ParaArchive of Our Own
"Hey Ems," I called out over my shoulder. "Did you know there's a Creative Writing section on PHO?"
Emma was still seated on the floor of my room as her freshly painted toenails were not yet dry. "No, I didn't. What do they write about?"
I started clicking through the pages. "Cape fiction is the obvious answer-"
"Duh," Emma interrupted.
"But," I continued as if she hadn't spoken, "I'm noticing there's a fair number of stories about made up capes, almost as many as stories about real ones."
Emma's face scrunched up in confusion. "People make up capes and write stories about them? Are the stories any good?"
I gave a hum as I started glancing at summaries. Most of them weren't informative enough to give me an idea as to their quality. "This one is about some monster cape in New York that's a virus, he's a villain that eats people but it's okay because they deserve it. This one is about a guy with electric powers living in a city after an Endbringer attacked. Then there's-" I stopped and had to rub my eyes to make sure I was reading the next one correctly. "Aliens blow up the Earth but not before the president of the United States, who is a former gang leader, steals a ship and flies into space with a select few survivors, whereupon they fight the aliens in a virtual cityscape based on Pittsburg."
"That's got to be the dumbest idea for a story I've ever heard. We could write something better than that."
I was about to mindlessly agree and continue scrolling through the summaries but then I thought about her words. We probably could write a better story. Thanks to Mom I was far more well read than most kids my age and Emma had far wider interests and experiences than me, meaning she had plenty of knowledge to draw from. Between the two of us, we really did have a good shot at writing something decent.
I spun the chair around to look at my best friend. "What would our cape be?"
"What?"
"If we wrote a better story, what would the cape be? Powers? Name? Gender?"
"A girl, obviously." I nodded at Emma's words, it was obvious after all. She continued, "Something cool though. Not that goofy, family-friendly shtick that Challenger has going. Our cape would be a dark avenger, someone criminals and villains would be scared of."
"Pretty sure Avenger is taken as a name. I feel like if someone used Dark Avenger in real life there would be a trademark lawsuit shortly after their debut."
Emma rolled her eyes. "I wasn't suggesting that a name, more as a theme. The name could be. . . I don't know, Deathstalker or Mistress of the Night or something."
Those were actually pretty good names. Emma was definitely better at this than me. I quickly turned back towards the computer and opened up a blank Word document and started making notes. "Alright, powers?"
"Needs to match up with the concept. She's not a spooky danger that villains have to watch out for if she's got bright, in-your-face powers. They'd see her coming. So something sneaky or mysterious. Maybe invisibility. Or she can teleport through shadows."
"So she could pop up at anyplace, anytime, and the criminals would never know if she was there or not, I get you. She'd need a weapon to go with that though."
"Baseball bat?"
I shook my head. "I don't think so, that just feels brutish. She needs. . . elegance. How about crossbows?"
"Means she can pick people off at a distance," Emma said with a shrug. "So why not?"
"Cool, cool. Costume?"
"For someone like this I don't think it's that important." I paused in my typing and turned my head, my expression must have been radiating bafflement because Emma laughed. "She's a dark and mysterious cape, she fights from the shadows and criminals lose before they even know she's there. Her costume should be stealthy, it doesn't need to be fancy."
"Alright, I see your point," I conceded. "What would the plot be?"
"Alexandria kicked her out of the LA Protectorate for being too rough on criminals. So she decides to return to her hometown of Brockton Bay, just in time to take part in the push to get rid of the Teeth."
I blinked in surprise. "Wow, you didn't even hesitate on that. Just had the idea ready to go?"
"Dad was reminiscing about some childhood friend with Mom the other night, apparently the guy was killed by the Teeth before they were kicked out of Brockton."
"Do you remember his name? We could have him be our cape's ex-boyfriend. She comes back to town just in time to save him."
"I don't think that time frame works, Taylor. He died when Dad was in either middle or high school. Deathstalker can't be his ex if she's Protectorate."
Guess she's already settled on the name. "It's fiction, don't worry about it. It's more important that the story makes sense than that it perfectly matches up to everything."
"If you say so." Emma did not sound convinced.
"What does Taylor say?" Mom asked, poking her head in the room. "Does she say she sells seashells by the seashore?"
