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shattered-catalyst · 3 years

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Intro to OCD for the RPC part 1/?

This is a balmy 6 page document on the VERY BASICS of OCD by a person who has had OCD for over 15 years and knows their shit.

If you want to write a character who has OCD this series is going to be a good starting point. If you dont know much about OCD I encourage you to read it so you can be an ally to those of us who have the disorder.

OCD is made into a cultural joke and when there isnt the ‘Obsessive Cat disorder’ bullshit its an angst off with other people and their non-ocd intrusive thoughts. Its different. Do your research and be an ally.

This will cover the very very basics. The next post will look into subtypes of OCD and how those are experienced.

Whomst can write it?

Literally anyone as long as you

● Do so respectfully and not make a mockery of the disorder and the harm it causes in peoples lives

● Dont make OCD the characters single thing or boil them down to it entirely ● Do respect the experiences and opinions of muns who have the disorder if they have concerns about your portrayal.

● Dont milk it for angst - unless you have OCD in which case release some of your angst.

● Dont try and say you know what intrusive thoughts are because they have *insert any other neuro a-typical thing here*

● Dont police how Muns who have OCD choose to portray it. Its our experience not yours. I like to write out my characters OCD as I experience OCD so my experiences are different from other muns. OCD is very diverse in its effects but always ask if you arent sure.

. What isnt OCD?

● Cleanliness or organization- OCD is NEVER an adjective.

● Planning/ Hypervigilance/Organized/Methodical

● Turning light switches on and off, unplugging things (find out more on later time)

● “I have to organize my pencils otherwise it bothers me” “ I have to make sure my mattress is straight” “ my nails have to be the same length” are all typical responses from people WHO DO NOT have OCD.

● Making sure objects are lined up neatly

● Having things go in a particular order like the letters CDO as the joke goes

● Really loving Cats, Corgis, or Christmas; if you own any of these items i urge you to reflect and also send me 10$ (jk but do reflect)

The Barest minimum

Google OCD this will be an advanced version of OCD. This will be long but if you want to be aware of others or want to write the character you will read it.

OCD is made of Obsessions. Triggers. Anxiety, Compulsions/Rituals.

1. Obsessions are the thoughts

2. Triggers are the object/person/image/situation/smell ETC

3. The Anxiety occurs is at uncomfortable levels to the point of panic or anxiety attacks

4. Compulsions or Rituals are performed

*There is a variant of OCD called Pure O. In this individuals have the obsessions triggers and anxiety but there is NO compulsion or ritual. This is still valid OCD.

Obsessions are the precursors to the flawed unwanted and harmful intrusive thoughts:

Im going to use you so you really understand this because its important.If you misunderstand this you are basically encouraging a mental health condition and dont get a sticker for reading this far.

First check out this link as it has ALL the subtypes and examples.

Obsessions can be hidden by the intrusive thought and teasing them out can be difficult to do if you have the disorder because well its a disorder okay thats why. It boils down to ‘i could harm someone’ ‘i could cause harm’ ‘ i may have accidentally harmed ___’ ‘ i may accidentally harm’ etc

This is the flawed powerful belief that predate the Intrusive Thought.

Intrusive thoughts appear in every brain on earth. They are not special or unusual however intrusive thoughts with OCD get stuck in the brain- meaning they stay there no matter what you do. So yes , they are different from intrusive thoughts in other conditions.

The thing about OCD is that it latches on to what you hold dear; it may be you are a caring person and love children and animals- your OCD would give you intrusive violent or sexual thoughts or images. These are horrible to experience. They are not welcome nor appreciated and there is no benefit or positive side to having them.

If say social justice is something you hold dear your ocd may take the form of intrusive thoughts of slurs, jokes, visuals etc. These are horrible to experience and lead to high levels of anxiety and are not positive nor beneficial to have in any way shape or form.

Maybe you would not harm someone or you value others; your OCD may present as graphic intrusive images or thoughts around poisoning, stabbing,accidental..ly murdering (yeah you read that right), hitting, insulting etc someone else

I must emphasize this because it is critical that people understand POCD: for the sake of those of us who have OCD read this until its burned into your brain.

This is the fucked up awful Obsessive thought that you are/were/ or could be sexually attracted to children. This is NOT pedophilia. People kill themselves over this because they are afraid that these intrusive thoughts are true. People isolate themselves and dont have families out of fear of harming a child. People take work in different fields or avoid areas with children out of the absolute terror their obsessive thoughts could be true. This is NOT pedophilia. There is NO attraction present.

Most people who experience POCD intrusive thoughts would rather punch a sharknado than even THINK of hurting a kid in any way shape or form. That is why the OCD does its thing it is like having an abusive brain.

Again for clarity's sake

If you value social justice -> the intrusive thoughts violate social justice stuff

If you value animals -> intrusive thoughts come up with harming animals

If you care about the protection and safety of children -> POCD

Triggers would be the situation, scenario, object, person,creature, context etc that is related to the Obsession. It can be literally anything.

What follows is a hell of a lot of anxiety that can range anywhere from discomfort to full on panic attacks.

Everyone has different intrusive thoughts and everyone experiences different amounts of distress upon being triggered.

● As a side bar. Do not ever try and expose someone to their triggers or write about a character being exposed to their triggers as a way to help ‘cure them’ or ‘expose them’ to ANYTHING. What you are doing is literally taking someone with a mental illness and shoving them into a breakdown and thats a piece of shit move. Exposure therapy does exist and is done by professionals TRAINED in ERP. My parents did this a lot and I am positive I am not alone in that experience.

Compulsions or Rituals: Now you may be saying ‘hey i know what those are’ yeah dude me too and I have had ocd for over 15 years and trained in mental health for 7 and guess what. They teach ya wrong.

Compulsions or ‘rituals’ are any behavior done to alleviate the anxiety from the intrusive thought and trigger object.

This can be as passive as ‘i am leaving the room’ ‘ i am checking my body sensations’ ‘ i am trying SO HARD TO HEAR MY HEARTBEAT’ .

It can also be repeating the same thing over and over. To illustrate this I once mentally chanted the same song lyric line on a 3 hour plane ride because otherwise we were all going to die. I took one for the whole team.

It can be somatic things like counting your heart beats, focusing on your breathing, swallowing, staring and not blinking for so many seconds.

It can be readjusting clothing until the seams fit. It can be checking god yes checking IK its a common trope but it IS a compulsion that has ruined my life and can be as passive as checking my reality or texting for proof my cat is still alive. It can also be checking yourself for assurance you wouldnt do the intrusive thought or that the intrusive thought isnt going to happen.

Compulsions are mentally painful and sometimes physically painful;

● Washing your hands with scalding water for 5+ minutes can lead to horribly dry and cracking skin to down right BURNS.

● If you do the same movement you can mess up joints and ligaments. So if you pray constantly you may have knee issues from standing and kneeling.

● If your compulsion has you doing movement against an object ie say gripping and regripping something you get callouses.

● If you compulsively exercise you may get trapped doing something above a healthy amount or say going from not working out to running a five minute mile and wiping out on a treadmill because your brain demanded it. Totally didnt do that...

● If your compulsions make you rub against any object you can get friction burns and scars.

To put this in perspective 15 years of compulsions have left my hands and finger joints a complete mess, damaged my arm tendons, friction scars on my arms that only now faded, and scars on my legs from doing too much of an activity.

Its not lmao I gotta fix these pencils its real agony and real torture.

In short compulsions and rituals are not fun they are absolutely not logical, and we know they are not logical but we are forced to do them. Thats why its a disorder.

OCD disrupts relationships with social components such as ;

Obsessively checking in with partner/friend if things are ‘okay’ (this feels horrible to do too fyi like you KNOW things are fine but you cant NOT because the anxiety is SO BAD),

Relationship OCD is a WHOLE category itself! this ties into sexuality OCD where your obsessive thoughts prey on your sexuality (regardless of your orientation), your relationship, cheating or being disloyal etc.

OCD causes significant withdrawal from others, fears of being a monster, intense guilt over intrusive thoughts, disgust with yourself over the intrusive thoughts sometimes leading to self punishment.

OCD leads to strange behavior which more often than not leads to bullying and ostracization. To exemplify this I have an intrusive thought that I have stolen something when I am inside stores, my check-check-check-check-check-recheck! of my pockets gets me store security called so often its criminal.

OCD limits activities that may expose them to triggers or influenced by intrusive thoughts ie: not being able to take the train to work or only getting off at bus stops with even numbers.

OCD impacts where they spend time, who they associate with, what jobs they take or even if they have a family or not

OCD leads to overwhelming feelings of guilt, shame, and fear over having intrusive thoughts or images that they experience which causes them to socially isolate or have difficulty in social situations.

OCD leads to Hyperfixation: like a lot of other things but thankfully it is just hyperfixation and not different from other diagnoses.

OCD leads to rigidity or structured routines: I have listened to the same CD in my car for 5 years now. Every single day. 5 Years.And Im not okay with that.

OCD impacts standards we hold ourselves to and others: its like regular perfectionism but like add on 5 extra layers of anxiety!

OCD according to NIMH statistics

1.2% Occurrence among US adults

2.3% Lifetime Prevalence among US adults

34.8% Of Adults who have OCD suffer moderate impairment to daily functioning 50.6% of Adults who have OCD suffer serious impairment to daily functioning

OCD has strong co-morbidity with the following:

Tourettes Syndrome- is a genetic friend of OCD and if you have tourettes or OCD your chances of having someone else in the family is high

ADHD

Autism

GAD

Eating Disorders

Depression - this is a big one along with low self esteem because of the intrusive thoughts

Writers like to make jokes about characters “being OCD” well now they have clinical OCD and you should consider fleshing out your character with this information just as you would any other disorder.

Batman (DC)

Riddler (?)(DC)

Domino (Marvel)

Cyclops (Marvel)

#this took a lot of emotional energy and i am now terrified

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saucysamu · 4 years

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Okay so... I know you’re not in the mood to write rn but still emergency request? like you can do a really small one bbygirl and don’t pressure yourself to write it immediately! ❤️

My friend just tiggered me cause she bought the same pair of trousers I got and she has them in S and I needed L. Like I would‘ve never fit in S. Yet she does and her body is similar to mine? Also she gained weight & I lost some?? and I’m just confused and my mind is getting stupid Ed related thoughts again like? I lost weight & gained muscles yet I’m still too fat??? Eventho I’m not like you can see my ripcage ??? & can I get some comfort from Oikawa, Sakusa & Atsumu pls?

My love I hope you’re doing better by now and don’t keep on spending your time thinking about that 🥺 you know you can rant to me whenever you feel like it, ilysm ❤️

Anyways here we go,,

Oikawa, Sakusa and Atsumu x reader who struggles with an ED

warnings: mention of ED/ body image/ food

Oikawa

* You’ve been dating for quite a while so Oikawa is aware of what went through your mind back then

* and he knows how to deal with it quite well??

* though he wished he didn’t have to, you’re so perfect in his eyes he will never be able to wrap his head around how someone like you would worry about such things

* so when you mention it all awkwardly to him that,, specific thoughts keep occurring again his mind goes A L A R M

* you even feel too embarrassed to look at him at all, but what for?

* he hugs you softly, placing his chin on the top of your head “you know I would never judge you for the way you feel right?” you just hum quietly as a response

* ladies, gentlemen and non-binary babes: here we have another king of pushing your self-esteem or crushing it in the case of enemies

* idk how he does it but he always says the right things to you without messing up or triggering you

* bet he’s the first one to distract you and support you like no other

* bitch cooks recipes of your fave foods to cook them more healthily so you won’t feel guilty

* need a gym buddy? Oikawa agrees before you can even ask him

* he tries to be subtle when observing your behavior bc even when he acts calm he’s still worried to death

* however it doesn’t stay unnoticed by you lol and you’d just reassure him with a teasing grin

* as much as he wants to believe it, he catches himself at times just wanting to make extra sure,,

* but he knows you’re strong!! and a fighter!!

* Still cautious when it comes to food even if you got better, it low-key became a habit of his to make sure you eat properly

* honestly can’t wait to go shopping with you again to hype you tf up and show you off to the world like “Ha! I have the prettiest gf on earth!! Watch her go off!!!”

Sakusa

* oh boy oh boy it took so long for the both of you to finally date so you can bet your ass he cares about you almost more than cleanliness,, almost

* which means there are only two things that make him feel startled,,, germs and you suffering

* he was NOT prepared for this

* I’m not gonna lie he’s the type that never got behind how being mentally ill worked, he always took everything as it was and would usually roll his eyes at someone claiming they’re depressed like honestly he’s such a “get over it, everyone gets sad sometimes😔✌🏻” - kind of guy cbdahjbks help💀

* well at least that is until he started to get to know you

* at the beginning he was still in denial like ??? iTs NoT ThaT ComPLiCatEd someone give this man some empathy PLEASE

* scratch that when he finds out how severe this can actually get yes he watched documentaries on EDs but if you asked no he didn’t

* you notice his caution now tho like come on it’s obvious

* finds excuses to spend more time with you, always wants to be as close to you as possible my guy wants make sure you’re not ✨messing around✨

* suspiciously more affectionate than before

* adjusts to you more easily now like who are we kidding this man wants you to be okay, no, GLOWING bc you’re his precious baby

* cuddle sessions with you sitting between his legs, leaning against his chest while doing your daily self care routine and watching cheesy Netflix originals

* it’d be quiet the whole time and out of nowhere he’d randomly tell you how beautiful and perfectly clean you are and how much he loves you,, as if it was nothing,,smh OmiOmi

* he’s too awkward to suggest actually useful things to you,, I mean his emotional intelligence is a little uhhh behind so what do we expect

* would do anything for you that is of help tho so if you ask him to do this or that he’d never say no to you

* cooks healthy meals for you and yes he CAN cook

* if you ever argued about it then it would probably be bc he doesn’t get how you can think so low of yourself. He doesn’t want to be angry let alone show his anger about it to you but sometimes he can’t help but feeling frustrated. You both can be stubborn so it probably takes a while for him to make it up to.

* his apologies are the most sincere you’ll ever witness.

* actually puts a lot of effort into those so you just can’t stay angry with him ://

* he really tries his best and sometimes in a moment of silence when you two lie down cuddled up with tangled legs and your ear pressed against his chest, his heartbeat reassures you that he’s there for you no matter what.

Atsumu

* he always thought you were being sarcastic whenever you left remarks on your body

* malfunctions when he realize you weren’t

* ffs he’s overwhelmed and doesn’t know what to say when you actually talk about it

* tries to bite down his tears

* he fails

* and just hugs you tightly from behind so you don’t see him like that

* soft whispers in your ear that he’ll make you love yourself the way you should while cradling you

* he’s not convinced he’ll be able to actually manage that but you can be certain he’ll put his whole heart into trying so.

* internal panic when he sees you being down so he awkwardly tries to light your mood with bad fuckin jokes,, he doesn’t know you laugh at the actual jokes but rather at him 💀

* like the perfect clumsy boyfriend he is - his attempts to cook something you’d be comfortable with go horribly wrong since he can’t cook for shit so he begs Osamu to cook something for you and Atsumu would just take his bike and get to Onigiri Miya and back in no time

* his clumsiness would distract you all the time and you can’t convince me otherwise

* when you laugh at him like that he’d pout out of embarrassment but it would turn into a smile at the way you laugh right after like ugh he’s blessed

* probably asks Osamu for advice every now and then and his brother is just like??? you’re asking ME?? despite him still giving good advice

* ofc he works out with you what did you expect though he doesn’t want you to overdo it 🥺

* wants you to be around whenever he has practice or games, he’s more at peace knowing you’re not doing god knows what

* and you better keep your eyes and mind on him at all times 👀😼

* showering you with so many compliments like even about things you didn’t even notice yourself, he’s just really paying attention to you thoroughly it seems like every day he loves you more and more and he makes sure you realize that.

I really hope you liked it and I’d be happy about any feedback so please leave some bc I’m kinda insecure about my writing in general lol

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inkdemonapologist · 3 years

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@youllallriseinthenk reblogged your post and added:

This is beautiful and I love seeing Henry in a fatherly role to Susie. And yes, take that girl to a park. You finally made it, sweetie. Anyhow, it’s interesting that Malice still exists here and that you’re beginning to explore what it’s like for her. I sure hope Susie can control her if she tries to do anything evil. And that Susie knows she can do that so she isn’t scared of it happening.

