Though this blog is over ‘n all, we are working on something else, and if you go looking I’m sure you’re clever enough to find the start of it all.
-Mod A (I once lost a pencil in my hair, it took 3 days to find it again)
The mods’ URLs have all been added to the about page, if you want to keep track of us. Oh, and I’ll be sure to keep you posted on any future projects we’re involved in. =^P
-Mod A (Still the fluffiest)
Probably not, but some of us might show up elsewhere if you keep a careful eye out, though you'll need to be especially sharp to spot me again. -Mod A (The fluffiest mod)
sorry for dropping off the face of the earth, I ended up having a very chaotic 2 weeks with family coming home and such. I’ll need a while longer to kick writers block but I’m just stopping in to say sorry for the unannounced break!
This one took a little longer pretty much because Tord is harder to write but yay we’re at almost the same place we’re at in the blog.
First chapter is here
Tord pondered the same as Tom did, alone, in his room, and regrettably sober. However, his pain was more recent, more evident. Prosthetic fingers clicked on his desk in a way flesh never would as he indulged a nervous habit. Fidgeting was better than smoking or stress eating, after all.
He considered his actions as of late. His abandonment, and whether or not he was the perpetrator or victim of it. Possibly he may have been both, but truthfully he was the one to sever the line. It was not his actions which did the severing though, no amount of violence could have matched those words. “What would I need friends for,” getting out of his wreck of a giant robot, bleeding and in pain. It was Paul and Patryk, by now his best friends in the world, who dragged him out and patched his wounds. “When I’ve got this!” If only they knew what ‘this’ truly meant. Not a giant robot, but the whole world in his palm. He wouldn’t have any of it if it wasn’t for his friends… What he truly didn’t need were people he barely spoke to in the past eight years.
But that was all irrelevant, Paul and Patryk didn’t hear. They would have understood if they did. None of this really mattered. He was worrying too much. When he worried too much he smoked. He did not want to smoke. When he did not want to smoke he ate.
He sighed, lightly wiggling back and forth in his desk chair. Habits and compulsions were not going to rule his life, as spite was doing a thorough enough job; regret also had no place in him. He made a full rotation in his swivel chair, and stopped when he faced his computer again. It was time to check the status of things, as he was still too early in recovery to participate. Re-building the giant robot he retrieved, and then immediately crashed, seemed to be going well, and progress reports were coming in at an efficient pace. The sense of achievement soothed his nerves. He moved on from his minimal work to a general state of slacking off. After all, he was told he needed to rest, so he settled down with a bowl of potato chips and a tv show.
Just as he was finally getting comfortable, his phone rang startling him into throwing his bowl. He regained his composure for a few seconds, trying to brush off the thrown potato chips before answering the phone.
“How did you get this number?” he said into the phone, suspicious of the unidentified caller. Nothing but the slight sound of breathing came from the other line for long enough to make Tord anxious. “Hello…?” he said again, trying to sound more confused than nervous.
The caller made a sound almost like growl before bursting out into a fit of shouting, “TORD YOU SON OF A BITCH-”
“Tom?” Tord said, pinning an identity on the caller. However, something was off. The caller did not have Tom’s number- in fact Tord still had Tom under a contact. On top of that, Tom doesn’t growl. People in general don’t growl, monsters growl. But Tom only ever turned into a monster once, then DING, problem solved. Tord followed his gut and laid out a bit of bait, “I thought you would at least have left me alone after nearly killing me.”
Tom stopped again, confused. He hadn’t seen Tord in years, so that just didn’t add up. Completely disoriented he said the only thing he knew to. “No? I did not?”
“Then there’s clearly something wrong, you dont sound drunk enough to forget that,” Tord explained, “Now it’s a matter of what.”
“Wait, so you’re telling me you are Tord?” Tom asked.
“Yes.” Tord confirmed.
“But you think I tried to kill you?” Tom continued.
“I know so,” Tord said, clearly annoyed, “I lost a limb to prove it if you think I’m lying.”
Tom stopped again in one of his fits of confusion, waiting for his mind to catch up with reality. This dead air went on for several seconds before Tom spoke again. “Well, what else is different?”
They stayed on the phone and discussed their stories and how starkly different from each other they were. Tom explained his life since he “left” their original friend group, trying his best to dance around alcoholism and homelessness. He padded his story with tales of massive destructive rampages that seemed to like nothing his alternate from Tord’s universe would ever do. Tord’s story was more mellow, as if it was all growing towards a massive climax that had yet to come. He shied away from questions about his old friends, explaining that the subject was still sore.The sugar coated stories of the others adventures in evil awed both of them, though Tord was more sceptical and with good reason.
Just as quickly as the call started it ended, with a promise to speak again and the feeling of something more on the way. The information presented to him during the call ran through his head as he prepared to sleep. Tom as a villain, Tord’s army never existing, and most of all the idea of him and his friends still being together and happy. Old friends, he corrected himself, they were old friends, he has new friends now that respect his interests. But it was too late, the nostalgia goggles were already on.
Nostalgia, pain, and the aching feeling that he was being watched kept Tord up into the AM, long after the initial confusion of the call had passed. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t place what was making him feel so paranoid, but he still felt it as if someone was staring at the back of his head. He settled into an uneasy sleep without really shaking the feeling.