"PHO has a Creative Writing section," I explained. "Most of the stuff on there is really bad so we're gonna write something better. We're trying to figure out our cape's backstory."
Mom had a slight frown on her face. "Hmmm. You two know how much I normally encourage you both to express yourselves, and writing fiction is a great way to do that, you can learn a lot about yourself if you're introspective enough."
"But?" Emma asked.
"But if you're going to be posting it online you should be prepared for people to hate it and be blunt when they tell you so, or they might ignore it completely. Either one could happen."
"Oh we know that, Mom. I've been looking at the comments on some of these stories, the internet is not a hugbox."
"Alright, if you two are sure you have thick enough skins then there's only one other thing I'd be worried about. And that's accidentally revealing too much about yourself and people finding out where you live."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Mom was worried about mistakes that kids made. "We'll change it up, don't worry."
"Yeah, Mrs. H. We got this, we're probably more aware of the dangers of the internet than you."
Mom stared at both of us. Emma and I fidgeted under her gaze. "I'll need to look over the first couple of chapters to make sure. If I'm confident you two are being responsible, you can post without my permission after that." We nodded and Mom's stern look morphed into a smile. "Oh don't act like this is a punishment. It's also an excuse for me to read your story and give you feedback before you post it."
This sucks.
I threw my backpack on the floor and just let myself fall onto my bed, legs half dangling off of the edge and face firmly planted in the comforter.
I'd forgotten to make my bed this morning.
A chuckle escaped my lips, muffled by the blanket, and I rolled over to stare at the ceiling.
Now what?
I'd nearly forgotten about the incident. The first day of school was supposed to be a fresh start; a way to start over and maybe patch over the ache I still felt when I thought about Ems. Winslow wasn't the best school in town, but there were over a thousand students packed into a three story monolith. Realistically, I could've gone the whole day without seeing her.
So naturally we shared three classes. And her new best friend was in PE with me.
I wanted to talk with her alone, without her new shadow. But she didn't even look in my direction. Not at lunch, not in World Events, not even in English. It was like I didn't even exist anymore…
No, that was a lie. Someone noticed me. Or at least they noticed my (not) friendship bracelet, because when I went to the restroom in English, my bracelet — carefully knotted around the strap of my bookbag so I didn't get it dirty — was gone. I asked my neighbor, a petite girl with blue hair clips, if she had seen it and she hadn't heard a thing.
But she did promise to keep an eye out for it, which was nice. I wish I remembered her name.
Dad wasn't home yet and I wasn't feeling up to eating alone, so I dragged myself up and started putting my stuff away. Textbooks, spirals, doodles and scraps, all of it dumped out on my bed and I started trying to get myself organized.
Mom would be proud. I hoped.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the corner of a worn purple notebook peeking out from beneath my bed and I plucked it off the floor. The word "Deathstalker" was artfully scribbled in hot purple nail polish on the front and I couldn't help but grin when I saw it. Emma and I had filled the silly thing with notes about possible exploits our grim crusader could have experienced. She'd even sketched a costume: black and purple, with a skull mask beneath a hood. Emma wasn't a great artist by any stretch, but she was better than me. Thus, she'd been tasked with trying to make our vision work.
It was funny to look back now; Emma had gotten very serious about making sure Deathstalker had the right 'vibe' and didn't want anyone to think she was a joke. Deathstalker was an elegant vigilante, living the high life by day and taking to the streets by night, so she'd dug into her pile of fashion magazines and cut out pictures to tape to a bulletin board she'd convinced her dad to buy for her. She would pin gorgeous models up and proceed to 'dress' them, taping over the dresses with cut-outs of military gear. When that turned out too bulky, she found pictures of costumes to print out and tear apart, all so she had a working idea of who Deathstalker should be.
When she realized that neither of our phones had a good enough camera to get all the details, she decided to take the whole affair online. Collages of diamonds and arrows, blood and skulls filled a landing page we'd created specifically for the story. A 'moodboard', Emma called it, and she made a ton of them. One for every chapter. It set a tone and she was very good at that.
