stammered amidst the uncontrollable tears running down our faces since I first broke the news. I will get another job; two, if I have to I replied, trying to mask the uncertainty that all of a sudden seemed so real. She looked so lost, I realize the situation was more serious than I really had thought it was. The look on her face said a lot of the deep thoughts that must have been razing through her mind at the time. She became really sick immediately I finished my highschool. She was beautiful with long dark hair and also very healthy looking, until suddenly from what we thought was a little fever to so many years later of a deteriorating illness. At the time, my elder sister was finishing from college, so I had to work as a teacher in a local elementary school, took care of our mum and also went to adult night school, so that my sister wouldn’t have to drop out to help at home. We had gone through our share of arguments and fights but never for once had I seen the defeated look she had at this moment. It broke my heart to see the worries in her eyes.  I saw the fear that everything might come crashing down at my feet, which was a scary thing to witness. I felt I understood am almost about to lose my mind just looking at my sick mother look defeated.

For over two years, the school I worked for has been laying off employees who were working in other locations that had been opened in various parts of the country as part of a long term-strategy to incorporate a lean workforce. This had been triggered by the decline in funds and incomes due to the economic crisis that was crippling the world economy. It was a little kept secret that the Education Ministry at the time was embezzling the money mapped out for developments and reconstruction, prior to the economic crisis and had even done worse under the new management that had taken over after the ousting of the previous management team. There had been hushed rumors among the workers that we all were in a sinking ship however none of us wished to resign just yet, hoping that things might turn around for the better and the downsizing would not affect the branch we were working in. When the downsizing at the office began with the firing of a few non-academic staffers, things began spiraling and going to work every day was like a game of Russian roulette. As I headed to work each morning, I kept wondering who would be let go that day or week. The impact of such a stressful work environment coupled with the uncertainty of whether you will be out of work tomorrow had taken a toll on the performance of the employees and within a few weeks there were reports of various complaints that had been filed by the parents and teachers as well. 

Over the course of my working and adult life I had not any bank loan and this gave me a relief that I might have it a little easier than some of my colleagues. The in-home lesson job I had taken up at few of my pupils house, had also aided me in clearing the student loan that I had accumulated over my days in college. As such in comparison to how bad some of my colleagues had it, I would argue that I had it a little bit easier. Additionally, I was lucky to have helped my dad complete the payment of the mortgage that we had taken on the family house. As such, this meant that my immediate concern was to ensure that I took care of my personal needs, my mum’s medical bills and most of the time daily meals for me and my younger ones. However, this was made more complicated by the lack of any meaning full savings and this meant that I had to find a job quickly. Despite all these concerns now I knew that the supplies that were already in the house and the few hundred dollars that I still had in my account would at least give me the start I needed. I decided to take a week off to get my thoughts straightened out before deciding on the next best course of action not just for me but for my family. Thinking about it now, I realize this decision was made of the shock that I was in at the time which could not allow me to plan my thoughts. at the time it seemed the most logical and reasoned thing to do.

As the week progressed, I did almost nothing to salvage myself from the situation that I had found myself in, except the effort to link up with some of my old friends and relations contacts, some of whom I had not seen or talked to in over three years. It was at this time that I got an interesting email from a long time contact I had been in contact with during my carefree days as a caterer, baker and home delivery cook. Beyond these futile attempts at getting over my now regularly grumbled mood and constant state of depression, I maintained my status as a passive sore unemployed loser. As the weeks rolled by depression was becoming more and more of a reality as households needs and bills began to pile each day. Things had gone from bad to worse; I had been out looking for menial jobs with no success and it was no secret that also things were getting bad at the home front. I would regularly get home, so tired from walking around or sitting at a place with a childhood friend who also had been ousted from his high paying job only to lose all his money, house, and family. This was where I was headed, I kept telling myself.

During this period, my mum kept urging me to revive my freelance translating career, though I knew it could pay, I somehow succeeded in putting it off for a long time. This was undoubtedly one of the lowest points of my life. I had fallen from a level where I was able to provide a comfortable life for my family to where I was depending on a few scraps here and there. It was however through him that I was finally able to get a breakthrough soon to receive an urgent translation order with an attractive pay. This opened a lot of doors not just in terms of opportunities to finally earn some cash and raise myself from what was evidently going to be a story of personal destruction. With a high level of expertise and long-term experience coupled by the urge to get things right, soon enough I had more than a few referrals from various parts of the world. With the high quality of writings, and even though the freelancing gig could provide a temporary reprieve from the lack of a way to provide for the basic needs in the home front, I fully realized that it would not go for long. 

Amid my adversities, I became acquainted with a client named Chike all the way from Africa. This client played an important role in my subsequent redemption from the low depths of life that I had resigned myself to. The name according to him was given to him by his grandmother based on the time he was born; which was the late evenings when the village goats were coming back from the grazing fields. Despite the huge and probably incomparable cultural and social circumstances and settings, which both of us had been born and raised, it was hard to imagine how he would have ended up being friends and playing a huge part in both of our futures. At first, he wanted a part of his novel to be translated and rectified in terms of subject verb agreements and all the rules of professional writing, (Carley, Micheal, and Phillipe Spapens), and I accepted his request for the same. After the first part was approved and the interest that the progress had raised in me, I was interested in asking him about the rest of the novel and whether it would need any type of help considering that the first part had been successfully published. 