Oh!! Thank you! -- though these drawings are all Alice actually, not Susie! Though you’re right, Susie should ABSOLUTELY get to enjoy the park as well.

The idea of one headmate needing to “control” the others is… unfortunately a really common one, even for plural folks IRL, and I’m sure Susie felt that way at first — that she needed to keep Alice “under control” and if she “lost control” she might hurt people — it was a really scary idea at first and must’ve been equally upsetting for Alice, where just trying to exist and be her own person was interpreted as a threat. Alice lashes out in turn, angry and hurt, at people who want to keep her contained, and it seems like Susie’s fears are true — we can’t let her take over.

Allison was actually the one who suggested they try to work together, instead of working to suppress and control Alice; to talk and listen and find compromise and try to look out for each other as just, two people with a messy history. After all, all the horrible things Alice pushed for in ink hell were trying to help both of them survive and thrive -- because her way was working, and Susie’s wasn’t. For most of her existence, her choices were to huddle miserably and pray for salvation that would never come, or to be cruel... so she became cruel.

And, tbh, I don’t see Malice as splitting neatly into Sweet Naive Susie and Sadistic Beauty-Obsessed Alice. Like… from what I’ve seen, Alice in the comics has a temper and little patience for Bendy’s bullshit, but she’s not sadistic. And Susie has to be the one who “just wanted what she was promised” because she's the one who was promised anything — Alice never asked to be here. While the “she made me” line does imply that Alice was willing to push past lines Susie didn’t want to cross, it’s not easy to divide Malice cleanly into a Good Voice and a Bad Voice, and I think the reason is it’s not that simple.

Alice is definitely meaner than Susie, more willing to speak bluntly and snap and push back. She mostly knows the others from ink hell rather than having memories of a better time, so her trust doesn’t come as easily. Susie is tough, but Alice is ready to step in and fight when Susie freaks out, ready to make sure no one takes advantage of the two of them again. I don’t think that makes her evil. Sammy might be willing to obediently surrender his autonomy to the people he wronged, but Alice is not interested in apologising for trying to survive in Joey Drew’s hellscape.

Anyway, I don’t think Susie would see Henry as a father figure -- if it weren’t for the inky time weirdness, they’d probably be close in age. Alice is the one I see regarding Henry as something of a father - in a sense, he literally created her! I jokingly described her as a rebellious teen daughter in the tags, but actually that’s pretty accurate to their relationship I think; she is sorry she hurt him and... knows he loves her; his forgiveness and acceptance, even when Alice didn’t really turn out the way Henry meant for her to be, means a lot and goes a long way towards Alice trying to get along with the rest of these losers. But she also doesn’t necessarily trust him to understand what she’s been through and sometimes thinks he’s a big idiot.

#we all write on the walls #Escape AU #alice angel #susie campbell #....i should probably have a tag for them as a system now that i think about it #alice campbell #campbell system

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hiscyarika · 4 years

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Kir’manir: Chapter Three

Ruusaanyc

adj. reliable, trustworthy

Word Count: 10.5k

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian receives a transmission from Greef Karga requesting that he return to Nevarro to dispose of the client.

Warning(s): Violence, Injury

A/N: Happy Star Wars Day! Here’s part three (settle in, it’s a long one)! I decided to go ahead and write Cara out, instead having Reader take her place (please don’t hate me). Also please don’t get used to these horribly long chapters. Chapter Four will be about the same length, but then after I run out of canon content to follow, the chapters will be much shorter. Thank you all for reading and for your kind words! I appreciate you all more than you know!

Masterlist

Tag Lists

Chapter One: Beroya, Chapter Two: Narudar

As the Mandalorian jumps into hyperspace, an exasperated sigh escapes his lips. He looks down at the controls, unscrewing the silver top of the gearshift, then turns to the child, who seems completely unaffected by what had just happened with Mayfeld and the other mercenaries. “I told you that was a bad idea,” he says, giving the baby the little metal ball, earning him a soft coo in response.

He leans back in his seat then, closing his eyes for a few minutes as the Crest rides through hyperspace. Once again he’s reminded that you would have been rather useful to have around. It had taken him one look at the team he’d been assigned to, and instantly he’d known that things weren’t going to work out as cleanly and smoothly as he had been told. And he’d been right. He’d gotten out alright, and so had the kid, but if you’d been around, well, that would have been at least one person he knew he could trust unconditionally.

It’s laughable, really, and he finds himself almost chuckling to himself. He’s sure that you haven’t had a second thought about him since he left you on Tatooine. By now, you’ve probably got your own ship, free to roam the galaxy again. He’ll never see you again. He’s certain about that.

By the time the ship exits hyperspace, the kid is asleep. Mando sits up again, going through the catalog to find another planet to land on for a while. As he moves, he bumps into something, because suddenly the holovid comes to life. It’s a transmission from Greef Karga.

“My friend, if you are receiving this transmission that means you are alive. You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive too. I guess we can call it even. A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown. They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out. If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize. So here is my proposition. Return to Nevarro. Bring the child as bait. I will arrange an exchange, and provide loyal Guild members as protection. Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism.”

He flips the switch to turn off the transmission. It’s a risk. Returning to Nevarro with such a high density of Imperials, along with the angry Guild hunters he had betrayed: there are far too many ways that something could go wrong. None of it would be worth anything if he or the kid ended up dead. He turns, looking at where the child sleeps peacefully in his makeshift bed.

If everything goes right, he’d never have to worry about someone coming to hurt the baby again. He could go back to working for the Guild while trying to figure out where the kid belonged. It would be so much easier than the constant running that they’re doing now.

He’s made up his mind, and quickly calculates the next hyperspace jump. They’re going back to Nevarro.

But first, a visit to Tatooine.

---

You groan as the heat of the binary suns blasts down on your back as you work, fixing an old freighter after an engine had been damaged. Rather than booking passage with someone passing through the system, you had opted to start working for Peli instead, helping her with smaller repairs and upkeep. It didn’t pay much but it was enough for you to support yourself while slowly building up the funds that you had. After Mando had left, it seemed much safer to leave on your own, where you were sure that you couldn’t be turned into the Guild for the hunters that you had killed on Sorgan. It’s less than ideal. You haven’t grown any fonder of Tatooine since the day you arrived, but you know things could be worse.

After hammering the last part into place, you close the port, wiping the grime from your hands with the cloth you keep at your side. You then return to Peli’s storage area, putting all of the tools back in their places. As far as you know, there aren’t any other ships in the starport that currently need attention, meaning that you’ll probably spend the rest of the day tuning up the pit droids.

“We’ve got one coming into bay three-five,” Peli says through the comlink you keep in your ear during the day. You sigh and shake your head. At least working with the droids keeps you out of the heat.

“What’s the damage?,” you ask her, wondering just how complicated the repairs are going to be. You’re not a professional like Peli by any means, but in the last couple of weeks you’ve at least managed to gain more knowledge than you started with. Hopefully it saves you time and credits in the long run.

Peli’s answer is drowned out by the deafening sound of the ship landing. You stand just outside of the hangar, not able to see what kind of ship it is or what condition it's in. When you walk through the doorway though, you gasp slightly at what you see. It’s the Razor Crest.

The Mandalorian is back.

At first glance, there seems to be nothing wrong with the ship. You feel your heart begin to beat a little faster in your chest, not sure why he would have come back. Your first thought is that something happened to the little one. It’s a thought that you can barely stomach, and you shake your head to yourself, standing and waiting for the loading ramp to come down. When it does, you can hear the heavy footsteps of the Mandalorian, and you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding when you see the little creature in his arms.

You take a few steps forward, meeting them in the middle of the space that separates you, and you smile when you see the child’s eyes light up and his little arms reach for you as he laughs. He clambers out of the Mandalorian’s arms and into yours as soon as you’re close enough.

“Well hi there, little guy,” you say, holding him in one arm. The other you extend at an angle to the Mandalorian. He does the same, each of you clasping the other’s hand as a form of greeting.

“What are you two doing back here? Did you miss me that badly, Mando?,” you tease with a grin, releasing his hand and wrapping your arm around the child, who coos and chitters up at you.

“I have a job for you.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and your head tilts slightly to the side. “A job? What kind of job?,” you ask, your expression losing the playfulness it held just seconds ago. This makes no sense to you. Why would he come back for you? Just because you’d done one job together didn’t make you lifelong partners now. That’s the one thing that you understand most about the Mandalorian. You share the preference of working in solitude. Whatever this is has to be dire.

“I received a transmission from Greef Karga,” he begins to explain, though it by no means clarifies his reasoning for coming to you. By now, you’re likely just as wanted by the Guild as he is. The trandoshan that escaped Sorgan would have made sure of that.

He must see the apprehension in your eyes. “I know that sounds stupid, but hear me out,” he says. “The client, the one that paid me to bring the child in, he’s still on Nevarro. He’s got the place crawling with Imps, and it’s making it hard for the Guild to operate. Karga wants me to take him out and bring the child as bait.”

“Absolutely not,” you interject quickly, shaking your head and unconsciously holding the little one closer to you. You know what they want with him. You won’t let anyone harm the baby if you can help it. You’re not stupid enough to trust Greef Karga.

The Mandalorian shakes his head. “That’s why I’m here. I know you won’t let anything happen to him. And he’ll be safe once the client is dead,” he says. “I’ll bring you to Nevarro and make sure you have your own ship when this is over. And both our names will be cleared with the Guild. You can go on like none of this ever happened,” he tells you.

You take a deep breath, your brain running through all of the things that could go wrong, but you know that the Mandalorian is right. This could be the kid’s ticket to freedom and safety. You look down at the little one, watching as his ears perk up. All it takes is one look in his big brown eyes. You know what you have to do. And it doesn’t have anything to do with your own freedom. You look back at the Mandalorian, your jaw set in determination.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

---

Once you’ve left the atmosphere of Tatooine, you lean back in your seat, sighing softly in relief. Finally you can breathe without inhaling dust and sand and you’re not soaked in your own sweat.

“You really hated that place, didn’t you?,” Mando asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Is it that obvious?.” You laugh, “What made you think I’d still be there?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t expect you to be. I figured you’d be long gone the first chance you got. It was just a chance I was willing to take,” he replies.

A thought strikes you then. “Greef Karga has no idea that I’m coming, does he?”

“No.”

“Well that could be an issue, don’t you think?,” you question. Before, he’d made it sound like your joining had already been discussed. Now it’s clear that this might not go as smoothly as you’d originally thought.

“It won’t be. And if it is, that’s his problem,” Mando tells you, standing from his seat and heading down into the hull. You follow after him, glancing at the child for a moment to check on him before you go down the ladder. The Mandalorian seems confident, but you’re not so sure.

You lean against the wall, watching as he opens the weapons vault. “You realize that this could be one grand scheme to take both of you down, right? And if it is I’m sure he won’t hesitate to put me in cuffs too.” The prospect of freeing the child is still worth the risk, but you want to be sure to minimize the chance of being taken by surprise. Greef Karga isn’t known for his integrity.

He sighs in exasperation. “Relax. I don’t trust him any more than you do. We’ll be gone the minute something goes wrong.”

You know he can’t guarantee that, as much as you wish he could. “I’m just saying that we need to operate like this is a trap,” you tell him.

“Believe me, I know. I haven’t gone through this much trouble to keep the kid safe just to ruin it all now,” he replies, turning to face you. You nod in understanding, letting out a soft breath.

Before you can say anything else, you heard a loud knocking coming from the ship. It begins to veer sharply from side to side, and the force sends you colliding with the Mandalorian, your hands pressed to his cuirass. But you don’t have time to think about the severe lack of space between you or the way that his arm comes around your waist to steady you. You grab onto the ladder, freeing him so that he can make it up to the cockpit, and then follow after him, hanging on to the back of your seat to stay upright.

You curse under your breath when you see the child playing around with the controls, clearly amused with his own work. He laughs even as the Mandalorian shoves him into your arms. You take your seat, keeping the child secure in your arms until Mando finally rights the ship again.

“Troublemaker,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes slightly as you look down at the kid, your breath coming in soft pants. He just giggles and brings his little clawed hands up to touch your face. You shake your head, unable to help the grin that comes to your lips then. “We gotta find someone to watch you,” you say.

“You’ve got that right,” Mando agrees, and as you look you can see that he’s changing the set coordinates.

“Where are we going?,” you ask.

“Arvala-7,” he answers.

Now your interest is piqued. “What? But that’s…that’s where the kid was when you found him. Who is there that you trust?,” you question.

The Mandalorian turns to face you. “There was an ugnaught that guided me to the child, and he helped me repair the ship after it was stripped by Jawas. He won’t let any harm come to the kid,” he explains. You nod, relieved that there is at least one other person in the galaxy that can be trusted. It gives you more hope that the two of you might be able to pull this off, and then everything that’s happened in the last few weeks can become a distant memory.

“To Arvala-7 then,” you say, gently placing the child back in his chair.

---

When he lands the Crest next to Kuiil’s moisture farm, the Mandalorian lets out a soft sigh, standing from the pilot’s seat and picking up the child in his crate. He nods his head for you to go first, and once you’re down the ladder, he reaches down to hand you the container. With the press of a button on his vambrace, the container begins to float at his side, and he walks with you down the ramp and towards the ugnaught. He watches you out of the corner of his eye, having to contain a laugh at the less-than-pleased look on your face as you survey the surroundings. You’ve traded one arid planet for another, though at least you won’t be on Arvala-7 for long.

The ugnaught meets the three of you at the door, and the Mandalorian ducks and follows him into the small hut, the container behind him and you after. He stands up straight again once he’s inside letting the container sit on top of a box against the wall. You settle near the child, and he smiles under the helmet as he watches you reach out to stroke the baby’s ear, earning a soft hum from the creature.

The ugnaught grabs the child’s attention as he walks closer, and the little one reaches an arm out. “It hasn’t grown much,” the ugnaught says.

“I think it might be a Strand-Cast,” the Mandalorian answers, coming to stand next to you.

“I don’t think it was engineered. I’ve worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly,” explains the ugnaught, standing from where he was crouched in front of the child. He then turns to you. “This one, on the other hand, she looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora.”

You smile at the comment, and he listens as you introduce yourself to the ugnaught. When you say your name, the Mandalorian makes the discovery that he’s never actually heard it before. He doesn’t have to wonder why. He remembers well the day you’d asked his name and his refusal to give it to you. It was only fair, he knows, that he never demanded yours. But to hear it now, he can’t help but think that it suits you. It’s elegant enough, but also has an edge to it that could strike fear into the heart of any man.

“I’m a bounty hunter,” you explain further. “I was supposed to bring in the child after the tracking fob reactivated, but I couldn’t make myself go through with it. The man who hired us never told us it was a child.” A look of disgust crosses your face.

“I see,” the ugnaught says, nodding. “It’s good to know that morality still exists in the galaxy. The Mandalorian would be wise not to take someone like you for granted.”

He doesn’t fail to catch the pointed look that the ugnaught gives him.

But the warm moment doesn’t last much longer. He feels the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand straight up when he hears a familiar mechanical movement. His blaster is loaded and pointed at the IG unit as it steps into the hut, bearing a few cups of tea. You’re up just as fast as he is, your weapon drawn as well as you step in front of the child.

“Would anyone care for some tea?,” the droid asks.

The ugnaught steps in front of both of you, his hands held up to stop you from shooting at the droids. “Please, lower your blasters. He will not harm you.” But the Mandalorian doesn’t relent and neither do you. He doesn’t even take his eyes off of the droid.

“That thing is programmed to kill the baby,” The Mandalorian grits out. He’s never trusted droids before. He won’t start now.

“Not anymore,” the ugnaught counters. He then listens as the ugnaught tells you both how he recovered the droid and reprogrammed its neural workings. While it might have been comforting to anyone else to hear that the droid had been retaught everything that it knew, the Mandalorian was still not convinced. He couldn’t believe that when he knew that the nature of the droid was to be a bounty hunter.

“Is it still a hunter?,” he asks apprehensively.

“No. But it will protect,” the ugnaught assures him.

He lowers his blaster, and only then do you do so as well. He stares at the droid for a few moments, studying it, and he shrinks back as it offers him a cup of tea. You take it instead, seeming to be much more soothed by the ugnaught’s story than he is.

“I must go tend to the blurrgs,” the ugnaught says. The Mandalorian nods, turning to you as you’re all left in the hut alone with the droid.

“Stay here with the kid. Don’t let the droid touch him,” he says.