What Emma hadn't been great at was the actual writing, which is where I came in. I'd taken our random ideas and molded them into a somewhat coherent plot over the last year, cranking out a dozen chapters for all the world to see. Or at least the commenters on the PHO Creative Writing forum, who delighted in Deathstalker's exploits when they weren't picking apart my grammar or baying for blood.
Why doesn't she just shoot first and let the PRT sort it out later?
'Their', not 'they're'.
So is Deathstalker hot or what?
I'd never written so much in my life. And with Emma alongside for the ride, we laughed as Deathstalker brought her own brand of street justice to the vile gangs and evil criminal kingpins of Bay City.
I stared down at the notepad in thought for a while. Then I flipped it open, sat at my desk and booted up the computer. I had homework but I didn't want to think about school and all that entailed.
Instead, I decided to focus my thoughts on something fun: resolving the cliffhanger of how Deathstalker was going to escape Odinson and the trap he had set.
"Deathstalker, how easily you fell into my trap!" Odinson gloated. His armor gleamed in the moonlight like a pearl; it reflected his abhorrent beliefs through and through, how only 'his' people were worthy of their gifts and how all the supposed animals stole them from law abiding citizens — it would make killing him later all the sweeter. "With you gone, my rain of terror shall TRULY BEGIN!"
Worse yet, the Odinson's trap was truly insidious. He had rigged his office to fill with noxious gas if anyone was inside for too long without him, so I had been caught unawares. Now I was stuck inside a metal casket with little room to stretch, let alone use my crossbow—how my bolts longed to pierce his throat. Tight and cramped, he could have left me inside to starve.
But Odinson's depravity was far deeper than that. No, he couldn't have a mere
slow death, it had to be agonizing. It was the only thing he truly felt anymore, so he'd become savage. Sadistic. All so he could feel anything. Through his cackles, he told me how the casket would slowly fill with blood and filth, ever so slowly, until I drowned, his sick game fulfilled. Even now I could feel a wetness at my boots, the smell of copper growing ever stronger as I considered my options.
Too cramped to use my bow.
Too small a space for my trusty pouches to be of use.
I nearly succumbed to my despair, until I felt the sharp tip of my spare blade behind one of my belt buckles.
There.
I had my way of escape, and when I saw Odinson again, dripping in blood while I spilled his, I knew justice would never taste so sweet…
Oh wow, did I write that? It was hard not to cringe rereading my old work. Emma had come up with Deathstalker's outfit, which I'd thought was cool at the time. And it was cool, up to a certain point. She had even managed a sketch or two when she had gone through an artsy phase; nothing so good she would ever get commissions over PHO, but it worked well enough to get the idea across and we'd posted the basic design a long time ago.
The black and purple still fit her elegance and the skull mask made her intimidating, but what we'd considered 'cool' at the case anymore. She had two capes for some reason, one across her shoulders and another at her waist. Emma reasoned at the time that she could take off the shoulder cowl and still have a striking silhouette, but part of me still believed it was because Emma herself liked to tie a jacket around her waist at school and thought it looked cool. Deathstalker had shoulderpads, which made her shoulders wider than her hips and made the whole design look cluttered.
And the pouches.
So many pouches.
I wasn't a good artist. But… Deathstalker was in a trap where she would barely escape by the skin of her teeth. Her costume could get 'sacrificed' and that would give me an excuse to completely redesign the whole thing.
Alright, let's get to work.
DeathApex1996: just wanted to say im glad youv gotten back into writing again
DeathApex1996: Deathstalker was inspiring to me
DeathApex1996: she was a real predator going after the criminals of Bay City
DeathApex1996: world would be a better place if more real life capes were like her
DeathApex1996: or at least the shithole city where i live would be
I wasn't sure if I should respond to that message or not. It was nice having fans, evidently this one was quite devoted if they found Deathstalker 'inspiring' but I also felt like that was a bit of a red flag. Deathstalker absolutely should not be someone that normal people found inspiring, she was an over-the-top violent vigilante. She was created by two middle schoolers as the epitome of cool and well, we had been dorks. Emma and I wouldn't have known "cool" if it walked up and introduced itself to us. Deathstalker was on the same wavelength as those cheesy 80's action movies. She had been a blast to create but I wouldn't base any of my life decisions on her, except maybe to do the exact opposite of her in any given situation.