After several days of correspondence, managing and working together on the book, we ended up becoming very good online friends. Just like me, he too was once unemployed and had taken up the gig of writing opinion editorials for some of the little-known online magazines and newspapers. With a common interest on the writing and publishing field for income, we continued to talk about the differences that existed between both countries in terms of job opportunities and the quality of life for citizens in our respective countries (Marinescu, Ioana, and Roland Rathelot). I soon introduced him to my mum and family, through video calls that were later to become a norm for a long time and he too introduced me to his family. It was a surprise to both of us that indeed there were various fundamental similarities that were apparent between both nations and the similarity in challenges facing people from developed countries such as our great USA countries. The challenges faced, the concerns used by lack of job opportunities, the impacts that this phenomenon uses not just on the individual and their family but on the nation was also a topic that never failed to come up every time we conversed.

It was during these kinds of conversation that my perspective on work changed, Chike had a very interesting view of how work should be viewed especially in the current technological world. Technology has exponentially grown to a point where an individual does not need to be at a locale to be part of a workforce. This has fundamentally hanged the concept of the workplace and the work setting through enabling individuals to work form any given place if they have access to the internet and a personal computer. Chike encouraged me to look for opportunities from diverse industries and areas other than just sending my credentials and applications to companies working within the Educational industry alone. This helped me a lot in quitting the mentality that has been commonly characterized by the saying that ‘The man is for work, not work for the man.” It was during this journey of self-discovery that I came to realize and discover what I truly wanted out of life both in a personal level and at a professional level. It was also during this time that I felt that I had the inspiration to identify my goals in life and consequently developed the plan to do so. 

           While this seems like fate, it was during one of our long conversations on life in Nigeria and the United States that the idea of developing an online magazine and platform was born. At first, we intended that the site would cater for the professional unemployed individuals all over the world could post online jobs and share experiences was born. This however was just but an idea and we knew that making it a reality would not only be challenging but would require a substantial amount of financial backing, money which at the time we did not have. First, it would be important to do the necessary research and get all the legal documentation ready not just in the US but also back in Nigeria. While I was preparing myself in the US, I was surprised two-days later when Chike got in touch saying that his part in the Nigerian capital had been complete. It came as surprise only to learn that most if the regulations covering the use and ownership of most sites in the nation were not under any sort of regularized framework. While this was a shock it also was an advantage not just to us but it meant a lot more people in and around the nation would easily access the site. Chike, my soon to be business partner, planned and flew to the US and stayed with us for a few months before moving out to his own apartment.

Life was beginning to take a good shape, and I felt that I was finally doing something that was not only fulfilling but had the potential to really take off and earn me and my family a comfortable lifestyle. At this point my mum had started recovering, she had seen me through the worst part of my lowest points in life and now I could see a spark of light at the end of a long and dark tunnel. I soon visited the bank and after asking for loans from close friends and confidants, who still had trust in me, we were able to fully fund the development of an operational online magazine and editorial that also supported the posting of various jobs at a fee. Within a year from the date the site went live, traffic had grown substantially and soon we had to move from the garage office that we were occupying and rented a bigger office space. The journey to where we were at that time had been full of ups and downs but we had finally managed to capture a small but important piece of the online magazine market with significant income. Sometimes, I am surprised that I can still identify myself with my old self before I lost my job, despite the life changing experience I went through. However, I believe this can be attributed to the strong and sometimes commanding nature of the people who were able to guide and push me during the lowest points of life when I thought I would never again be able to provide for my family. The role of Chike and his family towards the successful redemption and bounce back cannot be understated; as I look at my family now, and the smiles they have I know we will be able to overcome anything together.

After two years of starting our business, Chike and I started dating. Although I knew I had a thing for him through all the years of being two unemployed online friends trying to make ends meet. A year after we went out the first time he proposed, and we later got married at the Notre Dame Catholic Church Houston, Texas. It was a glorious day in our lives, because I got to meet his mother, whole family and friends that flew in to be part of our beautiful day. Also if I must say, the life we are living now was of our own making. You have to get up and move on, life waits for no one. Do not procrastinate or feel defeated, you will get there, it might only take time. Our business is flourishing, so am grateful to God and the universe for bringing us together through unemployment. From my bad experience I got to be with someone I love and do something meaningful with my life again. According to (Margaret Linn, Richard Sandifer, Shayna Stein) on the article “Effects of unemployment on mental illness and physical health.” Our mental health has a lot to do with our emotional and physical health. We humans are relentless, we can do anything we set our minds to.

                        Work Cited

 Carley, Michael, and Phillipe Spapens. “Sharing the world: sustainable living and global equity in the 21st century”. Routledge, 2017.

Edward Moore, Kennedy. “The challenges before us”. Am Psychol. 1984 Jan;39(1):62–66. American Public Health Association. Web. June 13, 2019.

Margaret W., Linn, and Richard, Sandifer. Shayna, Stein., “Effects of unemployment on mental and physical health”. 75, 502-506. NCBI (May 1985). American Journal of Public Health. Web. June 13, 2019. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1646287/pdf/amjph00281-0056.pdf

Marinescu, Ioana, and Roland Rathelot. "Mismatch unemployment and the geography of job search." American Economic Journal: Macroeconomics 10.3 (2018): 42-70.

Marinescu, Ioana. "The general equilibrium impacts of unemployment insurance: Evidence from a large online job board." Journal of Public Economics 150 (2017): 14-29

[geth-consensus]

I was hit with inspiration for a completely off the wall type of short story today. I just had to write it.