“I won’t,” you answer, and though he can hear the questioning in your tone, he doesn’t indulge you with an answer. Instead, he ducks out of the hut, finding the ugnaught standing outside of the pen he keeps the creatures in.

“I’ve run into some problems,” the Mandalorian starts softly. The ugnaught has done so much for him already. He deserves to rest in peace, not be dragged back into this chaos, but he knows that he has no other choice than to ask.

The ugnaught does not look up from where he strokes the snout of one of the blurrgs. “I figured as much. Why else would you return?,” he says.

“I wanna hire your services.”

His answer is simple, but somehow not quite final. “I’m retired from service.”

“I can pay you handsomely, Ugnaught,” the Mandalorian tries, though he knows already that money is not something that will change the ugnaught’s mind. It didn’t before.

“I have a name. It is Kuiil,” he says.

The Mandalorian nods. That’s two names he’s learned tonight. “I need someone to protect the little one, Kuiil,” he replies.

“I’m not suited for such work. I can reprogram IG-11 for nursing and protocol,” Kuiil offers.

“No. I don’t want that droid anywhere near him,” he refuses, unable to help from raising his voice as he speaks. He still can’t bring himself to trust the droid, even if everyone else around him has given in to the idea that the droid will not revert back to his factory settings.

Kuiil finally looks up at him then, a curious look in his eyes as he studies the Mandalorian. “Why are you so distrustful of droids?,” he inquires. But it’s not a question that he really wants to answer in depth. It goes back much further than what happened with the IG unit.

“It tried to kill him,” he says, giving the simple answer

Kuiil shakes his head. “It was programmed to do so. Droids are not good or bad. They are neutral reflections of those who imprint them,” he says. His words are wise and true. The Mandalorian knows this, but as true as he knows the words to be, he cannot internalize them.

“I’ve seen otherwise,” he counters.

“Do you trust me?,” Kuiil asks, and the Mandalorian can already see where the ugnaught is going with this question, but he humors him anyway.

He gives a slight nod. “From what I can tell, yes,” he replies.

“Then you will trust my work. IG-11 will join me, and we do it not for payment, but to protect the child from Imperial slavery. None will be free until the old ways are gone. Forever,” Kuiil says. These words are final. The Mandalorian knows that he cannot argue with them. As much as he doesn’t like the idea of the droid being around the baby, he knows that he needs Kuiil. Having the ugnaught around is more important than his need to keep the droid away.

“Okay,” he relents softly.

“The blurrgs will join me as well.”

“The blurrgs?,” he asks, puzzled.

“I have spoken.”

The Mandalorian has to hold back a laugh at the words. These arguments always seem to end this way, but he’s thankful for Kuiil for more reasons than he can count now. If his only requests are that the droid and the blurrgs join, then he’ll honor those requests without further argument.

---

You sit on top of a crate in the hull of the Crest, your elbow on the table in front of you and your hand locked with the Mandalorian’s as you both try to best each other with your strength. Your eyes stare deep into the visor of the helmet, your gaze like stone as you try to find any hint that he might be giving up.

“I’ve got you beat, Mandalorian. Give it up,” you say, gaining just a bit.

He grunts with the effort of trying to keep his arm upright. “Care to double the bet?,” he taunts, moving your arm back so that you’re upright again, completely in a stalemate with each other.

“So confi–” You’re cut off when you feel a strange sensation all over your body. You let go of the Mandalorian, trying to figure out what it is that might be making you feel this way, but as soon as you lose physical contact with each other, you’re both flying backwards against the walls of the ship.

The crate you sit on topples over at the impact, leaving you in a heap on the floor. Your hand goes to the back of your head, which throbs from hitting the wall. You look over to see that the Mandalorian is in no better shape. But then your eyes catch sight of the child, whose eyes are narrowed as he looks back and forth between the two of you, his arms reaching out like he’s the one that separated you with such force.

The Mandalorian follows your gaze, and he pulls himself up from the floor when he realizes what’s happening. “No, stop! We’re not hurting each other! It’s just a game!,” he says, picking the child up out of his crate. At this, the strange feeling leaves you immediately, but you can’t bring yourself to move. You have no idea what just happened.

“Wait…he….how?,” you ask, watching as the child is handed over to Kuiil for a moment. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you try to understand how the child was able to do something like that. But you’ve never seen anything like it in your life.

“Look,” the Mandalorian says, walking over to you and helping you up from the ground. He keeps a gentle arm on your shoulder as he looks to the baby. “See? I’m not trying to hurt her. It’s alright,” he reassures the baby. At this, the child’s eyes soften again and his ears perk up a bit. He seems satisfied by what Mando tells him.

He releases you then, the visor looking down into your eyes. “Are you okay?,” he asks softly.

“Yeah. I think so. But what just happened?,” you question.

“The story you told me of the mudhorn now makes more sense,” Kuiil tells Mando. You stand there in silence, not sure what it is that they’re talking about.

“What is it?,” Mando asks.

Kuiil shakes his head. “What it is, I don’t know. But what it does, this...this I’ve heard rumors of. In my days with the Empire,” he says. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and your body tenses slightly at this revelation.

“You worked for the Empire?,” you ask, finding that you trust the ugnaught a little less now. Why the Mandalorian would trust an ex-Imperial to help take down an Imperial officer is beyond you.

“I was sold to the Empire, my dear. An indentured servant, but I am proud to say that I bought my clan’s freedom with the skill of my hands,” he tells you, and you suddenly feel foolish for jumping to such a conclusion about the ugnaught.

You nod slightly. “I understand.”

“Speaking of which, I could really use your craft work right now. Can you pad this container so that the child can sleep better?,” the Mandalorian asks, laying the child back down in his makeshift bed.

The ugnaught walks over, placing a gentle hand on the baby. “I shall fabricate a better one,” he declares.

As Mando shows Kuiil where all the tools are, you make your way back up to the cockpit, taking a seat and trying to process everything that just happened. You can’t really wrap your head around the fact that the child had thrown you and Mando both across the ship just with the power of his mind. This changes your understanding of the situation. Before, you hadn’t understood what was so important about the baby that made the client want him so badly. Now it all makes sense.

You sit up a little straighter as Mando finally joins you. He’s quiet until he takes his seat. “Are you sure you’re alright? You hit your head,” he says, the pilot’s chair swiveling around so that he can face you.

You nod slightly. “Yeah. I’ve had far worse, you know?,” you joke half-heartedly. “I guess the kid just didn’t want to see us fight,” you say with a shrug.

The Mandalorian sighs. “I guess…,” he breathes.

“What does the client want with him?,” you ask, “It has to have something to do with his power.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. He had another man with him when I brought the kid in. They were doing some kind of testing on him, but I don’t know what for. I have no idea how he can do that. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he tells you.

“There has to be more going on,” you reply. “This has to be more than just one officer, Mando. We need to be ready.” Something deep in your gut tells you that you’re in over your head. Whatever you’re about to walk into on Nevarro isn’t going to be as simple as killing a few stormtroopers and taking out the officer. What exactly is going to happen, you don’t know, and that scares you more than you’ll ever admit to the Mandalorian.

“Maybe. We’ll find out more when we land,” he tells you, turning back to the controls.

You turn around when you hear the door open and the mechanical movements of the IG unit, watching as he comes to stand in the doorway of the cockpit. “I have prepared second meal. Would you care to be served here or below?,” the droid asks, it’s hand mechanisms clasped together as it looks between you and Mando.

Mando turns around looking at the droid for just a short moment before he turns away again. “I’m not hungry,” he says.

“I’ll eat later, IG. Thank you,” you reply softly, looking out the viewport of the ship as the droid heads back down into the hull with Kuiil and the child.

“Under no circumstances does that thing leave the ship,” Mando says harshly, his entire body tense and unmoving.

You shake your head. “Why are you so hostile? Kuiil practically rebuilt the thing,” you retort, not sure why he’s so against the droid’s presence when clearly it means no harm to anyone. You know from past experience that pressing him probably isn’t the greatest idea, but you don’t have it in you to care so much at the moment.

“That droid was designed to kill things. I don’t care how much wiring he replaced. It goes against its nature,” he tells you, the chair turning quickly as he looks at you. You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s angry now. It’s all in the way his shoulders are set and the way his head tilts as he speaks to you. It’s in your best interest to let the subject go, so you stand from your chair, shaking your head.

The door of the cockpit as you approach it, but before you go down the ladder, you turn to look at the Mandalorian once more, meeting his gaze in the reflection of the viewport. “You know, not trusting anyone will get you killed faster than letting go of your fear,” you tell him. You join Kuiil, the child, and IG-11 in the hull, leaving the Mandalorian to brood alone.

---

Greef Karga is waiting when the Razor Crest lands on Nevarro, with three hunters of his own standing around him. It gives you the slightest bit of satisfaction that the man clearly fears the Mandalorian. Just as he should.

You ride one of the three blurrgs out of the ship, following behind Mando and Kuiil. The three of you ride at each other’s side as you approach Karga and the other hunters, with the child in his closed pod between you and Mando. It brings you just a bit of peace to have the baby close to you, where you can get to him faster if this all ends as badly as you think it will.

With just a few feet between you and Greef Karga, you pull on the reins to stop the blurrg, your facial expression impassive as you stare down the Guild agent and his minions. One of them is a trandoshan, but to your relief it isn’t Daask. “Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando,” Karga says, placing his hands on his hips as he looks back and forth between you and Kuiil. You watch as the look in his eyes changes as he meets yours. He knows who you are. “But things have gotten complicated since you were last here. It appears that introductions are in order. It seems we’ve both provided a security detail. Or have you brought this traitor as a peace offering?”

He points to you as he speaks, and you clench your jaw as you look down at him, not giving him the satisfaction of thinking that you feel threatened by him. You know you could end him before either of the other three hunters had a chance to draw their weapons. He’s no threat to you.

“She’s coming with me, and you’ll have her name cleared with the Guild when this is over,” the Mandalorian says evenly. His tone leaves no room for argument, but somehow Karga has the gall to open his mouth regardless.

“She killed two of my best men. I’ve started distributing pucks at the request of the trandoshan that escaped her. Why not take the bounty that’s been put on her head?,” he presses.

You feel your blood begin to boil at the mention of Daask. You’re surprised that he’s not among the hunters that Greef has with him. “You can be next on my list if you’d like. I’d be happy to arrange it,” you reply, venom dripping with every word. It would bring you great joy to see such a piece of scum dead at your own hands. You inch the blurrg forward, and the hunters draw their weapons.

“Enough. She’s coming. And she’ll be unharmed and pardoned. Do I make myself clear?,” the Mandalorian says. Greef locks his gaze with the helmet, his lips pressed in a thin line, but then he waves off his hunters.

“Fine,” he relents, shaking his head and holding his hands out in mock surrender. “Fine.” You can’t help the smug grin that comes to your lips at his blatant displeasure.

“So, where is the little one?,” he asks. In unison, you and Kuiil both turn to Mando, your expression grim again as you wait for his next move. The idea of even opening the floating pram makes the hair on your arms stand up. You won’t have anything happening to the baby.

Your whole body tenses as Mando moves the pram towards Greef, opening it once it’s in front of him. A hand instinctively goes to your blaster, ready to draw it and fire if the man so much as looks at the little one the wrong way. You practically stop breathing as he picks the child up out of his pod, but out of the corner of your eye you see that Mando is just as ready to attack as you are.

“So, this little bogwig is what the fuss is all about. What a precious little creature,” Greef says. One of the other hunters brandishes his spear when he notices how on edge you and the Mandalorian are, and the motion has you ready to spring into action. “I can see why you didn’t want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head. Well, I’m glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all,” Greef continues, and he finally puts the baby back in his pod. The Mandalorian relaxes, but you don’t. You won’t be able to until the pod is closed and the child is back at your side.

“Bring him back,” you mutter. Mando presses a few buttons on his vambrace. The pod hisses as it shuts, and then it floats back to its original place between you and Mando. You let out a breath, finally releasing your hold on your blaster.

“The sun drops fast on Nevarro. We can walk for a spell, camp out at the riverbank, then make our way into town at first light,” Karga suggests.

The Mandalorian nods, urging his blurrg forward. You do the same, and with the others you form a triangle around the child’s pod. Karga and his hunters lead the way through the rocky terrain and then the lava flats. The landscape is desolate. Care must be taken with every step. But you watch Greef Karga just as closely as you watch the ground beneath you. No display of his will convince you that his intentions are pure, not until the client is dead. And even then, knowing for certain that there’s a bounty on your head now, you may not trust him even then.

When the sun sets, you stop to make camp. You unload supplies from the bag strapped to your blurrg, making a place for yourself near the fire. Mando settles nearby, keeping the child between you. You decide to stay where you are, watching as Greef and his hunters set up a spit over the flames and roast some unfortunate creature that will soon be your dinner.

You allow yourself to take a deep breath and relax just slightly. You know the child is safe sitting between you and Mando. You lie back against the pack that you’d brought with you. It’s far from comfortable but it’ll do for the night. When dinner is served you sit quietly, keeping an eye on the three other hunters as Kuiil feeds the baby.

“I guess the little bugger’s a carnivore. Never seen anything like it,” Greef muses, not far from your other side. You turn to look at him, hearing the child’s happy babbling. “They were ready to pay a king’s ransom for that thing. Must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie.” He chuckles then, turning away from the child and looking back at the fire.

“Let’s go over the plan again,” you say, tired of hearing the man’s nonstop commentary. You swear you’ve never heard anyone talk as much as Greef Karga does, though maybe it’s just a product of being around the Mandalorian, who never says half as many words. Perhaps you’ve gotten used to the comfortable silence, begun to prefer it.

Greef nods. “Mando and I enter the common house. We show the client the bait,” he pauses to point at the child, which makes you turn to the Mandalorian in question. Surely he can’t be any more comfortable than you are with having the child that close to the man that would rather be running tests on the poor thing in a lab.

“We join him at the table, then Mando kills him,” Greef finishes.

“Tell me about his reinforcements,” Mando says, offering no answer for your silent inquiry.

Greef exhales softly. “They’re all ex-Empire. As soon as they lose their paycheck, they’ll all scatter.”

“And what if they don’t?,” you ask flatly, turning your gaze to the flames as they glow and crackle in the dark.

“They will,” he insists.

“That’s not good enough,” Mando presses sternly.

He turns to the Mandalorian again. “If, for argument’s sake, a few of them don’t realize that I’m their best path to alternative employment and they elect to...react impulsively, then these three fine Guild hunters and your accomplice will cut down anyone who bucks,” he says.

“How many will there be?,” Mando asks.

Greef sighs, “No more than four.” He pushes himself off of the ground then, and you watch him closely as he moves towards the fire for another helping of meat. “He travels with, at most, a fire team. Trust me. Nothing can go wrong,” he says. You can barely contain a scoff at the words.

A high pitched screech comes from the dark, and a winged creature swoops down to take the meat from Greef’s hands. You’re on your feet immediately, picking up the heavy repeating blaster that you’d brought along in case you were overwhelmed with the stormtroopers. After stepping in front of the child’s pod, you aim in the direction that the creature had come from, firing at it.

In the shallowest part of your awareness, you hear the child whimper, but it’s followed by the sound of the pram shutting. You allow yourself to take just a step away, firing at the winged beast. It doesn’t take long to realize that even with multiple weapons being fired, the group’s efforts aren’t driving it away.

It swoops down and picks up one of the blurrgs. You turn and shoot at it as Kuiil demands that the creature let go. The Mandalorian joins your effort, but the beast flies away with the blurrg secured in its talons. You let out a breath and lower the heavy blaster for a moment. It’s unfortunate that a blurrg was lost, but hopefully the creature will stay away.

Another screech sounds, and this time the trandoshan hunter is carried away. It’s gone before you can lift the blaster again. But you’re able to fire at the next one that tries to take another blurrg. To your relief, it falls dead, though on top of the blurrg. Your head is spinning with so many attacks on multiple fronts, and try as you might you can’t see far in the pitch darkness. The fire is the only source of light, and even then it doesn’t help much.

You hear the Mandalorian struggling, and you curse under your breath when you see him pinned to the ground by another beast. You shoot at it, careful not to hit Mando. He’s able to get to his feet, and he points his flamethrower at his attacker, fending it off quickly. You don’t stop your own attack, until finally the last of them fly away from the camp. Your chest is heaving with your labored breaths, but you don’t let your guard down yet.