I'll decide that later. Lemme check the other messages.
somnolentSleep: How the fuck do you confuse rains and reigns?
somnolentSleep: I've seen typos, I've seen word swaps.
somnolentSleep: People confusing 'you're' and 'your' is basically a running joke at this point.
somnolentSleep: But you are the first person I have EVER seen make that mistake.
This one did get a response. I politely thanked somn for pointing out the mistake and told him I'd make the correction later tonight. Despite the few years it had been between Deathstalker chapters, I still recognized his username. Somn had been one of the earliest commenters on my stories and only ever posted SPAG corrections. Sometimes I questioned whether or not he enjoyed my writing given that he never gave any praise but he kept reading chapter after chapter so I assumed he must like my work on some level. It was nice to hear from him again. Even if it was just to get yelled at.
Lynch Biscuit: you are a master blueballer
Lynch Biscuit: you create spheres of only the finest sapphire
Lynch Biscuit: i thought for sure you and your fics were dead
Lynch Biscuit: you stopped at the worst possible time
Lynch Biscuit: but now you're back and i love it
Lynch Biscuit: the nut has finally busted
Weird metaphor aside, I took the message as the compliment it was intended as and responded with a simple thank you as well as an apology for taking so long to get the final chapter of this story arc out.
Though with the fight against Odinson and the Evil Empire done, what next?
It wasn't that I had no ideas. There were plenty of possible plots half written in the notebook, I was confident I could take one of those and hammer it into something workable. But did I really want to start a new story arc? This felt like a good point to end things and it was weird working on something Emma and I had created now that she and I were. . . whatever it was we were.
On the other hand, it was fun. Maybe I'll plot out the next arc.
I-Can-Fap-To-That: just found ur fic and binged the hole thing
I-Can-Fap-To-That: it was amzing
I-Can-Fap-To-That: do u take commissions
I-Can-Fap-To-That: if so id pay for a chapter wear deathtalker boyfriend gets kid naped
I-Can-Fap-To-That: and 2 find out who took him she starts beating up gangs
I-Can-Fap-To-That: but she arrive 2 late and finds him dead
I-Can-Fap-To-That: so she goes on a ramage and murders every1 involved
Once I finished reading the message I promptly deleted it and blocked the sender. This wasn't anything new, there had been a couple posters in the thread every time a new chapter went up that were just way too into the violence. Most of them kept it contained to the thread but every once in a while one of them would reach out to me wanting more. This was the first time I had been offered money though.
The username certainly doesn't help their case though. Were they reading my fic and mastur-
I immediately stopped that train of thought before it finished leaving the station.
Next message! Who else wants to talk to me?
SpecificProtagonist: Hello. I'm glad to see an author returning to the cape writing scene. You had stopped by the time I got into this so I was never able to reach out to you before now.
SpecificProtagonist: The reason I'm sending this to you specifically is because, while we both write cape fiction, we have drastically different interests. You write gory action and I write smut.
SpecificProtagonist: I can't grow as a writer if no one tells me what I do wrong. I need someone who isn't into porn to look over my fics and give me honest criticism.
SpecificProtagonist: I've seen the comments you get on your stories, I wish I could get that kind of feedback. All my readers are horny on main and won't tell me how to improve.
SpecificProtagonist: To clarify, I'm not looking for someone that will just catch typos. I want actual critique about whether or not scenes work, character motivation, and plot. That sort of stuff.
SpecificProtagonist: Our readership doesn't have much crossover given how different the genres we write in are but I would be happy to give you a shout out and link to your stuff if you agree to help.
SpecificProtagonist: For the big stories I might even be able to be able to send you a bit of money.
I ran my fingers through my hair as I thought about what to say. I was aware that PHO had a NSFW section but I had never worked up the nerve to go back there after the first time. Seeing a gif of Behemoth fucking a building with a penis as long as his arms had been more than enough for nine year old me.
Do I want to dive into that kind of degeneracy?
Writing about Deathstalker had been fun, cathartic, relaxing even. Thinking about what I'd put into that final chapter had been a good escape from. . . everything. Did I really want to devote my free time to judging someone's porn?