Club Smackdown

Rain poured down hard on the city. But the neon glow illuminated it, defending it from the darkness of the night. From her perch on the rooftop she rested on one knee watching the crowds swarming the high class club on the other side of the street. "Vermin" she muttered to herself. She could see even from up here the poorly disguised guards placed strategically throughout the crowd. "Heh. And there are the rats among the mice, time to make myself some Swiss cheese" "Stay focused idiot. You're not here to kill the fucking lackies, you're here to take out the big cheese." the voice in ear piece said to her. "Hey! The rat thing was my pun! Get your own fucking material!" she said furiously back into the piece. The voice simply scoffed in response with a "whatever" thrown in for good measure and went silent. She sat there for a minute longer gauging the situation before asking "You're positive he's in there?" "Couldn't be more sure of it. The club only has this much security when he's in." "So I can expect a hell of a lot more rats inside then huh?" "I'd be willing to bet on it sweetheart." Her lips parted in a feral grin. "Perrrrrfect" she purred. She stood up and drew her dual blades out. She leaned over the side and looked directly down at the pavement beneath her. One very obvious rat stood there, trying to be discrete in the shadows, keeping an eye out for trouble was he? Well then he was looking the long way she thought to herself as she stepped off the ledge and dropped from the rooftop.

Another pissant day he thought to himself, why the fuck was he assigned to stand guard out here in the rain. What the hell were they guarding against anyway? He didn't care. What he did care about was the fact the crowd kept bustling him around and was starting to make him agitated. He really could do with shooting something right about now...

The sudden wail of a high pitched scream from across the street turned his head along with everyone else, the boy stationed as lookout was gone, where he had been now stood a gorgeous blonde women. She was draped in blood. His eye caught something at her feet, it was what was left of the boy, who she had apparently cleaved clean in two as both halves lay on either side of her. 'Good' he thought with a smile, finally something to shoot at.

She didn't wait for them to react, charging forward absurdly quickly she slit the neck of a stunned guard, then another, and another. By the time the fourth one fell the others had finally regained enough sense to pull out there weapons and start shooting at her, paying no heed to the crowd of people who were all screaming and running around, all of which were clambering over one another to escape the blood bath. "HEY DUMBASS! EVER HEARD OF KEEPING IT DISCRETE!" the voice in her ear roared. "EVER HEARD OF SHUTTING THE FUCK UP!" she yelled back, slitting another three rats into giblets as she did so. Weaving between the bullets of morons who couldn't shoot for shit was too easy, boring almost.  They may as well have just been shooting the sky for all the good it would do them. She needed to jazz this up a bit, something with a little more flare was needed. Spinning the blade in her right arm around it wreathed itself in white flames and came back to rest as a silver shotgun. "Ahhh, Petal. That look is gorgeous on you" she purred to it. The gun vibrated in her hand, revelling in the delight of that fact. She raised it and took aim at the nearest cheese muncher, she pulled the trigger. White flames burst from the end with no discernible projectile. But that didn't stop the rats head blasting off its shoulders. "Nice!" she said. "Hey Thorn! You want in on this action!" The black blade in her other hand shivered as well in glee. A quick twirl later and she was now dual wielding twin death. "Real subtle..." the voice in her ear said with expatriation. "Subtlety never won any style awards honey." she said with a grin. She continued to make mince meat of the frankly pathetic security detail until the street was at last quiet, the rats inside must have had the much wiser idea of staying away from the magical gun toting maniac.

Placing Petal over her shoulder she walked over to the iron door that had been slammed closed over the main door and knocked on it with Thorn. "Yo assholes, open up. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but either way I'll be getting in there!" After a few moments it was clear she was not going to be getting a response. She sighed. "Now what genius," the voice cooed in her ear, "going to blast your way through solid metal?" "What now?" she replied. "Now we do things the hard way. Which just so happens to be my favourite way." she said with a smile of true glee written upon her face.

They stacked every bit of furnishing they could against the door and stacked up behind improvised barricades in a wide semi circle around the front door. He was panting hard, he had just managed to flee inside before they had slammed the door shut. That psycho bitch was insane, she had slaughtered a legion of men without breaking a sweat! But they were safe now! There was no way she could get through seven inches of reinforced steel!

The ground beneath them shook slightly as though a large vehicle was driving by and then stopped suddenly. They sat there watching the door, wondering what the hell that could mean. Suddenly a man popped out from a side room yelling "RUN! GET OUT-"

Whatever else he had to say would never be heard as the front of the building exploded inward as the gas truck the crazed blondie had acquired detonated. Those near the front were vaporised instantly, one unfortunate soul was splattered against the far wall behind the steel door, which to its credit had only slightly crumpled under the blast.

The survivors were still picking themselves up when, as they looked towards the blazing inferno of what had been the buildings front, they saw the silhouette of a figure standing there, a shotgun draped over her shoulder and the other hanging loose by her side. "Told you fuckers I'd be coming in." the women cooed.

"You're absolutely insane. You know that right?" the voice said.

"Bitch probably! But you can't have this much fun when if you have it all together!" she exclaimed while turning rats into corpses. They folded before her like wet tissue paper, it wasn't really even that much fun she thought sadly, even the shotguns couldn't make killing them interesting. "Why don't you try bare handed then?" the voice asked.

"And deny Petal & Thorn the joy of killing them? I couldn't do that to them!" she said incredulously. The voice simply sighed in response. "Just tell me how much further till I reach the dickshit alright."

"Well from what I can recall it's just passed the main casino floor, office at the back of it is usual hold out." the voice said.

"Hold the fuck up I thought this was a club! What kind of club has a casino floor!?" the blondie said like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

"Apparently this kind. Just keep it focused dipshit. Reach him, kill him, then contemplate why the club has a casino."