The Mandalorian stands again, rushing over to where the pod still sits shut where it was left. You and Kuiil join him. You keep your back to the pram, your blaster raised and aimed at the sky should more of the creatures attack. But it’s quiet. They seem to have retreated fully.

You finally lower the blaster, placing it near your pack. You turn as Mando opens the pod, and while the child looks a little shaken, he appears unharmed.

It’s then that Greef’s strained cries of pain meet your ears, and you realize that the initial attack left him wounded. As Kuiil rushes over to assess the damage, you rifle through your pack, finding the medkit that you’d brought along with you. You take it over to the injured man, immediately crouching down and beginning your ministrations despite his insistence that he’s fine.

You first inject him with a numbing agent, hoping to at least assuage the pain a little. As you look down at the wound, however, you can see the angry black lines coming away from it. The creature’s bite, you find, is venomous.

“How bad?,” you hear Mando ask from behind you. It startles you slightly. In your rush to treat Greef you hadn’t heard him walk over.

You take out a gauze pad, your only ability being to stop the bleeding. You have no antidote for the venom. At the very least, he’ll lose an arm. “Bad,” you answer, “The venom is spreading fast and I don’t have a way to treat it.” You look down, finding the gauze pad soaked in blood, and as you dig through the medkit you find that there are no more inside.

Greef takes in a shaky breath. “So this… This is how it happens…,” he manages.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you scoff, shaking your head. “I need another medkit! Does anyone have another medkit?!,” you call, looking back at the two remaining hunters. When they shake their heads, you roll your eyes. “It’s a wonder none of you are dead yet.”

“I’m guessing that’s a no,” Greef muses, his words ending in a sharp cough. You take out your scanner, running it along his arm to see how far the venom has spread.

“It’s still spreading,” you announce, tossing the scanner aside, “This isn’t working.” You catch movement in your peripheral vision, and you turn just slightly to see the child standing beside you, his eyes wide and curious as he looks at the wound. “Mando, get the kid out of here,” you command.

“Wait,” Kuiil murmurs, looking down at the baby.

You find that the child has reached out for Greef, laying his tiny hand over the wound. “He’s trying to eat me!,” Greef cries. You pay him no mind. You’re too amazed by what you see.

The little one’s eyes narrow in concentration, and before your very eyes you see the wound begin to close. Within just a few seconds, any trace of the injury is gone. The child pulls his hand back, falling on his behind. His eyes close and you gently pick him up off of the ground, standing and turning to the Mandalorian. Your eyes are wide with disbelief, and you’re vaguely aware of the way that your heart is beating rather quickly in your chest. Looking back down at the little one, who has fallen asleep in your arms, you can’t help but fall speechless in the wake of what you’ve seen.

“Take him back to his pod. He needs to rest,” Mando says, breaking the silence that has fallen over the entire crew. You manage to nod slightly, stepping carefully over to the pram. Gently laying the little one down, you cover him with his blanket and then close the pod with the button on the side. When you stand again, you look out into the darkness that lies beyond the camp. Your mind can’t make sense of what the child can do. All you know is one thing: this has become so much more than you thought it would.

You’re not sure you’re comfortable with that.

---

After a night of less-than-restful sleep, you continue the journey into town at the first sight of sunrise. Karga and his hunters walk just a few paces ahead of you and Mando, with the child between you once again. Kuiil lags much farther behind, riding the last of the blurrgs. You’re acutely aware of the hushed conversations happening between Karga and his hunters. You turn to Mando, suspicious of what might be happening. “Do you think they’re having second thoughts?,” you ask him, quiet enough that he’s the only one that can hear you.

“Could be,” he murmurs, and the fact that his own suspicion is winning over is enough to put you on edge. “I need your eyes,” he tells you.

“You know I haven’t stopped watching,” you reply, gaze hard and set on the three in front of you.

Just a short while later, you reach the town. You stand at the edge of a rock shelf, looking at it from above. You let out a soft breath, ready to get this operation over with. You don’t like one bit of this. Every fiber of your being is telling you that there’s something wrong. You’re just waiting for it all to finally come crashing down.

Greef takes a step forward, surveying the town. “I guess this is it,” he says. A few seconds pass, and then he turns suddenly, firing both of his blasters in yours and Mando’s directions. Your heart flies up into your throat, and your own weapon is drawn as the shots hit their targets. But nothing hits you. Or the Mandalorian.

Shocked, you look behind you to see that Karga has disposed of his own men. You stand up straight again, aiming your blaster squarely at him, even with his hands raised in surrender and his thumbs away from the triggers, you have no intention of trusting any move that he makes.

“There’s something you should know,” he says, walking between you and the Mandalorian to reach the bodies of the dead Guild hunters. You keep your blaster trained on him even as he kicks the weapons away from the bodies. “The plan was to kill you and take the kid. But after what happened last night, I couldn’t go through with it,” he explains.

Neither you or the Mandalorian move or speak. Karga steps back, opening his stance to both of you. It’s an easy shot. You could take it if you wanted to. Then it would be over. You could go back to the Razor Crest and leave this place.

“Go on,” he says, meeting your gaze, “You can gun me down here and now and it wouldn’t violate the Code. But if you do, this child will never be safe.” He gestures to the child, but you won’t have it.

“We’ll take our chances. We’ve kept him safe this long. We don’t need your help,” you say, anger clear in your tone as you look at the Guild agent. You want so badly to pull the trigger, but you won’t. Not until you hear what the Mandalorian has to say about it. In the end, no matter your hatred for Greef Karga, it’s his call. It’s his child.

“The Imperial client is obsessed with obtaining this asset. You tried to run, but where did it get you?,” Greef continues, trying with everything he has to get you and Mando to see the point he’s trying to make.

You cast a glance in Mando’s direction, but you don’t let it linger for long. You won’t let Karga out of your sight for any longer than a second or two. “We could leave right now. Find a better way to do this later. We can’t trust him,” you argue. Your blood is rushing hot through your veins. Your heart is pounding. This needs to end now.

“Perhaps you should let him speak,” Kuiil says, holding up his hand as a way to get you to stand down.

Karga takes a step towards the Mandalorian. You slowly lower your blaster, but you don’t holster it. “Listen, we both need the client to be eliminated. Let me take the child to him, and then you two–”

“No,” Mando finally says, his weapon still pointed at Greef.

Satisfied, you aim your blaster again. “Let’s get this over with and get out of here,” you say.

But the Mandalorian lowers his blaster. “No. He’s right.”

“What are you doing?,” you question in disbelief.

“As long as the Imp lives, he’ll send hunters after the child,” he tells you.

“You can’t honestly be considering this. He’ll have us killed the first chance that he gets and then the child will be lost. We both know how he operates,” you retort.

“Bring me,” he tells Greef.

“Bring you?,” the agent asks incredulously, his hands on his hips.

“Tell him you captured me. Get me close to him and I’ll kill him,” Mando says.

“That’s a good idea. Give me your blaster,” he says. You watch as the Mandalorian does so without hesitation.

You shake your head, finally lowering your weapon. “Mando, don’t do this,” you plead, “It’s a trap.”

He turns to face you. You stare into the horizontal part of the visor, trying to understand how he could believe that this plan would work. “It’s the only way,” he says.

“Well then I’m coming with you,” you state with finality, holstering your blaster.

“No. No. No. That would make them suspicious. You’re a known traitor to the Guild,” Greef says.

You lock eyes with him. “Does it look like I care? I’m not letting you take them in there alone. You can tell them I caught him, as recompense,” you tell him.

“Fine. Then she can bring the child,” Greef says to the Mandalorian.

“No. The kid goes back in the ship,” he replies, gesturing to Kuiil. You nearly sigh in relief. That’s the smartest thing that he’s said throughout the entire conversation.

“But without the child, none of this works!,” Greef argues.

“I have a plan. Kuiil, ride back to the Razor Crest with the child and seal yourself in. When you’re inside, engage ground security protocols. Nothing on this planet will breach those doors,” Mando says. Kuiil nods, walking over to Mando and handing him a small device.

“Here’s a comlink. I will keep the child safe,” he vows. You finally find yourself soothed. Despite your brief acquaintance with the ugnaught, you trust him with the child’s life. He’s the only one you trust outside of the Mandalorian himself. It’s risky going in without the child, but you’d rather take the chance of being discovered by the Imp than put the child in danger.

You watch as the ugnaught takes the child from his pram, wrapping him in a blanket before starting back towards the blurrg. He stops, looking up at you for just a moment. “Be mindful of your anger, lest it blind you,” he warns you.

You nod. “With the child in your hands, that won’t be a problem,” you promise. Satisfied, Kuiil goes back to the blurrg. You look back to the Mandalorian, watching as he’s cuffed with his own binders. You take in a deep breath, tightening the strap that keeps the heavy blaster secured on your back, then reach down and close the child’s empty pod.

“Let’s go,” the Mandalorian says.

---

You only have to reach the front of the town to see that it’s been overrun by stormtroopers. At the sight of the scout troopers guarding the entrance, you and Mando steal a quick second of eye contact. It’s Greef that handles them, though you can’t help but tense just slightly as they ask for a chain code.

“This is a gift for the boss,” Greef says.

“Chain code,” the trooper demands.

He hands over a card, which the trooper scans. For a moment, you think that you’ve already been caught, but then the trooper looks back and forth between Mando and Greef. “I’ll give you twenty credits for the helmet,” he offers.

Karga gives a half-hearted chuckle. “Not a chance. That’s going on my wall,” he says.

“On your wall?,” Mando mutters, turning slightly.

“Go with it,” Greef says quietly.

“Go ahead,” the trooper says, handing back the card. Greef urges the Mandalorian forward, and you walk with the two of them through the street. You feel every stormtrooper eye trained on the three of you and the empty pram that floats just behind. Taking in a deep breath through your nose, you try to keep yourself steady. But the amount of Imperials is unnerving.

When you make it to the door of the client’s building, you clench your fists at your sides, walking in right behind Mando. As you enter, you see that Karga’s words from the previous night are true. There are four troopers in the room to guard the client.

You look around the empty cantina, finding the man that you presume to be the client sitting at a table alone. He’s an older man with narrowed eyes and a strange aura about him. Looking at him, you wouldn’t have guessed that he was an officer even in his prime. He stands, approaching Greef and Mando as they draw near, his eyes curious as he takes in the sight of the Mandalorian. You keep a bit of distance, surveying the stormtroopers without them catching your eyes.

“Look what I brought you. As promised,” Karga says, presenting the Mandalorian to the client. The old man puts a hand to Mando’s cuirass and then his helmet, looking the suit of armor over with interest.

“What exquisite craftsmanship,” he says, his voice slow and raspy and crooning. It holds a certain mystery to it that doesn’t sit right with you. “It is amazing how beautiful beskar can be when forged by its ancestral artisans,” he continues, but then looks to Karga again. “Can I offer you a libation to celebrate the closing of our shared narrative?,” he asks.

“I would be obliged,” he replies with a nod.

The client gestures to the bartender droid, and once the droid gets to work, he takes a seat at the table again. “Please sit,” he tells Greef, who then slides into the booth with Mando on the inside. You take just a step closer, watching the stormtroopers as they change position, all focused on the Mandalorian. There are more of them now.

“It is a shame that your people suffered so. Just as in this situation, it was all avoidable. Why did Mandalore resist our expansion? The Empire improves every system it touches. Judge by any metric. Safety, prosperity, trade, opportunity, peace. Compare Imperial rule to what is happening now. Look outside. Is the world more peaceful since the revolution? I see nothing but death and chaos.” You listen closely to the client’s words, having to bite your tongue at the admiration for such a terrorizing regime. You’ve seen firsthand the way that people have suffered at the hands of the Empire. Nothing could ever make you believe that it was good. Nothing.

“I would like to see the baby,” the client says, his focus shifting quickly. You watch the pod, knowing that now is when the Mandalorian must strike. Once the pram is opened and the client discovers that the child isn’t there, the charade is over. You ready yourself to fight, but don’t move to draw your weapon yet. You can’t do it with the stormtroopers watching you.

“Uh..,” Greef hesitates, putting his hand out to stop the client from opening the pod, “It is asleep.” It’s a lame excuse. You know. But if it buys you any amount of time, then it works.

The client looks around at the troopers in warning. Still not retracting his hand. “We all will be quiet,” he promises. Your heart starts beating a little faster. Sweat beads at the back of your neck. The next few moments will either end triumphantly or in your death. You’re ready for either.

“Open the pram,” he demands as Greef sits in silence.

One of the stormtroopers approaches the client, and you can hear chatter coming from the radio, but you can’t decipher what’s being said. The client stands, and with him so does Greef. “Don’t think me to be rude,” the client says, “but I must take this call.” With this, he walks over to the bar. As soon as the attention is no longer on the three of you, you turn to Mando and Greef, watching as Mando frees himself from the binders.

“Give me the blaster,” he whispers.

The exchange is quick and discreet. “You get one shot,” Greef warns.

“You said there would only be four,” you murmur, leaning in closer to the two men.

“Well, there are more. What can I tell you?,” he replies.

You stand up straight again, glancing in the client’s direction. He’s bent over the bar, speaking quietly to whomever has contacted him. It’s all quiet, that is, until shots come through the window, hitting the client. His body falls to the floor, and the barrage continues. You drop to the ground, moving with the Mandalorian to take cover. Several stormtroopers are caught in the blaze, and they fall dead to the floor as well.

Concealed behind a column, you wait what seems like forever for the attack to end. When it goes quiet, you’re up, moving quickly and carefully to one side of the window while Mando goes to the other. You peer around the wall and out the window. Your heart drops to your stomach and your blood runs cold at what you see.

Death troopers.

But that’s not the end of it. A transport comes in, carrying another battalion of stormtroopers. They surround the building and stand behind the line of death troopers, poised and ready to shoot on command. You look to the Mandalorian. You’re outnumbered and surrounded. You know that it’s very likely that you won’t leave the cantina alive.

“What do we do?,” you ask.

Mando brings the comlink closer to his helmet. “Kuiil? Are you back to the ship yet?,” he asks.

There’s no immediate answer.

“Are you there? Do you copy?”

“Yes!,” you hear, and you sigh in relief knowing that the child is still safe.

“Are you back to the ship yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Get back to the ship and bail. Get the kid out of here. We’re pinned down!,” Mando exclaims, and you close your eyes for just a moment, praying to whatever deity or maker that will listen to you that the child and the ugnaught will make it back to the ship and far away from Nevarro. Your death will be worth it if the little one lives.

You open your eyes when you hear rustling outside, and you hear a ship coming in. You look out the window, watching as a TIE fighter approaches, landing right behind the scores of troopers. This is it. You were right. This was always about far more than just the client.

The door on the top of the ship hisses as it opens, and from it rises another man. He comes down from the ship and walks between the troopers, stopping just in front of the line of death troopers in the front. “You have something I want,” he proclaims.

You look back at Mando, confusion written across your facial features. “Who is that?,” you ask, though frankly you don’t expect him to know. He doesn’t answer you, instead keeping his eyes trained on this new adversary.

“You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of, but you do not,” the man continues, his voice echoing off of the buildings as he speaks.

Mando tries the comlink again. “Kuiil, are you back to the ship yet? They’re onto us!,” he says. Again, there’s no immediate answer. “Kuiil, come in!”

“In a few moments,” the other man begins, and your focus on Kuiil’s answer is broken, “it will be mine.”

“Kuiil! Do you copy!” The Mandalorian sounds much more panicked now. “Kuiil!”

“It means more to me than you will ever know.”

Your gaze shifts back and forth between Mando and the man outside. Your stomach is in knots and you’ve broken out into a cold sweat. The ugnaught’s silence is eating at you.

“Kuiil! Are you there?!” The Mandalorian keeps trying to get an answer. “Come in Kuiil. Kuiil, come in.” Still there is nothing. “Kuiil, are you there?!” He’s yelling now, and panicked tears are burning at your eyes at the thought of what might have happened to the ugnaught and the baby. “Do you copy?! Kuiil? Kuiil!”

No answer.

You look out the window at the masses of troopers and the TIE fighter and the man that demands to have the child for himself. You look back at the Mandalorian and Greef Karga and the destroyed cantina littered with bodies. You wonder how it all could have gotten so out of hand so quickly, how no one had any idea of what was in store for the child. You’d felt something wrong before you ever landed on Nevarro, but even your intuition had never prompted you to consider something of this magnitude.

The Mandalorian meets your gaze. You don’t have to see his eyes to know his terror. You can feel it just as intensely as you feel your own.