Well here it is, the Color Villains AU fanfic(or at least the first chapter of it) I’ll be posting on AO3 once I get that set up. If youre new to the AU theres more information on it on the blog
A bit of a warning for violence but no NSFW
Tom walked down the street, one hand in his pocket the other holding a to-go coffee cup. In the cup was a deadly cocktail of vodka and bad decisions, a molotov to light his temper. Years ago there would have been actual coffee in the mix to bite back the taste of the liquor but now he drank with a straight face and a numb tongue. His skin lurched as his muscles unnaturally shifted and changed underneath. He washed his inhibitions to the back of his mind with long drinks of liquor and let it happen.
Tom could feel the skin on his finger tips harden and blacken as his fingers started to become claws, but the process itself was starting to get on his nerves with just how slow it was. He pushed his way through the crowded sidewalk until someone had enough of his assholish behavior.
“Watch where you’re going, you prick!” snapped the stranger, pushing Tom back. Tom glared down at them, eyes dark and without focus. Startled by Toms growing inhumanity the stranger stepped back, but Tom stepped forwards.
Anger triggered a change within Tom’s body, pushing claws from his hands and horns from his head. Fueled by adrenaline and impulse, Tom spiked the stranger to the ground with one punch. People around him jumped back or ran, terrified not only by the sudden act of violence but by Tom’s transformation. He looked from one side to the other, watching the now frantic crowd as he accustomed himself to the sting of his growth. Almost without effort, he pulled a parking meter from the ground and held it as a mock weapon. Thankfully for the stranger, he had lost interest in them, instead hitting a near-by car to vent his rage like one would hit a wall. The force of his swing pushed the vehicle into the road, causing a minor collision and further panic as he began a destructive rampage.
Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long until police cars filed into the street. For a while he simply ignored them, drowning out their voices and continuing to be a destructive force. Then a bullet grazed his leg and dragged his intoxicated mind back to reality. Not taking his chances with dumb luck and the possibility that he may be immune to bullets, Tom made for the nearest alleyway. He carelessly barreled through a trash can, only to find he was running straight at a parked car. Now sober logic would state one of two things- go around the car or try and hurdle it. However, Tom was not sober.
“Fuck it!” he roared, grabbing the parked car with his massive clawed hands and throwing it out of his way. The car rolled sideways into the busy road. Other cars to swerved to avoid it and crashed into one and other. Tom escaped through the cover of the resulting chaos, hiding to catch his breath in an abandoned subway station.
He waited and tended to his injured leg in silence as the hunt for him went on outside. No doubt he was getting sloppy, not for getting shot but for running because of one lousy bullet. Maybe he should have waited until some more proper provocation came along, a little less alcohol a little more anger. Regardless, not every unplanned public bitch-fit can be a massive success, and sometimes you have to just tuck tail and leave. That’s what his friends would have wanted him to know. In fact, they probably would prefer him getting scared and turning tail above him getting pissed and eating another tank.
Over several hours, Tom’s monstrous features faded and the search for him moved on so he left his hiding place to walk back home. He considered going to Paul and Patryk for medical .help but decided against it; the injury was small and he didn’t want to worry them. His ‘home’ at the time was a motel room on the edge of town. It had air conditioning and an outlet to charge his phone so he didn’t mind any of the downsides. He’d been out on his own for far too long to take anything for granted.
It didn’t take long after he sat down to rest for Paul and Patryk to come knocking on his door. He considered faking like he wasn’t home, but it was dark out and his light was on, so there was no use in being immature. He stood up and opened the door to face the music. Paul and Patryk were there at the door, obviously having rushed there.
“Tom are you ok? We saw the news and you looked pretty scared. Did you get shot?” said Partryk, skipping any kind of formality. Paul nodded along, trying to express concern without speaking over Patryk.
“I’m fine, really, I just got sort of scared,” Tom explained, trying not to sound dismissive. “I got grazed on the leg and that’s about as bad as it got.”
“You still got shot,” Paul said, walking into the motel room.
“Grazed,” Tom corrected, walking after Paul. “Anyways I’m walking fine so it’s fine.”
“It could get infected,” Paul stated, crossing his arms.
“Guys look let’s not throw a fit. We can just pick up some disinfectant and bandages at some corner store and get it over with.” Patryk said, stepping between Paul and Tom.
There was really no arguing on that, just an exchange of ‘okay’s and then they all piled into Pauls car to get the medicine. Patryk knew his way around logical reasoning like that, a good compliment to Toms beastly temper. After the medicine was retrieved, Tom talked his friends into letting him go home despite the shallow wound, and spent the night alone as usual.
Toms mind started to wander when he was finally solidly alone so late that night. He thought about old friends, wondered if they missed him. What if they found him all screwed up like he was? His mind filled with dreadful worst-case scenarios so loud he had to drown them out with alcohol just so he could fall asleep.
jsyk blue rebel wears clothes a size or 2 too big in case he half-shifts (hes half-shifted in all the ask responses and comic panels so far) He’s actually much shorter and less jacked when hes not piss drunk and pissed
theartofmadeline
stormborns
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