"Fuck off bitch! I can multitask!" Blondie yelled back. She blasted her way onto the overview of the casino floor, kicking the rat in front of her through the balustrade and down onto a roulette table. She gazed down to see at least fifty guns pointed back at her. "Fuck this" she said spinning Thorn a rocket launcher and Petal into a flamethrower. Blood, flames and guts rained down on everything for a solid five minutes until at last Blondie was the last one standing atop a toppled slot machine.

"You know those weapons of your are really not very sporting, I believe the kids call it OP?" the voice said in her ear.

"Fuck fair! I'm all about winning bitch!" she said.

"Yeah I know but I-" whatever the voice said Blondie missed as she ducked under the crack of a whip sailing over her head. "Watch out!" the voice cried.

"Yeah no fucking shit dipshit." Blondie said. The whip belonged to a drop dead gorgeous women in a red dress with fiery red hair to match. She stood on top of a snapped roulette table and brandished her whip over her head. "And who the fuck are you?" Blondie said.

"I am your demise!" she said without further elaboration. A full five seconds followed that statement and then Blondie burst out laughing.

"Holy shit! Wow! I've heard some real fucking bad on liners in my time, but you just took first fucking prize bitch!" she said gasping for air. The outburst of laughter had clearly annoyed the red women, who had a vein pulsing in her forehead and her face had contorted into one of fury.

"Ugh, girl. You may want to tone it back a notch." the voice said.

"Or what!" she said as she started to sob laugh, "She's going to bring me to 'bring me to my doom' or some shit." The machine beneath Blondie exploded as the whip cracked it in half sending her crashing to the floor. Still laughing she rolled backward and stood up. "Oh my dear, thank you, I needed a good laugh today. You've really brightened up what was otherwise a rather dreary mission so far."

The ground beneath her detonated in a shower of material as the whip slammed where Blondie should have been, except she wasn't, she was already standing on an adjacent roulette table. "Well darling, thanks for the giggles. But I got someone to kill so let's make this quick shall we."

"Don't you dare underestimate me you harlot! I will destroy you here and-" she stopped mid sentence as Blondie was suddenly right in her face. How the fuck had she done that!? She had been at least 20 feet away not two seconds ago. It was impossible! But that wasn't even the most shocking thing, that was reserved for the full embrace of the harlot's lips pressing on to hers.

A full moment passed as they stood locked in an embrace. Then there was sound of a click beneath her chin as there lips parted. "Pretty good...but I've had better. Thank anyway Red." Then the sound of a shotgun blast was last thing she knew.

"Right can we fucking refocus?" the voice cried in her ear.

"On?" she asked wiping blood of her face.

"You know what idiot! The damned mission!" the voice said.

"Oh yeah! Right! The mission!" she said jumping from the table and walking over to the office door in the back of the casino. Ripping it open she found the room totally empty, except for a gaping great hole that led outside to a back alley. Sticking her head out she heard the screech of tires to her right. She ran down the alley to find a small motorcade of card racing away. "Motherfucker! Running like the punk ass bitch he is!" Blondie yelled.

"Well now what? You aint going to catch him running now are you?" the voice said. Looking across the street she spied a parked motorcycle, she grinned. "You haven't got the keys moron" the voice said.

"I don't need the keys" she said sauntering over to it. Raising Thorn to point at it she said "Start" in the most commanding voice possible. The engine roared to life and she mounted it slinging the guns over her back.

"Words fail me" the voice said with utter exasperation.

"Just role with it loser. Just accept that I'm that fucking good!" Blondie yelled as she reared the bike into a wheelie and raced off down the street after the motorcade.

That damned psycho chick! Twenty years of building an empire gone up in literal flames. Now he was going to have to start over somewhere else, a whole new country was what he needed now. A place to lie low for a while till he could sort all this shit out. His thoughts were interrupted by the flare of an engine somewhere behind them announcing its arrival. "Hey boss. I think that bitch is catching up with us!" the driver said.

"Then do something about it you morons! That's what I pay you for!" he yelled back.

A voice suddenly carried out from behind them, how it could be heard over the roar of the wind or sounds of car and bike engines is a question no one could ever answer. Not that any of those who could have asked it would live long enough to ever give the question much more thought. "Hey fuckos! Just hand over your boss and you can all live ok! I completely totally promise!" it said.

"Heh. She's delusional if she thinks that-" he was cut off her voice again cut over him. "Of course I'm being serious asshole! I always keep my promises!...What? I'm still projecting my voice? Oh...whoops." and the voice promptly went silent again.

She was coming up in the first car fast, the hadn't sopped do she assumed it was going to be the hard way again. She wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Tearing Petal out she blasted the back wheels apart and car began to screech and jerk wildly from side to side. 

Pulling up along side it she blasted the windows out killing whoever was behind them, a quick glance told her what she needed to know. He wasn't in this car. She accelerated away as the car span of to the side and collided with a lamppost in a spectacular crash.

"Come on dickhead. Which one is you" she said looking from car to car ahead of her. There really only was one way to decide it. " Eeny, meeny, miny, moe" she began to sing.

"Fucking really" the voice said in her ear. Blondie ignored it and kept singing. She settled on the car on the far right and raced towards it. But now the cars were responding, windows were rolling down and gun were pointing out of them. 'Hah' she thought. Like those were going to help them. They opened up as she approached the car as she jerked the bike around dodging them.

"Hah!" she yelled, "Like those are going to do anything to help you rats!" Her mirth was cut shirt as a stray bullet struck and burst her front tire. She was jettisoned forward from the seat and into the air. She somersaulted and landed on all fours on top of the car that had been ahead of her. "Fucking assholes" she said standing up and blasting shots into the roof. The car violently veered off towards the lead car ahead of it, as it slipped behind it she leapt on to it's roof and was met with a hail of bullets buzzing up through it.