---

Chapter Four: Cuyanir

---

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staircasttext · 3 years

Text

Ep 19: Beaver Tales

Episode 19

[intro music]

PAZ: Hi everyone, welcome back to Stairway to StarClan, a Warriors Cat reread pawdcast. I'm Paz.

JULIAN: I'm Julian.

LIZ: And I'm Liz.

PAZ: And we're back again this week with chapters seven to 10 of Forest of Secrets. I almost said Fire and Ice. No, we're done with that. Kind of a lot of in camp activities these chapters, I would say.

JULIAN: Yeah, some tightly focused drama.

PAZ: Yeah. I don't know anything, any pressing pre-summary thoughts, or should we just go into it?

LIZ: Let's just hop right in.

PAZ: Okay. Chapter seven. After Bluestar dismisses Fireheart, he bumps into Cinderpaw on her way to find herbs for Yellowfang and accompanies her. On the way out, they see Cloudkit and the other kits taunting Brokentail. Fireheart is conflicted and angry, and snatches Cloudkit away from Brokentail, telling the other kits to go back to the nursery. Darkstripe calls Fireheart a kittypet again, and Fireheart explains to Cloudkit what that means. He also tells Cloudkit that they were both kittypets, which shocks Cloudkit. Cloudkit vows to become a good warrior anyway, and Fireheart reminds him about being honorable.

Cinderpaw checks on Brokentail and Darkstripe returns into the den. Fireheart and Cinderpaw let Cloudkit come with them to find herbs, and she teaches Cloudkit a bit of what she's learned about foraging. While they talk about Cloudkit's future, Cloudkit eats some-- doesn't eat. That'd be bad if he. Cloudkit almost eats some poisonous berries before Cinderpaw stops him. Cloudkit, dead. He's dead now.

LIZ: Dead in Miami.

PAZ: Dead in chapter seven of Forest of Secrets. No, that didn't happen. He takes her warning seriously. Afterwards, Cinderpaw wonders what her future will be like, feeling uncertain and pained, and Fireheart encourages her to talk to Bluestar. He thinks briefly about Bluestar's reaction to Graypool's story again, and thinks to himself that it's beyond his understanding.

Chapter eight. Fireheart has a disturbing dream about kits suckling from a faceless grey queen, who then disappears. Spottedleaf appears, sheltering the kits, and the dream ends. When he wakes up, he thinks about Graypool's story again, noticing that Graystripe is also missing, seeing Silverstream, of course. He and Sandstorm decide to go hunting, taking poor Brackenpaw with them since Graystripe has forgotten about him again. Brackenpaw catches a bird, but they suddenly hear the sound of a kit in danger. They find a badger menacing Cloudkit and manage to chase it off. They wonder about how strange it was for a badger to be out in daytime. Cloudkit is returned safely to Brindleface, but Tigerclaw punishes him for wasting everyone's time, though isn't Cloudkit's fault. His punishment is to clean up for the elders.

Meanwhile, Yellowfang has taken Brokentail outside to talk about newleaf, while Darkstripe and Longtail act as guards. She's very gentle and motherly, but Brokentail doesn't respond. Fireheart watches sadly, thinking of mothers and kits, and then Mistyfoot and Stonefur again.

Chapter nine. While Cinderpaw tends to Brackenpaw's wounds from attacking the badger, Fireheart checks in on Cloudkit and helps him with tending to the elders. Fireheart tells him about having to tend to Yellowfang's ticks, her ass ticks, when he was younger, which cheers Cloudkit up.

Later, Fireheart sees Tigerclaw sneaking out of camp, so he decides to follow him. He notices Tigerclaw is getting close to Twolegplace, wondering if he's trying to track down Princess to hurt her. Fireheart also happens to catch a mouse on the way, which gives him an alibi for hunting, when he literally bumps into Tigerclaw soon after.

When Tigerclaw returns to camp, Fireheart checks around Twolegplace, where he smells that a lot of strange, unknown cats have been around in addition to Tigerclaw. He also meets with Princess briefly, and he tells her about how well Cloudkit is growing up, promising to bring him to see her in newleaf. On the way back to camp, he sees that newleaf's thaw has started.

Chapter 10. Fireheart tells Bluestar about the strange cat scents, and she says she'll send patrols out, thinking they might be rogues from Twolegplace. Two days later, newleaf has truly arrived, and there's plenty of food to hunt. Fireheart is pleased to see Cloudkit continuing to tend to the elders, even after his punishment has ended. Tigerclaw tells Fireheart to patrol the RiverClan border and renew the scent markings, and Fireheart realizes Tigerclaw is too clever to be hostile to him in public. He takes some other warriors with him, including Sandstorm and Graystripe, who is the most excited in case he sees Silverstream. However, they don't smell any RiverClan cats at all. The river has overflowed from the thaw, flooding Sunningrocks. And that's the end of the readings this week. What? Does anybody want to say anything?

JULIAN: Sorry, I was on the Wikipedia page for badgers again. Just for when we get to it.

PAZ: The Wikipedia page or like the Warriors wiki page?

JULIAN: No, the regular Wikipedia page.

PAZ: Oh, okay.

JULIAN: I was not on the Warriors wiki page, although I'm sure that's a rich vein.

LIZ: Oh, I'll check.

PAZ: No, don't. There's spoilers. Don't check.

LIZ: I'll just read the first sentence, how about that. There's only the first sentence and then the contents, like table of contents. They do have a picture of a real badger on there.

PAZ: That's beautiful.

LIZ: Not an illustrated one. "Badgers are thickset medium-sized animals with huge muscles and beady eyes that are mainly active at night, and are enemies to cats in the Warriors series." There you go.

JULIAN: Hot damn.

PAZ: Huge muscles.

JULIAN: The thing that I was reading on the actual Wikipedia page for badgers is that apparently they're usually pretty chill, unless they're cornered.

PAZ: Yeah, I thought so.

JULIAN: Yeah, it's saying that they often live alongside and will share their burrows with red foxes.

LIZ: Ooh.

PAZ: Wow.

JULIAN: "Foxes provide badgers with food scraps, and badgers maintain the shared burrows' cleanliness."

LIZ: Roommates.

PAZ: Wow, love is real.

JULIAN: "Although sometimes this can go wrong, and cases are known of badgers driving vixens from their dens and destroying their litters."

PAZ: [gasp]

LIZ: [gasp] Oh.

JULIAN: "In return, red foxes are known to have killed badger cubs in spring."

LIZ: Roommates to enemies.

PAZ: Roommates to enemies.

JULIAN: Sometimes your roommate situation goes south.

PAZ: Yeah, it can be like that with roommates. Yeah, I'm like, I thought badgers were fairly chill. They're not like wolverines.

LIZ: No.

JULIAN: No, they're pretty chill unless you corner them. And that's not what happened here.

PAZ: Maybe this badger has rabies. That was my first thought when it was like, it's out in the daytime.

JULIAN: Oh, that's possible.

PAZ: I was like, does this badger have rabies? Is Brackenpaw gonna get rabies?

LIZ: No.

JULIAN: He hasn't had his shots.

PAZ: Exactly. He hasn't had his rabies shots.

LIZ: This is why Fireheart is like the chosen one, or whatever.

PAZ: Speaking of Brackenpaw, poor Brackenpaw.

JULIAN: God.

LIZ: Poor little guy.

JULIAN: Fuckin, Graystripe, do your job. Do your job.

LIZ: How often does he have to see his girlfriend?

PAZ: Every hour of every day, apparently.

JULIAN: Like I get it. They don't have Skype. They can't write each other letters or like text or whatever. But like, you gotta deal.

LIZ: Make a schedule.

PAZ: Just go out at night, or something.

JULIAN: Have a weekly date night. And then be normal.

PAZ: I'm glad that the text pointed out that Graystripe sucks and is a bad teacher again because he is.

LIZ: Poor Brackenpaw.

JULIAN: Well, and it's having serious impacts on-- yeah. It's having serious impacts on Brackenpaw's like emotional health. He's really unsure of himself. And like, even when he did a really good job fighting off the badger, he's like, oh no, I'm sure it wasn't that-- like I didn't do that good.

LIZ: Brackenpaw is very cool. He caught a bird out of the air and then was very self-conscious about that.

PAZ: Yeah, he did a double-jump.

LIZ: Yeah. Where'd he learn that? Not Graystripe.

PAZ: Hell no. Graystripe wouldn't fight a badger. Graystripe would just leave.

JULIAN: Graystripe would leave the badger for someone else to deal with.

LIZ: There's that part where like Brackenpaw's like, oh, all the other apprentices are so much younger, but they're gonna be warriors before me.

PAZ: I know.

JULIAN: Also, like, Graystripe, do your job. Also Bluestar do your job.

PAZ: Bluestar... horrible leader.

JULIAN: Or-- not to be like, Tigerclaw should get in here. But like, if he's going to be aggressive and mean, maybe he should be aggressive and mean about the actual problems.

LIZ: He should just ground Graystripe for like a month.

JULIAN: Graystripe can deal with the elders' ticks.

PAZ: Okay, like, not to be like Tigerclaw's right again. But him giving Cloudkit a little like, oh, take care of the elders punishment seemed to work. Cloudkit gained some emotional maturity from that, so.

JULIAN: Yeah, I do have a note that's like his reasoning sucks, but this is good for Cloudkit.

PAZ: Yeah, Cloudkit needed that.

JULIAN: Also like, it integrates him better with the clan. Again, worst person you know made a great point.

LIZ: It's very funny. He just became like a mean teacher for a second. It's like, this is the 90s movie where Cloudkit is like the rowdy new transfer. Tigerclaw's like his mean math teacher or something, and he gives him extra homework. It makes his math better. I don't know. Is that how the movies go? Math, right? Math.

PAZ: Yeah. Uh-huh.

JULIAN: I didn't have a TV, so.

PAZ: Sure.

JULIAN: Yes?

LIZ: Well, I've never seen a movie, so we are equal here.

PAZ: I think we jumped around a little bit though. I guess we can--

JULIAN: We did. We jumped straight to chapter eight.

PAZ: I forgot when that happened. For some reason I thought Brackenpaw being abandoned started in chapter seven, but it is not. It's Cinderpaw.

LIZ: Just start, in my mind, poor guy.

JULIAN: Oh, Cinderpaw.

PAZ: Once again, Cinderpaw seems to be doing just fine. But Fireheart's manpain, like internal narrative is terrible. Be quiet.

JULIAN: There is a line about how he's not in the mood for sharing tongues with his friends, which I know we've covered this before. I will never get used to sharing tongues.

LIZ: Why isn't it just called cleaning?

JULIAN: Grooming.

LIZ: Yeah.

JULIAN: Well...

LIZ: There's a word for it. You got it.

PAZ: Yeah, I don't know. I don't know who decided that would be the term for it.

LIZ: Also, since we did like start out with, you know, seeing how like, we got to see how Brackenpaw felt about his situation, it's kind of like an capital-I Interesting contrast to see that in like Cinderpaw, cause we don't really get to see much of that, just kind of like Fireheart's man pain.

PAZ: I mean, she does like voice her feelings in this part, where she's like, I don't really know what I'm doing because we only have three jobs in our society. And no one's told me now what I should do.

LIZ: I guess it's like the way it cycles back to Fireheart, which...

PAZ: Yeah, that's true.

JULIAN: Yeah, the framing is very like Fireheart-centric, in a way that I wish it were not.

PAZ: Yeah, I agree.

JULIAN: God, it is like, he's so close, because there's one point where-- let me find the portion. Yeah. "Cinderpaw was brave and intelligent, and before her accident, she had shown endless energy and commitment to the clan. Surely that couldn't all be thrown away." Yeah, Fireheart, surely it couldn't. Like he's soooooo close. And yet so far away.

LIZ: My guy.

JULIAN: Like I'm glad she's found something that she can do, but blehhhhh.

LIZ: She was given one option by one person.

JULIAN: Well, and it's also in the like bit with the deathberries, um, like she does move very quickly when required. When the plot requires her to be able to move quickly, she sure can.

PAZ: Yeah, it's almost like she could hunt and stuff fine if anyone would just let her, or do anything else.

JULIAN: It's like right after he sees that that Fireheart is like, damn. Too bad she's helpless.

PAZ: Yeah, speaking of helplessness-- disability framed as helplessness, all this stuff with Brokentail at the start of chapter seven is also like what the hell.

LIZ: Ooh. Yikes.

JULIAN: It's so fucked.

LIZ: It's fucked.

PAZ: It frames him as completely helpless. I'm like, all he is is blind. He didn't like...

LIZ: He's still like an adult cat.

JULIAN: Right, he still has claws and like teeth. I fully expected him to kill one of the kits.

PAZ: He's just barely reacted. It's so weird.

JULIAN: Yeah, it's also just like, you know, I'm glad that Fireheart like takes Cloudkit aside and is like, Hey, don't do that.

LIZ: Yeah, it's fucking shitty. Don't do it.

JULIAN: But yeah, the fact that like-- and you know, it is framed as like a fucked up thing that the kits have done to like be taunting their prisoner, their disabled prisoner, but oooh! Yeesh.

PAZ: Yeah, it's like, it's one thing to like-- there was sort of a part where like Darkstripe like threatened Brokentail when like he almost clawed them, but like it wasn't really being framed as like, he's not doing it because he'll get, like, beat up by the guard. It was like-- he just barely reacted. And it was like, oh he couldn't track where the kits were. I'm like, he still has ears. He still has whiskers.

JULIAN: He has ears and whiskers and like scent.

LIZ: That's mostly what they hunt with anyway. It's not like they use their incredible bird's eye view to hunt the mouse.

JULIAN: Yeah, all the descriptions of hunting are like, oh, they hear the mouse rustling in the grass. Like they can't see the mouse.

PAZ: It's so weird.

LIZ: I mean, like we know why it's like this, and it's because the author didn't put the work into it to like-- just thinks this is the only way you can write your disabled character.

JULIAN: Yeah, I guess it really is sort of one finger curls on the monkey's paw. We were like, oh, I wish there were another disabled character besides Cinderpaw.

PAZ: Mm.

JULIAN: And we got one, and...

PAZ: Somehow worse.

JULIAN: He literally has Broken in the name.

PAZ: Yeah, but that scene-- oh, go ahead.

JULIAN: And then Fireheart gets-- oh sorry, I was gonna say, and then Fireheart gets to explain racism to Cloudkit.

LIZ: Oh my god.

PAZ: He literally says we have to work twice as hard. Oh my God.

JULIAN: Head in my hands.

PAZ: It's a kids book so I'll let it pass, but it is very funny.

LIZ: When's Cloudkit gonna have his lunchbox moment?

JULIAN: Oh God.

PAZ: He has his little catnip mouse. All the warriors are like, ew, what's that?

LIZ: Fuck.

JULIAN: Oh, God.

PAZ: Princess gives him some Temptations to take back to camp.

JULIAN: To bring home to them. To all his friends.

LIZ: And when all his friends are like, you know, in college, they're gonna be going to all the overpriced fusion Temptations bars.

PAZ: Oh god.

JULIAN: All the catnip lounges.

LIZ: Terrible.

JULIAN: Also, not only is Fireheart explaining racism to Cloudkit, but he's also telling Cloudkit that he's adopted, which is a lot.

PAZ: Yeah, I mean to be fair, Fireheart thought that he already knew.

JULIAN: Which is also, how did he not know?

PAZ: I don't know. I guess he just never like brought it up with Brindleface.

JULIAN: But they were all teasing him for being a kittypet.

PAZ: Were they?

LIZ: Maybe.

JULIAN: I think so.

PAZ: I don't know if they ever did it to his face.

JULIAN: I guess it was mostly like-- yeah.

PAZ: Well, he said like, so that's why everyone hates me but I don't know if anyone ever called him a kittypet like to his face.

JULIAN: Yeah, no, I think you're right. Damn.

PAZ: I do love that Cloudkit says, "'so that's why the other cats hate me,' he spat. 'They think I'll never be any good because I wasn't born in this dump of a forest.'"

LIZ: Get 'em.

PAZ: So good. Get 'em.

LIZ: I love his like immediate turnaround like fuck this house. None of you are my dad.

PAZ: He's such a funny child.

JULIAN: There's a bit later where when Fireheart meets with Princess, he's like, yeah, your son's doing great. Um, and then mentally he's like, yeah, and he's spoiled and like nosy. But I do love him.

PAZ: He's very fun.