Oh God, what if their idea of sex is as true to reality as what Emma and I thought was cool when we created Deathstalker? What if SpecificProtagonist is some twelve year old boy that thinks all women like anal or something?
I couldn't help but shift uncomfortably in my seat. While I was a virgin I still felt like I understood more about sex than any virgin guy my age, let alone one that was younger.
Okay, okay. I'm not gonna jump to conclusions. I'll read one of their fics to see if it's a complete trainwreck before I make a decision.
The computer screen flickered in front of me.
I wasn't staring at it, not really, so it didn't register in my brain. I was more contemplating the sentence I had just written.
Our propensity towards violence may be hardwired into our genes but hopefully so is our desire to overcome that violence.
It sounded alright but it was just off ever so slightly. I wasn't sure what it was but it just didn't have the right tone, the right feel, the right message. Admittedly, part of that may have been because the words were completely out of character for Deathstalker, but that was part of the point. She was an over-the-top vigilante who viewed herself as a sophisticated lady, unaware of the hypocrisy.
Though part of that is only because I've grown and changed her characterization over time. When Emma and I first created her she was playing the part completely straight.Not as if either of us noticed the hypocrisy at the time.
It was weird to look back at something I thought was cool and just realize how awkward and not cool it was. Made me wonder if in a couple of years I'd look back at my current writing and have the same reaction.
Forget that. Focus. Okay, Deathstalker just killed a would-be robber in front of his victim. The woman is hyperventilating because she just watched someone die, even if he did try to steal her purse. Deathstalker wants to leave but she feels obligated to stick around until the woman calms down. What does she say?
I had subconsciously twisted some of my hair around my finger, winding and unwinding it repeatedly.
What sort of pseudo-philosophical fortune cookie nonsense would she say here?
I began nibbling on a few strands of my hair, a habit I thought I had dropped years ago.
'Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable in their apparent disinclination to do so. I have killed so many criminals in this city yet more of them continue to appear.' No no, that wouldn't work. She sounds like she is expositing at the woman, not talking to her.
The computer screen flickered again. This time I noticed it.
Forget it. I clicked the save icon and stood up from my chair. The computer was old, if it felt like misbehaving I wasn't going to work on where I was stuck and risk losing the additions I had written but I also wasn't going to save every two minutes. I'll jump ahead, get started on the next chapter.
I grabbed my notebook off my desk and hopped onto my bed. Once I was comfortable, I pulled the pen out of the spine and opened to a blank page.
As I gingerly picked myself up off the floor, there was a burst of laughter from the top of the stairs.
"Taylor, you know you're a klutz! You should be more careful when going down the stairs," Madison's words were punctuated by giggles.
My wrists were aching. I knew the danger of putting your hands out to catch yourself in a fall but in this instance I had to use my arms or my face, I chose my arms.
I twisted my hands back and forth. I don't think anything is broken, at least.
I didn't even bother looking up at the girls that were still laughing at me. A glare would just encourage them and I didn't have anything witty to say that they wouldn't be able to turn back around on me.
I started to walk away when I heard rapid footsteps on the stairs behind me. I turned just in time to be shoulder-checked by Sophia and sent slamming into the wall.
"Take that, you worm," she said as she hurried past me.
While my head was ringing from where it had collided with brick, that wasn't what left me blinking in stupefaction. It was Sophia's insult, mainly because I had written it.
I had been interacting with SpecificProtagonist for nearly a year now — she and I knew each other well enough at this point that I would call us friends. We beta'd each others' fics, offered critique, sent our readers to the other's stories, and even helped write scenes the other was having trouble with.
We had done a crossover fic, Stalking For Love, where Deathstalker ends up in one of the wacky situations that SpecificProtagonist loved to write about, where characters that have nothing in common decide to have sex. She had written all the actual smutty parts, I just contributed dialogue so that Deathstalker would sound correct, and one of the scenes had involved a guy that was really into S&M and being insulted.
Sophia reads cape smut. I. . . I have no idea what to do with this information.
It wasn't as if 'take that, you worm' was a common insult. It was weird phrasing, no one spoke like that in real life. I had written it that way deliberately; Deathstalker was a violent killer that thought she was sophisticated, half the fun of her character for me was the dichotomy of her thoughts and her actions.