They fired straight up as he hunkered down in his seat trying to take what cover he could. There was a dull thud from the roof and then the sound of sliding and then silence. Everyone in the car looked behind them, trying to see if they could spot her body. There was a tapping on the front window, they tuned to see her squatting on the hood of the car. "You rats need to work on your aim. Here, let me give you a demonstration on how to." she said levelling her shotguns at them, She pulled the trigger killing the driver and the front passenger instantly.

The car began to spin violently until it's momentum carried it over on to its side. It screeched to a halt in the middle of the highway. A door popped open and a rat started to climb out. Blondie casually sliced his head off as she sat on the side of the vehicle waiting for that to happen. Looking down into the car she was met with the barrel of a gun. "Dodge this!" a voice yelled and the sound of a shot rang out.

Blondie dodged it. Grabbing the gun she pulled upward, lifting it and the diminutive man it belonged too with it. "Ah! At last Mr Gator! I've been trying to make your acquaintance all evening! It's so nice to finally meet you." He barked at that and let go, he started trying to scamper away. "Ah ah ah. I've waited all night for this." she said throwing Thorn at him and impaling him through the gut into the ground.

"You know in someone's else's story they might now have a long heart to heart, or maybe a lengthy monologue about who I am and why I came to kill you. But we both already know why I'm here and why I'm killing you. So I think we can skip that part, don't you?" Blonide said grinning and sauntering over to him.

"Fuck you bitch" he said coughing up blood. "Who the fuck do you think you are!?"

"Who am I? I thought we already established we don't need to discuss that. But if you insist I'll tell you this. The only person I am that matters to you is who I am right now." she said levelling her gun at his head.

"And who the fuck is that then." he said.

"The blonde bitch killing you." She pulled the trigger.

#personal #my writing #i thoroughly enjoyed writing this

[missymarysthings]

Treachery

Gabriel Dion Stellato, also known as Roulette, was grimly aware of what he was about to get into. That he was heading towards a point of no return. However, if would keep his Cherry Blossom safe, his dear cousin Lorena from being haunted and hunted by their family, he would gladly jump into those flames.

He would not let Vincent Stellato succeed in whatever dastardly plans he had. 

Besides he could not be certain if his uncle or others within the family might try to go after his other cousins as well. Ruba and his wife Mariani, and Melanie. He could not be certain if they would try to go after his dear mother Viola. After all, Lorena had freed all of them almost right after she took control of the family and the business those years ago.

Gabriel would do what he had to. 

If ending Vincent was not enough...

Between his magic bullets and his own magic he could get through the rest of them if the odds remained in his favor.

Before he set his plan into motion Gabriel wrote three letters. One he kept himself so he could mail it if he was successful. The other two were given to someone he trusted, and told them that they were only to mail them if they heard word of his death. One of those letters were for Lorena and Sein. The other was for his mother. 

Gabriel sighed and and patted his coat. His twin revolvers were in their holsters hidden underneath, his suitcase of bullets shrunk down and in one of his pockets, his cigarettes in another pocket, and a quick reach into his vest pocket confirmed he had the letter on him still.

He looked up and down at the unassuming building before him. Meant to look like a simple lunch cafe, but in reality it was a front for something a bit darker underneath. In the basement levels it housed a gambling den. Various games of chance and luck, and possibly skill, if cheating wasn’t a regular thing here, throughout the three lower levels. A bar located in the middle level, stocked full of all sorts of drinks. Local, imported, exotic, magical, there seemed to be no limit to what was served. No ethics either. 

The lowest level even housed some...adult entertainment and company, if one got bored of the gambling or wanted to hold onto their last bit of money for...something else. But even then...there weren’t real restrictions to what could or couldn’t be bet upon or wagered with here. 

It made keeping the ledgers for this place, and the front above, a mess. Especially when Gabriel was the sort to want to keep things honest, but was told to make things up. Or often  his work would get changed after he and Lorena had gone over them. 

He hated it. He hated that he was almost bound to do it, bound to inherit this despicable den until...

Lorena freed him and his mother.

Gabriel started at the building a slight scowl appearing on his face. Today Vincent would be in the den below. Today he would be taking him out. And if Gabriel played his cards right, he could also take down this place. 

Dismantle ‘Numbers’s’ work.

Ruin Marlon Stellato’s, his own father’s, twisted livelihood, and so called ‘pride and joy’. Lorena had tried so hard to shut it down, he had tried to, but they could not do it. The elders were on Marlon’s side, not theirs. 

One foot in front of the other, each step displaying purpose and confidence, Gabriel entered the building. He knew his own father would be down there today as well. Otherwise Vincent wouldn’t be here. However...

No. No time for second guessing. In for a penny, in for a pound. Gabriel would stick to his decision. He would do what he had to do.

Inside the building he reached into his pants pocket and took out a card. It was a little faded and slightly beat up, but one could still tell what it was. He flashed it to the person behind the counter and they nodded in understanding. Disguised as one of those reward cards you get stamped after each visit, it was really an indicator that the person was really there for the establishment below. 

Although it made sense, it still disturbed Gabriel that he remembered the way down to the first level of the den. It was a bit hidden and tricky to get to in case the ‘wrong’ people tried to find it or wandered back here when they should not have. Soon he was hearing the sounds of music and chattering. He opened the door and glanced around. Not a lot of people on the first level. Fair enough considering the drinks were down a level. 

Which was where he figured his father and uncle would be anyway. He made no fuss, and barely acknowledged anyone as he made his way through. He just wanted to make his way to the path downward as swiftly as possible. 