LIZ: Just a little rowdy boy.

PAZ: Yeah, he's a little brat rowdy boy.

LIZ: He's definitely like a season two protagonist.

JULIAN: Mm, mm-hmm.

LIZ: Know what I mean?

PAZ: Yeah? You think, second series?

LIZ: Mm-hmm. It's like, no, it's not about the power of friendship anymore. It's about the power of me winning the sports game, except it is friendship, but I have to get through a couple of my own walls first, because of--

JULIAN: What sport do you think the cats will be inventing?

LIZ: What's a good one for them to play? Soccer. There you go.

PAZ: Yeah, they would love to bat a little ball around.

JULIAN: Or like a sort of--

LIZ: A moss ball.

JULIAN: I was gonna say, sort of a, like, Maya toss ball situation, where you have to get the ball into the hoop.

LIZ: They can have one more job then. It's hoop maker.

JULIAN: Hoop maker and athlete.

PAZ: Wow.

JULIAN: Two more jobs. Three more jobs if they need referees.

PAZ: Wow. They can do like, like inter clan sports competitions, and that'll get all the bloodlust out when they just, you know, they play sports.

JULIAN: What if the cats have football riots though?

LIZ: They would. They will. It's terrible. Who's England in this situation?

JULIAN: ThunderClan, right?

LIZ: Yeah. Boo.

PAZ: Has to be.

JULIAN: Like, thinks they're good, has done many crimes.

PAZ: Exactly.

JULIAN: Although I guess ShadowClan is like the most obviously expansionist, so.

PAZ: They're all England.

LIZ: Ugh.

JULIAN: Maybe ThunderClan is like Germany

LIZ: They'll also probably need more like medics. So that's not a new job, but it is like expanding it.

PAZ: Yeah, more than two doctors.

LIZ: Oh, what a luxury.

JULIAN: More than one and a half doctors.

PAZ: Speaking of the doctors, it's very like stupid that Cinderpaw's like, oh I don't know what I'll do. And it's like, you're acting as the medicine cat. Throughout all these chapters, you were just a second doctor. And Fireheart's also like, I have no idea. Oh, you'll have to talk to Bluestar.

LIZ: Assigned doctor.

PAZ: I bet Yellowfang's gonna be like, um, I thought you were already my apprentice like three weeks ago.

LIZ: Well, did she ask?

PAZ: I guess, I don't know. It's just like--

LIZ: Listen, these cats are pretty dense.

JULIAN: Yellowfang seems like the kind of character who doesn't ask for things but sort of tries to trick people into doing nice things for them. She's like, oh, uh, oh, whoops, I made all this soup. You have to eat it or it'll go to waste.

LIZ: Tricks you into a paying job.

JULIAN: Yeah, Cinderpaw has a little moment where she's like, oh, yeah, I'm gonna have to move out of Yellowfang's den. And it's like, will you? I don't think you will. Has she asked you to?

LIZ: She probably already made you a room.

PAZ: Yeah, I'm pretty sure she has a bed there. I mean not just like her, like recovering bed.

JULIAN: Yellowfang like carefully decorating the walls while Cinderpaw's out.

LIZ: Yellowfang makes her a Welcome Home Temptations cake with a little ribbon.

PAZ: Cinderpaw also says, "ever since I was a tiny kit I wanted to be like Bluestar," and I'm like, no you don't.

LIZ: No. I mean she probably did.

JULIAN: Yeah, that's the lie of being a girlboss.

PAZ: I think you're better off.

JULIAN: Yeah, it seems like Bluestar isn't doing so hot.

LIZ: The part where Fireheart tells her like, oh, Bluestar will know what to do.

PAZ: I know. I was like, I don't think so.

JULIAN: When has Bluestar ever known what to do?

LIZ: For like five chapters in the first book.

PAZ: Yeah, and in like the beginning of book two with WindClan. And then it was kinda over.

LIZ: I don't know what's happening lately. Maybe she got taken over by the ghost of a cat that's not good at being...

JULIAN: Speaking of Yellowfang, the scenes with her and Brokentail are so sad.

PAZ: Like her being like, she's being motherly to him, and him just like, absolutely not responding. Of course he doesn't know that she's his mom.

JULIAN: Right. Woof.

LIZ: [sighs]

PAZ: Drama.

LIZ: There's a part where it says like, she makes like little mom noises at him.

PAZ: Yeah, I was in tears.

JULIAN: Or like, she was like grooming him, and like he does not even move.

LIZ: Aw.

JULIAN: Yellowfang, it's okay. You have so many other children.

PAZ: I know. This kid sucks.

JULIAN: You have so many children who don't suck.

PAZ: I guess we didn't really talk about that prophecy dream Fireheart had, but it wasn't really that interesting.

JULIAN: Yeah, it didn't really tell us anything that we don't already know.

PAZ: Yeah, it was just Spottedleaf being like Fireheart, you idiot. You know who those kits are.

LIZ: Who's that gray cat?

PAZ: I don't know.

LIZ: Well, there are so many gray cats, just.

PAZ: It's true.

LIZ: Like there's definitely more than-- like I knew about them, but it just seems more pointed out now for some reason. Is that just me? Like, it talks about how Cinderpelt is-- sorry, Cinderpaw. I know what happens later, name-wise. How she's gray. We already know Graystripe's gray. There's Graypool, there's Silverstream, there's that other guy. There's Yellowfang?

JULIAN: Stonefur?

PAZ: No, Yellowfang has black fur, I think.

JULIAN: Or like dark brown.

LIZ: Dark brown?

PAZ: Yeah. Persian cat.

JULIAN: Yeah, it does feel like they're like, hey, look, like all these gray cats. Parallels.

LIZ: It's cause there's no black and white.

PAZ: Was Oakheart gray too? How many fucking gray cats were there?

LIZ: Lots.

JULIAN: [typing] Oakheart Warriors wiki. He was... uh, no. He was reddish-brown.

PAZ: Well.

LIZ: That's a lot more uncommon, I think, like a reddish brown cat that isn't like a tabby or something. Like you ever see a brown cat? Like a brown brown cat?

JULIAN: I have, but it's definitely, like--

PAZ: Just pure brown? Yeah, those are a--

JULIAN: A weird-looking color.

PAZ: Those kinds of cats always look really smooth. It's probably a breed, that kind I'm thinking of.

LIZ: They look like just little like wild cats.

JULIAN: Oh, it's a Havana Brown.

LIZ: Hmm.

PAZ: We already talked about Brackenpaw being abandoned. The badger, of course,

LIZ: I don't know, does he become more prominent later?

PAZ: Brackenpaw?

JULIAN: Who?

LIZ: Yeah.

PAZ: I cannot-- I literally cannot remember.

JULIAN: Yeah, I also super do not remember.

LIZ: Is there like, I don't know, like, just like a fanfiction that's like a day in the life of Brackenpaw? What's he do? Poor guy.

PAZ: I feel like maybe I remember this scene.

JULIAN: I don't see anything like super big that he does later, but.

LIZ: Aw. Okay, new Patreon goal. Listen, if we get to $420. I don't know what'll happen.

PAZ: Oh. Sorry, I'm just reading something. I forgot who he mentored.

JULIAN: There is a nice little sentence here, first paragraph. "He was apprenticed early with the name Brackenpaw, mentored by Graystripe. However, Graystripe neglected his duties." Hell yeah he did.

LIZ: Bitch.

PAZ: "And Brackenpaw's training was mostly completed by Fireheart." Uh-huh.

LIZ: Yeah.

JULIAN: Yep.

PAZ: That's right.

LIZ: It's definitely more apparent in these chapters like that the other cats are picking up the slack, too, which is nice, but.

JULIAN: Yeah, Whitestorm and the other guy are like, yeah, we're gonna take all the cats out, all the apprentices out for a hunt.

PAZ: School field trip.

LIZ: But is it like-- does it feel like, oh, I'm like a sixth grader, and these are all first graders?

PAZ: Yeah, that seems to be the vibe because Brackenpaw's like really upset about it.

LIZ: He can't talk about Fortnite with them. They're too young.

JULIAN: Oh shit, new pixel art of Graystripe just dropped.

PAZ: Oh shit.

LIZ: What?

JULIAN: I think this is new. I don't remember seeing this. He's all fluffy in this pixel art. From the Warriors wiki.

LIZ: Whoa.

PAZ: Whoa. Why's he so dark?

JULIAN: I know, right?

LIZ: No, it's because he's wet from being in Riverclan all the time.

PAZ: Of course.

LIZ: [snickers]

PAZ: What? Got that trap neuter return ear?

LIZ: I was just gonna say that. What happened to you, Graystripe?

PAZ: Maybe if his balls got cut off that would solve a lot of problems.

JULIAN: God.

LIZ: I think he'd still be a bitch. He didn't have a girlfriend when he was like, mm, I don't know about this Tigerclaw being a murder thing

PAZ: God, I can't get over that. I mean, there's a badger scene. There's Cloudkit getting his punishment.

LIZ: What is the level of sentience that badgers have here?

PAZ: I don't know.

JULIAN: Well. I mean, there's some stuff later. But I don't know about badgers in general.

PAZ: Yeah, I don't know if all badgers are sentient or not.

LIZ: Okay, well, the way you guys said that made me think there's like a special badger.

PAZ: No comment.

LIZ: Hmm.

JULIAN: I really love how much of this description is clearly copied from Wikipedia or like an encyclopedia article about badgers. I don't think that it's been revealed anywhere in the Warrior books that male and female badgers generally have the same head-body length falling between 56 and 90 centimeters.

LIZ: God bless.

JULIAN: I just don't think the cats are thinking in centimeters.

LIZ: Oh, they use inches?

JULIAN: Oh, there's a source for all this. Oh, it's revealed on animaldiversity.ummz.umich.edu. Yep.

PAZ: Of course.

JULIAN: I do love that they continue to use the revealed language for...

PAZ: It's so funny. I was reading about the supposed Warriors film and it was of course, all revealed on variety.com.

LIZ: Variety?

PAZ: Yeah.

LIZ: I see.

JULIAN: Oh, this badger looks so cute. There's a badger art from the badger from Secrets of the Clans, which is one of the Warrior guidebooks, and it has--

PAZ: Oh my gosh.

LIZ: Oh my god.

JULIAN: The roundest, softest face.

PAZ: Oh my god, I'm in tears.

LIZ: Oh my god.

PAZ: This badger looks like the picture of the cat who's been photoshopped to be crying.

LIZ: What has this badger seen?

JULIAN: Also, that's not a Eurasian badger. That's an American badger.

PAZ: Yeah, that is definitely not.

JULIAN: That's the wrong species.

LIZ: What the fuck's a Eurasian badger look like?

JULIAN: It's got the long--

PAZ: It's the classic like black and white striped one, right?

JULIAN: Yeah, so like if you look at the picture at the top of the wiki article, it's a badger with a much longer face with stripes that go all the way down. And that's a Eurasian badger, and the American badger has a much rounder babier looking face.

LIZ: What a sad looking little guy. What have you seen? Do you think the American badger's looking over at like England or whatever with its incredible Hawkeye vision like, oh, that poor little Brackenpaw. If it was me, I wouldn't have attacked a little baby kitten. Oh, those poor cats.

JULIAN: Oh, I'm sorry. I know we got to move off of the Wikipedia page, but I found an amazing picture of an American badger.

PAZ: Please.

LIZ: We'll post these badger pictures on the Twitter. Don't you guys worry.

PAZ: If we remember. Oh my god.

JULIAN: Look at that lad!

LIZ: Oh my God. Oh my god.

PAZ: Holy shit.

LIZ: This looks fake.

PAZ: This looks like they stretched the jpeg.

JULIAN: It's on illinois.gov.

LIZ: What?

JULIAN: It's on the Department of Natural Resources.

PAZ: [wheezing] What is-- what--

LIZ: Chunky.

PAZ: What's wrong with its head?

JULIAN: I mean, they fucking, they all look like this.

LIZ: Nothing. It's perfect.

JULIAN: Here's from the Encyclopedia Britannica.

PAZ: Oh my god.

LIZ: I didn't know they looked like this.

JULIAN: Look at him. There he goes, trot, trot.

LIZ: His powerful stance.

PAZ: They're so wide. I can't. They look like potatoes.

JULIAN: Absolute legend.

LIZ: That's how they make those tunnels. They just like wiggle.

JULIAN: Here's a European badger, just to like for comparison. We can-- I'm putting all these images in the chat so we can tweet them later. Just a long boy. Just a looong slinky boy.

PAZ: Yeah, that's a much less wide, wide lad.

LIZ: Very classic.

PAZ: Still very round nose.

JULIAN: Oh, here's one running.

LIZ: Oh my god.

JULIAN: Thank you Shutterstock. Thank you Shutterstock. Thank you whichever photographer hid out in a wild, in like a lane somewhere in England.

PAZ: Oh my god. Look at it go.

JULIAN: To catch this lad.

LIZ: Oh my god.

PAZ: It looks like--

LIZ: He go.

PAZ: You know the like boom mic on TVs that they--

LIZ: Yes.

PAZ: It looks like one of those.

JULIAN: Oh, I love him.

LIZ: What's that thing you keep telling me to get for my mic?

PAZ: Oh, a pop filter?

LIZ: Yeah. He looks like a pop filter.

JULIAN: I'm also seeing an image that says, it's a infographic about the differences between the European badger and American badger, but [laughing] the European badger is clearly a beaver.

LIZ: Wait.

JULIAN: Like, could not more clearly be a beaver.

PAZ: What?

LIZ: Wait a minute. Is this just a little nature joke? Little humor?

JULIAN: No, this is a whole... everything you need to know.

LIZ: Oh dear.

PAZ: Well, the first thing you need to know is that's not the European badger.

JULIAN: That's not a fucking badger. Oh, I know that this is clearly a content farm and someone just did a bad job. But this is a beaver. This is a beaver.

LIZ: This looks like a meme.

JULIAN: They do have it correct that none of these are good pets.

PAZ: No.

LIZ: True. God, look at that guy go. I can't stop looking at it. It's just running. Where's he going?

JULIAN: He has important business.

LIZ: Gotta go attack a baby. Heard that baby's an atheist.

PAZ: That's why the badger went for it.

JULIAN: The badger's here to enforce, uh. Oh, I'm sorry, I can't get over the beaver.

PAZ: Okay, we gotta move on.

LIZ: It's a badger.

JULIAN: We gotta move on. We gotta move on.

LIZ: A European badger.

PAZ: Cloudkit got attacked by a beaver.

LIZ: Just turns around and like, waps you.

JULIAN: Oh. Alright, what else happened in these chapters?

PAZ: I guess the next thing we didn't talk about, um, I mean we talked a little about... I guess Fireheart and Cloudkit have another little bonding scene getting the moss.

JULIAN: Yeah, that was cute. And then Tigerclaw's up to some shit again.

PAZ: Of course. Yeah, Tigerclaw going to Twolegplace to do nefarious things. There was a point where his pawprints were described as massive, which was extremely funny to me.

JULIAN: I love the image of Tigerclaw's just enormous big ol beans.

PAZ: Huge beans.

LIZ: Big ol beans compared to cats, though. How big could they be?

PAZ: Well, have you ever seen a cat with real, real big paw to body ratio? That's what I'm imagining. Like he's a big cat but his paws are even bigger.

LIZ: Yeah, but he could still fit in like...

PAZ: What if Tigerclaw's like a polydactyl? Is that what they're called?

LIZ: Oh, absolutely.

JULIAN: [gasps] Yes.

PAZ: Multiple toes.

LIZ: He's got thumbs so that's why he can commit all his crimes.

PAZ: It all makes sense.

LIZ: All dexterity. How did Tigerclaw kill all those other cats? He's got a gun.

PAZ: Holy shit.

JULIAN: I mean, he has been hanging out with all these back alley cats that smell like trash.

LIZ: These city cats.

JULIAN: This is how guns enter the rural English countryside.

PAZ: I love that Fireheart just keeps collecting evidence that Tigerclaw's evil, and he just can't do anything about it because Bluestar is useless.

LIZ: I just can't believe that in these chapters, there's that part specifically where he says Bluestar will know what to do.

PAZ: [snorts]

JULIAN: Right, it's like last-- well, I mean, I feel like he still thinks it's his fault, that he like didn't frame it right last time. Which is very sad.

PAZ: Yeah, but like, he tried to tell her twice. And each time she's been like, no,

LIZ: But it's definitely like being set up for that, right? Because this is very like his own perspective and it's gonna be a dramatic irony turn later.