I didn't even care when the bell rang, signaling that I was late for class. I continued to stand in the hallway, trying to cope with the fact that one of my bullies read porn that I had helped write.
Has she read SP's other stuff? Glorious Dallonances? The Fault In Our Lines? Mounting The Knight? Alexandria: Burning with Desire? Leviathot? A Snail's Pace? Teacher's Pet? Oh god, has she read Enter The Dragon?
The first story SpecificProtagonist had ever written had been about a forbidden romance between Lung and Kaiser. It was hilarious, horrifying, cringeworthy, and not even remotely arousing. Luckily, it had not been the first story of hers that I had read otherwise I never would have agreed to help her.
There was no fixing Enter The Dragon.
Should I say something?
I wasn't sure exactly what Sophia's reaction would be if I called her out in public though it would likely be violent. I could try talking to her in private.
Would that even change anything? Or would I just give her more ammunition to use against me?
After all, it would be easy to spread the word through the school that I was a weirdo who wrote cape smut. The only reason that hadn't already made the rounds was because it was such an obscure thing I doubt it occurred to anyone as an insult to use.
It's not as though Sophia will suddenly decide to become my friend if I tell her I'm a beta reader and occasional idea provider for smut she's read.
I thought about making my way to class, but decided I wasn't in the mood and had too much on my mind. I'm already late and it's the last class of the day, I'll just go home early. Maybe I'll message SP and see if she has any ideas.
One of the windows at the side of the bank shattered. A blur of white and gold slammed into the center of the lobby hard enough to send fragments of marble tile skittering over the floor to my feet, highway across the room. The figure straightened, dusted herself off and turned to glare at me. Almost casually, she backhanded the marble and oak table to her left that held all of the withdrawal and deposit slips. With that lazy swing of her arm, she annihilated the table, doing so much damage to it that nobody would ever be putting it together again.
It was humiliating to admit, but I nearly wet myself. I'm not sure my reaction would have been much different if she didn't have a power that made her flat out terrifying. Literally, that's what her power did. Had I done something heinous in a past life to deserve going up against Lung on my first time out in costume and Glory Girl on my second?
"Hey sis." Glory Girl tilted her head to one side, to look at the brown haired girl. "You okay?"
The girl, who could be none other than Amy Dallon, Panacea when she was in costume, offered Glory Girl a beaming smile. "I am now."
Damn it. Glory Girl's sister had been among the hostages. At least I knew who she was now. She could heal with a touch, and if what she'd done to my powers was any indication, that wasn't the full extent of her abilities. Glory Girl and Panacea were celebrities, even if Panacea had generally avoided the spotlight as of late. They were among the most famous of the local heroes, arguably among the most powerful of the kid capes, they were pissed at me, and I was stuck in a room with them. And my powers aren't working.
Glory Girl stepped towards me, and I scrambled for Panacea. She frantically grasped at my costume, trying to grab at my glove, then at my mask, but the moment I drew my knife, both she and Glory Girl went absolutely still. I grabbed Panacea's chin and maneuvered so I was standing behind her, my knife pressed to her throat.
"Count yourself lucky, bug bitch, that your costume covers your entire body," Panacea murmured to me, "Or I'd maybe give you a heart attack. Or cancer."
I swallowed hard. I wasn't counting myself particularly lucky at this point.
"It seems we have a stalemate," Glory Girl said.
"True," I replied, hopefully sounding more confident than I felt.
"So, are we just going to stand around here until reinforcements arrive for one side of the other, tip the scales in someone's favor?"
"I could live with that. Last I saw, my side was winning."
"Yeah, we're doing okay," Tattletale said as she sidled into the room. She hoisted herself up onto the edge of one of the teller's stations then greeted Glory Girl, "Hey, Glory Hole."
Glory Girl's face twitched.
"Tattletale," I called out, my voice a touch strained, "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but could you avoid antagonizing Alexandria Junior?"
"Eh, you seem to have things under control. Why not set the bugs on the prom queen?"
"Prom queen?" Glory Girl asked.
"Um," I cut in, before either of them could say something that started a fight. "First of all, she's invincible. Second, again, bad idea to irritate someone who can swing a school bus like a baseball bat. Third, my hostage here did something to fuck up my powers."