The music grew louder as he reached his destination. The middle level, full of booze and cards, dice, chips, and wheels, and people in various states of drunkenness and rowdiness. Blasted music to be heard over the various conversations and arguments. A place where one could still have a private conversation if they were close enough to each other. A place to do shady business and blame the drinks if things go south. 

And at the bar...there they were. 

Two of the trio of brothers. Vincent and Marlon. The middle and the youngest. Hunched together and obviously talking about something. Gabriel eased his way closer, easily weaving his way through and remaining silent.  There was a pause in the music while the songs changed, but it was long enough to hear what he wanted to know. A confirmation that Vincent had been behind the assassination attempt on his own daughter. 

Gabriel reached into his coat with both hands to draw his revolvers. And in deft, practiced motions, they were ready to fire.  A loud bang rang out as he shot Vincent with the gun in his left hand. A poison bullet, aimed at the lower back.  

A panic surged through some of the patrons as they tried to get out. Or move to a different level. “You really are a despicable man,” Gabriel said with a calm but cold tone as he watched his uncle writhe from the pain and the poison quickly spreading through his veins. “And you thought you would be safe here?”

He saw his father get up and start to come towards him but he pointed the gun in his right hand at him point blank without hesitation. “You’re no better,” Gabriel added with a quick glance at him. 

“Tsk. What, you think you tough now, boy? Shoot a man in his back?“ his father asked. 

“More of a man than Vincent, a power hungry coward who would send someone to kill his own daughter! She deserves better than that. She deserves happiness and I will protect it!“ he said and then quickly fired another round into Vincent’s shoulder. Seemed to be a lightning bullet this time. “She tried to better this family and you all hated it. Wanted to keep your sleazy and underhanded ways. It disgusts me.“

“Her way was weak! Honest and open? Yeah right! If we followed her way we  would all get flattened and disposed of! She was a fool! A shame too since she had shown such potential, you did too,“ Marlon said before grabbing his glass and throwing the contents in his son’s face. 

Gabriel hissed in pain and annoyance as his eyes stung and pulled the trigger of the gun in his right hand. Thanks to his sight being hindered and the suddenness of it, Marlon was able to dodge the shot and tackle him to the ground. Gabriel grunted as his back collided with the floor and dropped his revolvers.  

They struggled and wrested on the ground trying to overpower each other. Chairs were getting knocked over, tables being bumped into, glasses tipping and spilling. Some did not budge. It hardly seemed different from any other bar fight, especially if they didn’t see or register how the whole thing started. Others used it as an excuse to start their own fights. Other’s ran seeing hw things were beginning to escalate. 

At some point water was thrown onto the father and son combatants. Which thankfully some splashed into Gabriel’s eyes giving him some of his vision back. It was enough for him to take a swing at his father. It connected and he was able to get up and try to rush back to the bar so he could get his guns. 

He heard his father growl in anger. and turned to see giant arms with hands formed from seemingly all the poker chips and roulette chips in the place. God he wished he could dunk his head in water to flush out his eyes more so he could see better. He rushed to clumsily take aim at his father and shoot but one of the arms blocked it. Some of the chips making it up sprayed in the air, but he could not tell what kind of bullet it had ended up being. 

His father started walking towards him menacingly, ready to swing one or both o the arms down upon him. Each step Marlon took forward was one Gabriel took backward. 

Another unsteady shot. 

A miss and the sound of broken glass. 

An idea.

Before his father could descend upon him Gabriel turned towards the bar and fired at the alcohol on the shelves with both revolvers. As soon as he heard glass shatter he turned back around and quickly dived under one of the tables. 

One of those bullets was a fire bullet. 

Just as Marlon was about to smash the table his son had hidden under a loud explosion rang out. The force blew him back along with Vincent’s, now certainly dead, body. It knocked over the table Gabe was under and he could feel the heat lick at his back. 

Smaller explosions started going off as a chain reaction and Gabriel knew he had to get out of there if he wanted to survive. He could hear the fire roaring in addition and with as much alcohol and magical alcohol there had been...time was very limited before another big explosion was bound to happen and bring the the roof down on all of them. 

Gabriel stood and tried to look around as he put his revolvers away. However, the building smoke only furthered hindered his already messed up vision. He cursed and ducked back down again. He would have to rely on a spell. Teleportation, transportation...that kind of magic wasn’t his strong suit. But he knew a spell, and this was an emergency. He would have to take the risk of it dropping him somewhere random. 

He quickly tried to picture the park before reciting the spell. He could feel the heat getting closer and hear the explosions getting more violent. Nothing was happening and in the back of his mind he wondered if he was meant to die here. Still he recited the spell again just as a particularity ground shaking explosion happened. 

And then there was nothingness. 

No sounds.

No heat.

No light. 

Just nothingness. 

The spell had worked. Just in time, but at the cost of his consciousness. His body dropped unceremoniously to the ground at the park. He looked worse for the wear, his coat torn in several places and singed, he would have quite a few little cuts and bruises as well. 

But...

The deed was done. 

Vincent ‘Iceman’ Stellato was dead. 

Marlon ‘Numbers’ Stellato... was most likely also dead. 

Several other members of the family were likely in there as well. Along with their workers, and some of the more unsavory people of the town. There would be no rebuilding of that gambling den. Not there, and maybe not anywhere else either. 

No matter what the consequences for his actions Gabriel would face once he was conscious...

If his dear cousin, his precious Cherry Blossom was now safe, he didn’t care.