JULIAN: Mm.

LIZ: Is that too hopeful?

PAZ: We'll see.

LIZ: [darkly] Mm.

PAZ: He does literally run into Tigerclaw.

JULIAN: He does. It's very funny.

LIZ: Right, he's like--

JULIAN: Bounces right off him anime-style.

LIZ: No, he's tailing him, right, and then he's like, oh fuck, but there's this mouse. Ooh, but I gotta--

PAZ: It's so funny. His little cat attention span.

LIZ: It's very video game, too. It's like, okay, main quest. Wait, fuck. Ooh. Mm. Give me a second.

PAZ: I'll be real quick. I just gotta. Yeah, there's a nasty cat smell. Princess shows back up. She's like, you're so thin.

JULIAN: She's like, hey, you're feeding my son, right?

LIZ: Princess having some second thoughts. It's like, maybe I should have gotten my fucking kid vaccinated before he went.

JULIAN: Maybe I should have let him reach like an adult size. Then his growth wouldn't be stunted.

PAZ: She's like, are you getting enough to eat, and Fireheart's just like, no. Doesn't even try to lie.

JULIAN: Imagine being Princess, though. It's like, your shithead brother comes back, is clearly malnourished, and you're like, oh my god, like, I have food at home. Come get some food. And he's like, I can't. The clan. It's like, buddy.

PAZ: He's just in a cult.

JULIAN: He's in a cult. She's trying her best to help him. Well, not really. She's not.

LIZ: Well, she--

PAZ: No, she gave her son to the cult.

JULIAN: She gave him her son.

LIZ: He could have just rolled in some garlic or whatever.

PAZ: Right? Didn't he roll in fox dung before? That was fine.

LIZ: Eat the Temptations.

JULIAN: Eat the Temptations. And then eat some like, I don't know, chives or something so no one can smell the Temptations, the sweet, sweet smell of Temptations on your breath.

LIZ: Just eat some catnip, damn.

PAZ: A single Temptation would kill a Warrior cat dead. Be overwhelming.

JULIAN: God, they really are just like medieval peasants out there in the woods, eating their bowls of gruel. If they got a single bite of tender ocean fish dinner, they would just keel over.

LIZ: Don't they make like beggin strips or whatever for cats now?

JULIAN: Mm-hmm.

PAZ: Probably.

LIZ: You think like the Warriors have a little, little pot of catgrass? I don't think so.

PAZ: No.

LIZ: Everything out there's poisonous.

JULIAN: Well, at the fancy boutique pet bakery in my neighborhood, because of course there is one of those, they do have whole dried fish treats.

LIZ: Wow.

JULIAN: That you can give your cat, if you I guess don't care about having to sweep up after them.

LIZ: Wow.

JULIAN: We have never given one of those to Chickpea because I think she would-- it would be too much for her.

PAZ: No offense to Chickpea, but she doesn't seem to have very discerning taste.

JULIAN: No, no, she really wants Cheez-its.

LIZ: Aw.

JULIAN: She wants Cheez-its so bad.

PAZ: I can relate. I could go for some Cheez-its.

LIZ: She does look like someone who loves to crunch.

JULIAN: Today she knocked-- she loves to crunch. She loves to crunch, and I love to hear her crunch, so it's a win-win. Today she climbed on top of the fridge, again, to try to get the food that is no longer there because we moved it. And she knocked over like the 12 pack of Coke that was up there.

PAZ: Oh my gosh.

LIZ: Oh my god. Does she even weigh 12 packs of coke?

JULIAN: No. Well, there were probably like five or six in there. Um, but she tried to jump on it and then obviously her momentum-- she didn't have great purchase on top of the fridge, so it fell off. I just heard a clatter and came out, and she was looking very, um, you know cats do when it's like, oh I didn't do that. I'm the most distinguished.

PAZ: Kip goes up on the top of our fridge and knocks things over on purpose. He'll like look at me, and knock it off the top of the fridge.

JULIAN: Real Cloudkit. Real Cloudkit energies on that one.

LIZ: Kip's an atheist.

PAZ: Absolutely. Wow. Chapter 10.

JULIAN: Chapter 10.

LIZ: Wait, wait.

PAZ: Oh, yeah?

LIZ: No, just, what if we got one of those like, you know those YouTubes that are always like me making a gourmet cat-friendly meal for my cats?

PAZ: Yeah?

LIZ: We just gotta do that. And I don't know. I think that that has more pull than Temptations, maybe. It's like I made you cat sushi, or I made you like a cat cake.

PAZ: Are you saying that's what'll get Fireheart inside?

LIZ: I think so.

JULIAN: He's got discerning tastes is what you're saying.

LIZ: Mm-hmm.

JULIAN: He needs that raw meat.

PAZ: He does.

JULIAN: What even happened in chapter 10? I just have a note, Whitestorm is a good guy.

PAZ: That's true. Was he even mentioned?

JULIAN: Which is accurate.

PAZ: Was that him taking out the apprentices or something?

LIZ: I think so, yeah.

JULIAN: I think that's where I've, yeah.

PAZ: I've seen a lot of, I think Whitestorm X Tigerclaw stuff on YouTube. I think that's right.

LIZ: That is very funny.

PAZ: I love Tigerclaw's many exes. First Redtail. Now Whitestorm.

JULIAN: Well, I guess the reason we don't remember anything from chapter 10 is it's literally eight pages long.

PAZ: Yeah, it's real short. Fireheart tells Bluestar that there's nasty cats over at Twolegplace, but can't tell her that Tigerclaw is there, because he's like she just won't believe me.

JULIAN: Then they go on a little patrol and they go to RiverClan, and the river's flooded. Uh-oh.

PAZ: It sure is flooded.

JULIAN: I guess that's the downside to having your camp in the middle of the river.

PAZ: Yeah, I wonder if their camp's doing okay.

JULIAN: Yeah. Uh-oh.

LIZ: Oh boy.

PAZ: Uh-oh. I didn't even think about that.

LIZ: Whuh-oh.

JULIAN: I'm sure it's fine that Graystripe is on this patrol.

PAZ: Listen, one time he decides to do work is when he's like maybe I'll see my gf on the way.

JULIAN: God.

PAZ: Please, what are you gonna fucking do if you do see her?

LIZ: He's so annoying.

JULIAN: Well, he's gonna have a double date with Sandstorm and Fireheart and him and his gf and also--

PAZ: Running whoever. What's that guy's name? Runningwind.

JULIAN: Also Runningwind is there.

PAZ: Wow. Fifth wheel Runningwind.

LIZ: Well, maybe Runningwind will find his own starcrossed like cat romance. Triple date. Yes.

JULIAN: There you go.

PAZ: Perfect.

JULIAN: Runningwind slash, who's in... Stonefur.

PAZ: Oh.

LIZ: What do we call that?

PAZ: Runningstone. I'm Googling Runningwind. Don't Google Runningwind, Liz.

LIZ: I'm never going to get into that fucking spoiler channel. What's going on in there? I don't know.

PAZ: Runningwind stories Wattpad. "This is my spin on Warriors: The Prophecies Begin, just with a reader insert. I do not own Warriors. I only own the plot points I use." Oh, here we go. Redtail x Runningwind. Ooh.

LIZ: What?

PAZ: Tell me more.

JULIAN: Ohh.

PAZ: I'm intrigued.

JULIAN: I think this is literally the first time we've seen Runningwind say anything onscreen.

PAZ: Okay, this is someone posting on the forums, "I am utterly baffled by this ship."

LIZ: Well, them saying that makes me want to be like--

PAZ: Oh, fuck this person. They say, "I understand the trans Redtail thing, but I don't really like it. But I don't really care too much." Still, die.

JULIAN: Well, I don't care about you. I don't care about your opinion.

LIZ: Well, yeah.

PAZ: Your opinion is horrible.

JULIAN: And I think Redtail is trans. This is the first I've heard of this headcanon and I would now die for it.

LIZ: Redtail is trans and gay.

PAZ: We've heard of trans Redtail before. Yeah.

JULIAN: Have we?

PAZ: Apparently Redtail-- yeah, that was that one Youtuber's name.

JULIAN: Oh my god, right. It's the YouTuber. I'm sorry.

PAZ: Apparently Redtail was a male calico so yeah, trans Redtail.

JULIAN: Oh!

LIZ: Hell yeah.

PAZ: Just like Hadesclipse.

JULIAN: Just like Hadesclipse.

PAZ: Redtail likes Hadesclipse. This is my self insert.

LIZ: You're gonna have to fight Runningwind.

JULIAN: I guess Runningwind has been here before on screen. I just forgot about him. He helped train Brackenpaw back in Fire and Ice when Graystripe was once again not doing his job.

LIZ: He's just like a nice fellow.

JULIAN: Yeah, he's just a guy.

PAZ: I do not respect the person who made this forum thread at all.

LIZ: Yeah, get outta here, OP.

JULIAN: Uh-oh.

PAZ: Yeah?

JULIAN: I've read some stories or some spoilers for, uh.

PAZ: Yeah?

JULIAN: For later.

PAZ: Well, how bad--

LIZ: Wait, hold on a second. Wait. How come Julian gets to do it and not me?

PAZ: Because Julian's read the books!

JULIAN: Cause this is all shit that I should already know, I just don't remember.

LIZ: Mm. Hmm.

PAZ: Listen, once we finish the Power of Three, you can go wild, because that's up to where we got to. I don't know what we were doing.

LIZ: Chapter 10?

JULIAN: Chapter 10. The eight-page chapter 10. RiverClan is flooded.

PAZ: RIP RiverClan.

LIZ: Oh, sorry. Go ahead.

PAZ: I was just saying RIP RiverClan.

LIZ: I do want to talk about the one thing where Tigerclaw's telling Fireheart to patrol and then Fireheart is like, oh, he's too smart to be hostile to me in public. But he is, though.

PAZ: Right? He's already been hostile to you many times.

LIZ: He calls you a little bitch like every single day in front of people.

PAZ: For real.

JULIAN: It's like, you don't really need to set Fire-- or set Tigerclaw up as like conniving because he's already been conniving. We've seen him be conniving. Part of his connivingness is that he calls you a little bitch every day, and you can't do anything about it because he's the deputy.

PAZ: It's not like-- his whole posse calls Fireheart a little bitch. Fireheart got called a kittypet like two chapters ago.

LIZ: Right? The problem is that people don't care.

JULIAN: Fucking Longtail and Dustpelt.

PAZ: Yeah, and Darkstripe.

LIZ: One of those is like someone's brother, right?

JULIAN: Dustpelt is Sandstorm's brother.

PAZ: No, no, no, no, no.

LIZ: No, wait.

PAZ: They were just apprentices. He's, um, I think he's technically Ravenpaw's brother.

LIZ: Oh, right right right.

JULIAN: Is he?

PAZ: Or something like that.

LIZ: Someone is Ravenpaw's brother.

JULIAN: Oh, I just assumed they were siblings because they were...

PAZ: But it's like, not really--

JULIAN: Oh, you're right. He is Ravenpaw's brother.

LIZ: Wild.

JULIAN: And he's Longtail's half brother.

PAZ: Bitch.

JULIAN: Oh, he's such a little bitch because Darkstripe was his mentor.

LIZ: Duh.

PAZ: Oh. Sorry, I just saw a spoiler for the.... Oh man.

LIZ: These cats. I think that's it though for the chapters, right?

JULIAN: Yeah.

PAZ: Yeah. Sorry. Sorry, Dustpelt had a son.

LIZ: What?

PAZ: Called Spiderleg.

JULIAN: [snorting]

LIZ: You can't do that. What about a cat is spidery?

JULIAN: Peyton's gonna be so angry.

LIZ: Please.

PAZ: That's incredible. I'm clicking Spiderleg's wiki page.

LIZ: Wait, I think Dustpelt should have eight children, no, nine children, and they should all be like Spiderleg 1, Spiderleg 2, Spiderleg 3, until you get to 8. And then you should have one just be like Spiderhead.

JULIAN: Oh holy shit.

LIZ: And then they can stand on top of each other like a mech.

JULIAN: Dustpelt is also Birchfall's father.

PAZ: Oh.

JULIAN: Birchfall of the bad name.

PAZ: I bet Peyton hates Spiderleg too.

JULIAN: Yeah, I guess, uh. Well, whoever the leader is the person who gave the leg name because Spiderkit is... I mean, it's a weird name. But it's a fine one.

LIZ: Oh God.

JULIAN: Oh, I hate that the pixel art here is this cat is looking directly at me. Usually the pixel art, the cat is kind of like, you know, three quarter view, like looking off into the distance. Spiderleg? Looking into my eyes.

PAZ: Sorry, what? Here's a quote caption. "Spiderleg annoyed with Dovepaw when she talks about brown animals." What?

JULIAN: What?

LIZ: Hey, Spiderleg, you, hey, what?

PAZ: What? Brown animals.

JULIAN: [yells]

LIZ: What is that noise you just made?

JULIAN: [hysterical laughter]

PAZ: Hold on. Just gonna screenshot this.

JULIAN: [creaks]

PAZ: If my phone will let me.

JULIAN: Oh God.

PAZ: It all comes full circle.

JULIAN: It really does.

LIZ: [laughing] Oh my god.

PAZ: I clicked "brown animals," and it took me to the beaver page.

LIZ: What does it mean?

PAZ: "Friendly? No."

LIZ: What does it mean?

JULIAN: Beavers aren't friendly?

PAZ: No.

JULIAN: "Relation to clan cats. If provoked they're able to kill a cat with their sharp front teeth."

PAZ: Holy shit.

LIZ: Is that true?

JULIAN: That has never happened.

PAZ: I do not think so.

LIZ: Wait. [typing] Can beavers kill cats. [gasps]

JULIAN: Beaver versus cat.

LIZ: "Beaver attacks can be fatal to domestic animals."

JULIAN: [gasps]

PAZ: Holy shit.

LIZ: There's a whole Wikipedia page for beaver attack.

PAZ: I never would have guessed.

LIZ: Oh, you gotta see this beaver. You gotta see the beaver they use. Look at him, looking at you.

JULIAN: Oh.

PAZ: Oh no.

LIZ: What the fuck?

PAZ: He's so round. I'm so scared.

LIZ: Got his little paws together like [evil laugh] I will.

JULIAN: A beaver has killed a man.

LIZ: What?

JULIAN: Yeah.

PAZ: "Relation to clan cats." Oh, go ahead.

JULIAN: Um, I mean, okay, so this is a 60 year old guy who grabbed the beaver, to take a photo with it.

LIZ: Oh my god.

JULIAN: And the beaver bit open his femoral artery.

PAZ: Oh, okay, he shouldn't have done that.

LIZ: Yikes.

JULIAN: So it was like, you shouldn't have done it. Also, it was like bad luck. It just happened to get the femoral.

PAZ: Here's what the Warriors wiki has to say. "Relation to clan cats. Beavers are known to be both inquisitive with cats, but also aggressive if provoked."

JULIAN: Oh my god?

LIZ: Well, how many beavers are they gonna see in England?

JULIAN: There are beavers in England.

PAZ: Yeah, there are beavers.

LIZ: Have we covered this? This feels...

PAZ: I feel like we have, yes.

JULIAN: I think we have. There's beavers in the Narnia book.

LIZ: Aren't they like-- isn't it that like beavers have been recently reintroduced or something?

JULIAN: Yes, we talked about this because they were hunted for their fur to almost extinction, and then they made a big comeback.

PAZ: To kill cats.

LIZ: Good for them?

JULIAN: Good for them. Aw, this is one sleeping and he's all curled up into his tail.

LIZ: I'm just looking at the list of non fatal attacks on humans by beavers.

PAZ: Get 'em.

LIZ: While you say this. Goddamn.

JULIAN: Oh, this image is too powerful for Discord.

PAZ: Understandable.

LIZ: Can you screenshot it?

JULIAN: Oh, I just posted the link, because it's 6000 by 4000 pixels.

LIZ: Oh my god.

PAZ: Aw. Have you guys seen baby beavers? They are an incredible shape.

LIZ: Oh yeah. Mm-hmm.

JULIAN: Oh, I don't think I have. Baby beavers. Listeners, I hope you enjoy our animal googling. Oh!

PAZ: They're just such a good shape. They're so fuzzy. They're so round.

JULIAN: Oh, they're so fluffy. Oh, I highly recommend everyone to Google baby beavers.