"That last bit sucks," Tattletale sympathized. Then she took a closer look at Panacea. "Shit, Amy Dallon? Grue is going to kill me for missing that. You look different than you did when you were showing up in the news. Are you wearing your hair differently?"
"Tattletale," I interjected, again, "Less small talk, more problem solving."
"Right. Your powers aren't working?"
"Can't control my bugs, got a major headache."
"Think I know why. Let me fix that for you," Tattletale said. She hopped down from the teller's station and started to walk towards me and Panacea.
"Back off," Panacea snarled. "You come near me I fuck up your taste buds, you little terrorist. You threaten the lives of innocents, I can go that far. I can do anything with your biology. Make everything you eat taste like bile. Or maybe I'll just make you fat. Morbidly, disgustingly fat. So fat you won't even be able to stand up under your own strength. When you eventually die they'll find your corpse fused to your sofa."
Tattletale responded, but I didn't hear what she said. I was barely able to keep my grip on both Panacea and the knife I had at her throat because her words had shot through me.
That threat. . . I've heard that before.
If I had a nickel for everytime someone struck me and then quoted cape smut I've worked on, I'd have two nickels.
Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened twice now. First Sophia, and now Panacea.
Wait, hold up. The threat, making someone so fat they'd be unable to stand and would live the rest of their life laying on a couch until their skin grew into the upholstery, that was from SpecificProtagonist's most recent fic in her Traveling Series, Glory Girl Gapes Green Bay. But the important thing was that while I had beta'd all of them — Dauntless Does Dallas, Miss Militia Molests Minnesota, Chevalier Charges Chicago, Battery Batters Baton Rouge andSiberian Sucks Seattle — the Glory Girl fic hadn't been published yet. SP said she would be posting it next weekend.
Oh my god, Amy Dallon, Panacea, an unmasked cape, writes cape smut. Oh my god, she's written cape smut about her own family!
That was even more disgusting than the fact that she had once written a Jack Slash/Crawler slowburn fic called Uncut.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I finally blurted out. It was only after I had spoken that I realized Tattletale had been arguing with Glory Girl.
"Uh, problem?" Tattletale asked.
"Not you." I jerked my head at Panacea, even though since I was standing behind her the healer couldn't see the motion. "Her. Who the fuck writes smut about people they know personally?"
Reactions were mixed, unsurprisingly. Glory Girl looked confused while Tattletale's mouth fell open in shock. But from the way Panacea tightened in my grip, I knew I was correct.
"Hell, just the DragonLayer series alone!" I ranted. "Your aunt and uncle hook up with Lung in Into The Dragon's Den, but then he fucks Laserdream in The Dragon Laid Her and Shielder in Dragon Deez Nuts!" I stomped my foot. "And for the record, I still maintain that it should have been called Taming The Dragon since Shielder was the top and it ended with Lung renouncing crime!"
Glory Girl still looked confused but there was also a mix of disgust and anger on her face while Tattletale. . . well, she stared at me as if I was God himself, having descended from heaven and revealed it was pronounced Jod. Panacea was shaking in my grip.
"You thought it should have been called Taming The Dragon?" Panacea hissed through her teeth, her anger clear. "You're CrimsonVoid?! My beta-reader, my cowriter, my friend, is someone willing to murder all the innocent people here?! "
"Don't even try to claim the moral high ground here!" I argued. "You wrote Case 34!"
"Just because I write certain scenarios in fiction does not mean I approve, condone, or even want those things to happen!"
"Bullshit! No one writes that much incest without wanting to fuck at least one family member!"
"I also wrote vore, that doesn't mean I want to get eaten by Siberian!"
"I know that was a commission you got paid to write. But you wrote the incest all on your own!"
At some point during the shouting, I had let go of Panacea and she had turned to look at me. Neither one of us had noticed, too focused on our argument. It only became apparent as we both paused for breath.
Glory Girl didn't seem to know what to say or do, looking back and forth between us. Tattletale finally closed her mouth and rubbed her forehead.
"Alright," my teammate said. "How about we all just agree to pretend the last five minutes didn't happen and instead go back to threatening each other?"