#random prompt #Gabriel Stellato #Vincent Stellato #Marlon Stellato #under a read more mainly because of lenght

[sarahburness]

Why I Drank, How It Destroyed Me, and How I’m Healing My Self-Hatred

TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with an account of sexual assault and self-harm and may be triggering to some people.

Hi, I’m Adriana and I’m an alcoholic.

When I look back at my life, I realize it was inevitable that I’d end up here.

By the time I was nineteen, I’d already had a history of self-harm through cutting, a bi-product of my depression and anxiety. I was anorexic. I’d had a near cervical-cancer scare not once, but twice within a six-month period, leaving my gynecologist back in Sydney speechless. “I have never had a case like yours.”

I’d survived an abusive relationship that, I believed, left me with no other choice but to end my own life. If I were going to die, I’d rather die by my own accord, not his. So, I swallowed forty panadol pills, two at a time, within thirty minutes. I felt my body slowly shut down as each minute passed by, and ironically, it was the first time in a long time that I felt alive.

I’m not writing about the sugarcoated life many have engaged with on my social media feeds over the years. I am here to introduce you to my self-hatred, which you don’t see each time I post a filtered photo on my Instagram page.

I fell in love with the wrong person when I was seventeen. The first six months together were filled with happiness. I was convinced he was the one I’d spend the rest of my life with, and at seventeen my hunt for a husband was over. Hashtag winning.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Over the course of the ten months that followed, he routinely beat me, and I covered up the evidence to protect him. He psychologically raped me, repeatedly telling me, “Who’s gonna love you when I’m done with you?” He even sodomized me.

He threatened my life if I didn’t listen to him or if I dared to tell anyone the truth. I had two friends who begged me to walk away, but no matter how powerless I felt, their concerns meant nothing to me. So over time, they gave up trying.

He told me when to speak—“Don’t be too funny, Adriana. I don’t want people liking you more than me.” He also told what to wear and I had to ask permission if I wanted to go out. Worst of all, he stripped me of my right to feel human, true to the nature of how insidious an abusive relationship can be. In this case, love really was blind.

I internalized the trauma to such an extent that I carried the shame, guilt, and pain with me throughout my twenties. I forgave him long before I forgave myself, which led me to a path of unconscious self-destruction.

It was my fault for holding onto those first six months and hoping the real him would return. It was my fault that I let him treat me the way that he did. It was my fault for not leaving, particularly after the first time he hit me. It was my fault because surely I was doing something wrong that would trigger him to hit me. It was my fault because by staying, I was asking for it.

So I did what most young people do when they’re nineteen and single: I started my clubbing career and my relationship with Jack Daniels. A year before, alcohol repelled me; now it was my savior. This also led to the introduction to a string of dysfunctional people I’d come to call my friends.

You know, you should never judge a party girl. Every party girl has a backstory, but in my case, no one cared enough to find out. They just bought me more drinks.

People would say they envied my life—how I had zero Fs for the world around me—but what most people failed to see was that, in reality, I had zero Fs for myself.

Then I entered the permanent hangover I now call my twenties.

I started going to festivals and was introduced to ecstasy. I still remember the first time an e hit my bloodstream. Like most users, I tried to relive that feeling every time I popped a pill. Eventually, ecstasy became boring and I started experimenting with pure MDMA. It was a little bit riskier and more dangerous, but it didn’t matter because I didn’t matter.

I was then introduced to cocaine when I was twenty and that became my favorite drug of them all. Cocaine meant that I could drink more. It also meant that I had something in common with people who I usually wouldn’t associate with.

Cocaine turned me into a version of myself that was confident and unstoppable. When I was high I used to think to myself, “Imagine you were this confident and unstoppable but didn’t need cocaine to get you there.” Just imagine!

I often found it funny how the drug commonly referred to as “the rich man’s drug,” yet it left me feeling emotionally bankrupt.

At twenty-one, I was partying in Las Vegas with some friends when I got busted with an eight ball of cocaine—and got away with it. Fortunately, I was given a slap on the wrist and banned from entering half the hotels in Vegas, for life. Personally, I was more devastated because that meant that I could never be a Playboy bunny

I remember the undercover policewoman taking me down to the public toilets, handing me over the bag of coke, and asking me to flush it down. I took this as an opportunity to bribe her into letting me keep the bag.

You’d think that an incident like that would encourage me to hang my party dress and clean up my ways. But it didn’t. I continued down this path, playing roulette with my life.

Not all was tragic. I did find myself in a loving relationship a year later, and for three years lived a ‘normal’ life. He loved me and I loved him as much as I could. But what is love when you don’t love yourself? This voice inside my head constantly whispered, “You’re not good enough for him.”

Once that relationship ended, I was straight back to my self-destructive ways, drinking heavily on most nights.

On one occasion, I decided it would be “cool” to bring a guy home and skull cafe patron out of the bottle. Mind you, I was already intoxicated. The next morning I woke up peacefully in my bed. A few hours later, I received a message that read, “I need you to take the morning after pill asap.”

I thought, hmm, it’s not my ideal situation; sh*t happens I suppose. It’s $30 in Australia, and you can buy it over the counter, fortunately, but the problem was, I couldn’t remember having sex.

To this moment, I don’t. I had blacked out.

I felt so exposed, vulnerable, and disgusted with myself. Then the shame kicked in. Who the hell did I think I was? What was I becoming?

I decided I needed to stop drinking and I was successfully sober for three months. I survived parties, lonely nights, and even the ultimate test, a big fat Croatian wedding.

I never considered that I had a problem with alcohol. I thought that alcoholism was a condition you could learn to control.

In my late twenties I decided to move myself from Sydney to London to “find myself.” We all know the saying that you must “lose yourself” in order to “find yourself,” and I did just that.

London is a fascinating city to lose yourself in. There was always an occasion to drink. I wasn’t one of those wake up and drink right away type people. I was more self-respecting than that; I waited till lunchtime and continued until I blacked out! But as a high-functioning alcoholic, I still made my work deadlines.

I was always around people who didn’t just use drugs; they abused them. And no matter how much I knew the difference between right and wrong, I was perpetually on a quest to distract myself from myself.

There was no one more delighted to meet another person who was more messed up than me. “Great,” I thought. “Let’s talk about your problems; I’m not ready to talk about mine.”

I slept my way around, seeking someone who would understand and rescue me. I was bed hopping, using sex as a way to validate myself and feel worthy. It was nothing less than a cheap thrill.

I attracted males who were misogynistic and dominant, and resembled the character of my first love. Everyone had an agenda to take a piece of me. I was aware of this; I just didn’t care.

I had one who would eventually tell me that that maybe I shouldn’t be so upfront and honest about my past with the next guy because “it may turn him off.” But it was okay for him to turn me over in my sleep, get on top, and insert himself inside of me because he was in the mood. This was the many occasions that I was raped.

Then there was the one who slapped my face as I told him to get out of me, but he kept going, smiling as he watched the tears roll down my face.

Before I forget, there was another who was more than willing to buy me cocktails all night while telling me he couldn’t wait to take advantage of me later on, but made me call my own cab when I threw up all over his bedroom. Apparently we had sex too.

We can sit here and go on about my clouded judgment when in actual fact, this dialogue and connection was just my comfort zone.

A year ago, completely fed up with myself and my chemically addictive ways, I decided it was time to kill myself. I was emotionally exhausted and starved. My body no longer felt pain and I could longer taste alcohol. I was so deep in depression I could feel it in my blood.

I planned my suicide, step by step, over several days and kept reminding myself that the world was better off without me helplessly roaming within it, without a purpose, doing more harm than good.

I was a bad person because I was a broken person, as many boys had told me. I may not have intentionally hurt those around me, but I had a decade-long struggle during which I perpetually hurt the one person I never knew how to love, myself.

I started writing my suicide letter and decided I needed some background noise. On the front page of YouTube was a video titled “How to overcome procrastination by leaping afraid,” by Lisa Nichols. This video would end up saving my life and distracting me from my open wounds that were so desperately trying to dry up.

There is nothing that scares an addict more than sobriety and having nothing to turn to when that darkness from your past begins to appear and say, “Hey, remember me?” But I knew my problem with alcohol was fuelling my depression and, therefore, contributing to my self-hatred. I had to break this cycle of hate.

I sat in my silence and said, “Adriana, you have two choices right now: You can continue down this path, knowing you’re going to keep doing the same thing, getting the same results; and I’m pretty sure that’s what Einstein defined as insanity. Down this path your addictions will kill you or you may do it yourself—whatever comes first. Or, you can do something you haven’t done in the last ten years: give sobriety a chance and see if things are different on the other side.”

I was twenty-nine when I said enough. My grandfather was sixty. Some people never have an age. Some people simply drown and instead of living to their full potential. They just exist.

Every year on my birthday, I would blow out my candles and wish for love. Last year, my wish came true and I started the tumultuous road to recovery, healing, and self-love. It may be a cliché but it’s true: Who’s going to love you if you don’t love yourself first?

I knew that the life I dreamed of was on the other side of my fears and getting sober was a stepping-stone. I just celebrated eight months of sobriety, and although this may not seem like long, it’s the longest I haven’t poisoned my blood in ten years.

It hasn’t been easy. I have cried alone in my room. I had cried walking down the street. I have cried at parties and events. I’ve had breakdowns in several AA meetings. I have cried during a yoga class when the tears were triggered by the damage I had done to my body. I felt it all.

I heard voices telling me I’d fail and I should just stick to my old ways, the ways I knew best. I almost relapsed twice in the first three months because I was tempted to show my new friends who my old friends knew me to be.

But I am healing and getting stronger.

I’ve learned that we find our greatest strengths in our darkest shadows, and there is no way you can know what happiness is until you figure out what it isn’t.

The relationship we have with ourselves is the longest relationship we’ll ever have. Yet, we spend prolonged periods of time neglecting ourselves to suit the world around us.

We chase happiness in momentary triumphs instead of simply choosing it by putting in the work to keep ourselves self-aware and on our own paths of personal enlightenment.

We avoid taboo topics like addictions because they make people uncomfortable, but are more than willing to engage in these addictions because they make us more comfortable with ourselves.

We are united by owning our struggles and sharing our stories, and divided by our quest for perfection and appearing perfect to the world around us. Perfection is an illusion, and God, did I learn this the hard way.

I don’t deny my demons because instead of feeling ashamed of them, I’m now proud of how I’ve overcome them. And I know my greatest strengths have surfaced from my deepest struggles. Because of what I’ve been through, I’m more compassionate with others in similar situations and I’ve also developed a strong sense of determination to do the inner self work required to get past my trauma.

How many of you can look yourself in the eye and say I love you without knowing deep down that you just lied? I’m still learning, but courtesy of sobriety, I’m getting there.

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About Adriana Kupresak

Adriana Kupresak is a travel and lifestyle Blogger based in Zagreb, Croatia. As a recovering alcoholic, revealing her personal wounds have given her the most praise and strength in sobriety. She regularly contributes to The Huffington Post, Elite Daily, Jetset Times, and Rebelle Society.

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