PAZ: Yes, please. There's some good videos on YouTube, I think.

JULIAN: Yep. They're so small. This is from I Can Has Cheezburger, a site I did not realize was still on the internet.

LIZ: I don't think it can die at this point. I think it's an establishment, right?

JULIAN: Here it is. Their Facebook page is actively posting things as of 47 minutes ago.

PAZ: On Facebook?

JULIAN: There's a listicle about 18 cats demonstrating their cat logic.

LIZ: [groans]

PAZ: Tigerclaw voice.

LIZ: Tigerclaw voice, debate me.

PAZ: I'll destroy them with facts and logic.

JULIAN: Wow.

LIZ: Also sorry, on my search for can beavers kill cats, like the fourth result is just the beaver Warriors wiki page.

PAZ: What do you call a baby beaver? Kits.

LIZ: Baby.

JULIAN: Aw.

PAZ: They're kits, too.

LIZ: [laughs] Can I-- oh my god. Can I give you some suggested searches from this?

JULIAN: Yeah.

LIZ: Okay. One. "Are beavers venomous?"

PAZ: No, that's a platypus.

JULIAN: I understand the confusion, though.

PAZ: Yeah, they're a little similar.

LIZ: Two. "How to survive a beaver attack."

PAZ: Run.

JULIAN: Don't get bitten in the femoral artery and you'll be good.

LIZ: Three. "Beaver bite force PSI."

JULIAN: Now what is the beaver bite force psi? I'm very curious.

LIZ: Let me check. 180 pounds.

PAZ: Holy shit.

JULIAN: That's a lot.

PAZ: Well, I mean they have to bite hard to take down trees, I guess.

LIZ: Goddamn.

JULIAN: Yeah, damn.

LIZ: Compared to a human's 88 pounds. Good Lord.

PAZ: We don't have shit.

JULIAN: That's pretty strong on humans, too.

PAZ: Yeah, I'm not biting that hard.

JULIAN: No wonder my teeth hurt all the time.

PAZ: I don't have anything else to say about these chapters.

JULIAN: Yeah, I think we've wrapped up.

PAZ: I forgot to decide on something to talk about.

JULIAN: I mean, we did talk about beavers for quite some time.

PAZ: We did.

[meow]

JULIAN: I wonder if-- okay, I'm gonna do a quick Google to see if... beaver roleplay.

LIZ: Oh my god.

PAZ: Oh my god. Beaver kids book.

JULIAN: Oh no, this is Narnia roleplay. That's not what I want. Beaver roleplay Proboards.

PAZ: Oh shit.

JULIAN: Beaver [sighs]. Yep, here we go. I found-- this is on the Disney Roleplay World.

PAZ: Disney?

LIZ: Oh?

JULIAN: Yeah.

LIZ: Beavers in Disney?

JULIAN: This is an Angry Beavers RP.

LIZ: What?

PAZ: Oh my god, that show. You don't know that show, Liz?

LIZ: No?

PAZ: I think it was a Nickelodeon cartoon. It was like the era of like, Catdog and such.

LIZ: Oh.

JULIAN: Yeah, it's a band of outcast beavers trying to take over the world, or take over the woods, sorry, not the world.

PAZ: Why not the world?

JULIAN: Holy shit, this is dark. Um, they are the young Zachs family. The head beaver, Jason, catches Treeflower. Kate, who was with her, isn't seen, but finds her mother dead after Jason kills her to send a message.

PAZ: What?

JULIAN: Is there a way to bring her back or stop Jason? Fuck!

PAZ: I hope so.

JULIAN: Oh, it's so much to read this very intensive, um, there are lions here?!

LIZ: What?

PAZ: I don't remember that.

JULIAN: This roleplay includes lions and bears. It's a lot to see this really intensive moment where this beaver is facing down lions. And she's screaming for her uncle, Daggett.

PAZ: Oh yeah, I remember. Yep, that was the name.

JULIAN: "'Mama, Daddy, Uncle Daggy-Waggy,' she screams."

LIZ: Oh my god.

JULIAN: Also a lot to see, um... is this Tyler Posey? Someone's shooting a gun at me in the gif.

PAZ: What?

JULIAN: In this signature about beavers.

PAZ: What year was this happening?

JULIAN: This was posted in 2014.

PAZ: That is much more recent than I would have thought.

JULIAN: Yeah, it didn't get off the ground too far. Only about 10 posts here.

PAZ: I wonder why.

JULIAN: Oh, no, I'm sorry, there's four pages of this. I'm just kidding.

LIZ: Oh my god.

JULIAN: Yeah, the final post is, "'Kate, it's time for lunch,' Norb called to his daughter." So I presume they--

PAZ: They survived.

JULIAN: They dealt with the lions.

LIZ: They went to lunch.

PAZ: Man, Warrior Cats needs to step up.

LIZ: This is riveting.

JULIAN: These beavers have sofas? I never watched the cartoon.

PAZ: Oh yeah, they live in like a-- I don't remember exactly.

JULIAN: Little house?

PAZ: Yeah.

JULIAN: Yeah, no, Kate's mom fuckin died. Rip Treeflower.

PAZ: Wow.

JULIAN: I am kind of surprised but there hasn't been like a big sprawling story about a society of beavers.

PAZ: Yeah, they also are like communal animals. Are beavers not interesting enough? I think they're cool.

JULIAN: Wait, hold up. What was the Redwall book? Oh no, those were otters.

LIZ: An otter is just a beaver that hasn't been flattened at the back.

JULIAN: Because I was thinking of Taggerung, which in hindsight was I think a little racist. But that was about otters and not beavers.

LIZ: You know that--

JULIAN: Are beavers--

LIZ: Oh, go ahead.

JULIAN: Are they evil in Redwall?

PAZ: Are they in Redwall?

LIZ: Beavers?

JULIAN: Oh, there are no beavers.

LIZ: Well, when was Redwall written?

JULIAN: Redwall wiki. "According to Brian Jacques, beavers do not appear in subsequent Redwall novels to reflect the fact that there are no longer any native beavers in Great Britain."

LIZ: Well. Wait.

JULIAN: "The solitary beaver is the only beaver in the Redwall series and was very rarely mentioned."

PAZ: Holy shit. Who's the solitary beaver?

JULIAN: He stopped Cluny from climbing up the wall in the first battle of the Late Rose Summer Wars.

PAZ: I want to know more about this guy.

JULIAN: And he uses a crossbow. Damn.

PAZ: Wow, apparently beavers have like, mate for life.

JULIAN: Aw.

LIZ: Aw.

PAZ: Wikipedia doesn't have a fictional beavers page.

JULIAN: Why? They have a fictional badgers page.

PAZ: Maybe there just aren't many fictional beavers.

JULIAN: Oh my God. I know this is not a Redwall padcast.

LIZ: Padcast?

JULIAN: Padcast. But I have found a tidbit of Redwall lore that is blowing the series wide open. Bees can communicate in Redwall.

LIZ: What?

PAZ: What?

JULIAN: "Indicated by a statement at the end of the books where the guerrilla shrews learn to speak the bee language so they can trade and argue. This is not noted in other books."

PAZ: Holy shit.

JULIAN: That means that if bees can communicate, half of the animals eat insects. Are they eating sentient insects?

PAZ: Ahh.

LIZ: Horrible. I hate that. What if you're like, God, I don't know, like a bird or mouse or whatever, and you just like, eat a cricket, and it's just like, [tinily] nooo.

JULIAN: [very small] I have a family.

LIZ: Gruesome.

PAZ: This is a problem when you make all the animals in sentient societies.

JULIAN: Well, I feel like Redwall tried to handle it by making all the carnivores evil.

PAZ: I've never read Redwall.

JULIAN: Yeah, they make most of the carnivores, like-- which is its own problem because then it's like these species are inherently evil.

PAZ: They just did Zootopia. I mean, I guess Zootopia did Redwall, is what I should say.

LIZ: With cops? Does Redwall have cops?

JULIAN: Um...

PAZ: They have like soldiers.

JULIAN: It's sort of like a medieval situation. So they have like soldiers, and like, there might be like a sheriff or something. There's not like the police.

PAZ: There's only 21 pages in the fictional beavers category.

LIZ: That's so sad.

JULIAN: That's so sad. That feels--

PAZ: This is an undertapped market.

LIZ: They have architecture. They feel rife for like anthropomorph-- word I can't say. You know, when they become little guys with little houses?

JULIAN: Hey, children's book editors, hot new idea, fictional story about beavers, species of beavers. They're-- not species, family of beavers. Society of beavers. That's the word I was looking for.

PAZ: That should be the next Erin Hunter endeavor.

JULIAN: Right? I guess maybe the concern is, while they do have a society and they do have little hands and they do build things, they don't attack each other and kill each other?

PAZ: That's true. No, but they're very territorial. Maybe they do.

LIZ: They can attack and kill us. That's gotta be something.

JULIAN: That's true.

PAZ: They probably have fights.

LIZ: Maybe it's like the next, you know, great civilization is one of beavers and they've got to fight the humans or something.

JULIAN: There you go.

LIZ: Terrible remnants of the last one.

PAZ: Beavers inherit the earth.

JULIAN: There was a beaver dam in the creek at home, and they were-- they did a lot. They really dammed up that creek.

PAZ: Yeah, they work hard. Okay, if Erin Hunter was to make a beaver series, what would it be called? So the bears one is called Seekers. I think the canceled dog one was like...

JULIAN: No, that's the Africa one.

LIZ: Designers. Planners.

JULIAN: Architects. Builders.

LIZ: Constructors. Oh, Creators.

JULIAN: Oooh.

PAZ: Ooh.

LIZ: There's also Devisors, which sounds a little, you know.

PAZ: Oh, that sounds like they'll be like little wizards.

JULIAN: Yeah, I like Devisors.

PAZ: Devisors is real good.

JULIAN: Survivors is the dog series.

PAZ: Oh, Devisors is a little close to Survivors. But I think it's still very good.

LIZ: Artisan.

PAZ: I want little wizard beavers.

JULIAN: Right? They're so ripe to be little magic guys. Little magicians. They got their little hands.

LIZ: I feel like every other creature that's vaguely in the shape of a beaver, which is like kind of a brown egg, has gotten that treatment already. Like, you know, badgers, which they're not really brown, but they're eh. Porcupine. I feel like I've definitely seen more porcupine than beaver.

PAZ: Yeah. Why are beavers so underutilized?

LIZ: Otters. Capybaras.

JULIAN: I don't think we've done capybaras.

PAZ: Friends at the Table has done capybaras now.

LIZ: I think someone's done capybaras.

JULIAN: I mean, maybe there's a children's book.

LIZ: Moles. Voles.

JULIAN: That's just Redwall.

PAZ: Yeah, those little guys are Redwall.

LIZ: A raccoon isn't brown but it does have little hands and is about the same shape, and they've definitely done those.

PAZ: There's like Sly Cooper, yeah.

JULIAN: Yeah. Ranger Rick.

PAZ: Justice for beavers.

LIZ: Let the beaver have its moment. It's basically like a water clan, right?

PAZ: Yeah.

LIZ: Okay, there should just be like a direct lifting of all the Warriors clans into just like beaver clan, badger clan. That's like--

PAZ: This is just Redwall. We're just reinventing Redwall with beavers.

LIZ: No, there's more than one beaver, because they've returned to England.

PAZ: You're writing Redwall fanfiction.

LIZ: I can make this an Arthurian beaver.

PAZ: Yeah, the beaver is Merlin.

JULIAN: Guinebeaver.

LIZ: Who's gonna play young hot BBC beaver Merlin?

JULIAN: Do you mean Beaverlin?

LIZ: Yes.

PAZ: You know, that might do it for us. I think we're-- [laughs].

LIZ: When we hit that 420 goal.

PAZ: Thanks everyone for listening to our podcast. You can find the show at Stairway to Star-- no, it's just, you can find the show @staircast on twitter.com. You can now support the show on Patreon at patreon.com/staircast. You can email questions or anecdotes or yell at us about talking about beavers too much, [email protected]. Um, next week we'll be reading chapters 11 through 14 of Forest of Secrets. I guess that's about it. So until next time, may StarClan light your path. Bye.

LIZ: Bye.

JULIAN: Bye.

[outro music]

LIZ: My God.

JULIAN: Oh.

LIZ: Hey, did you know beavertails are a kind of donut?

JULIAN: Oh, like a food?

LIZ: Yeah.

JULIAN: I was like, I thought you were talking about like a mathematical donut for some reason.

PAZ: Wow.

LIZ: That's me. I love to talk about math.

JULIAN: Like a torus. Anyway.

#ep 19 #forest of secrets ep #transcript #beaver tales

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sir-severance · 5 years

Text

connective tissue - mlandersen0

this is my piece for the fantastic Slenderverse Zine (2019). this was a pleasure to write, and i am honoured to have been a part of such a wonderful project. you can check out the zine here, and read this fic on AO3 here.

a quick disclaimer - i hope it's quite clear that i do not support the views which the character Shaun Andersen expresses in this fic. this is an exploration into mental health stigma, the entitlement of neurotypicality and the damage which can come about from both sides of any relationship within which someone is suffering because of mental illness. i am not interested in any discourse. please take this fic for what it is, and if you disagree, feel free to write your own. likewise, please heed the content warnings.

thanks, and i hope you enjoy <3

cws: mental health, mental illness, ableism, sickness, anxiety, depression, blood, twins, abuse, therapy, gore, terror, horror

Shaun’s parents often address him in the same breath as talking about Michael, as if the two are immutably connected, their meaning solely defined by virtue of each not being the other. But the parental Andersens could not always retain this facade of equality in front of their youngest child. No, Shaun found the documents when he was ten, long after Michael’s departure.

At the time, the words he found staggered him with polysyllabic ambiguity:

Monochorionic.

Parasitic.

Anemic.

But one phrase unfurled its roots and lodged itself into the squishy whorls of his brain.

The night of the discovery, little Shaun Andersen ran screaming into his parents’ bedroom, tears and terror marring his face the way fresh understanding of horror always does. When his mother hushed Shaun, held him close and begged him to explain what was wrong, the boy’s answer made the colour flood from her face.

All too soon, Shaun found himself confronted with yet more walls: walls so staggeringly bleached that, to Shaun, the paint served not as a reminder of cleanliness, but of spores and fungi and bacteria, swelling into turgid contaminants ready to burrow through his skin and pick his bones clean.

“Twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome,” the therapist reads from her notes. She smiles at Shaun, with too many teeth. “Where did we hear such big words, hm?”

Shaun keeps quiet. In the time since Michael left, the value of silence impressed its qualities upon him. The art of disquiet is something everyone knows about, but few possess the gall to produce. Shaun maintains fixed eye contact with the therapist, while revelling in the security offered by his glasses. There’s a plastic quality to her dimples: an artificial construction of pleasantry that only a child could see through.

She doesn’t care about you.

Shaun believes there’s relief for both of them when the light goes out of her eyes.

“It’s okay, Shaun,” the therapist says. Her voice quavers noticeably. “I think you’re a very smart boy. You’d like me to tell you the truth, wouldn’t you?”

I think you want to tell me the truth and not have to deal with me, Shaun thinks. The therapist continues on regardless:

“Sometimes, when people have babies, things can go wrong. The baby might come out sick, or a bit different.”

The therapist watches him for a response. Shaun tries his best not to blink. Her mouth twitches.

“When a mom has a baby inside, the baby gets their food from an organ called the placenta. It’s kind of like a phone charger — it gets plugged in to the wall of the mommy’s tummy, and when she eats, nutrients from the food are transferred to the baby. These nutrients are transferred by blood. Do you understand?”

You’re talking to me like I’m an idiot. This doesn’t feel professional at all, is what Shaun Andersen understands. How old does she think I am?

“With twins, sometimes they share one placenta, instead of having one each. And sometimes, blood gets passed between the twins.” Her face creases, like she’s recalling something unpleasant. “This can mean that one twin doesn’t get enough blood — they’re called the ‘donor’ twin — and the other gets too much blood, making them the ‘recipient’ twin.”

The therapist actually looks away before going on, and Shaun is sure it has more to do with practiced decency than genuine upset.

“Michael received the blood your other brother didn’t get.”

It sounds like she’s reading from a script. Maybe she prepared this. Wanted to scare me and take me off guard so she can get into my head. I’m not going to say a damn thing. Fuck her.

“I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did, Shaun.” The therapist’s mouth twists in a grim approximation of sympathy. “But it’s just a fact of life.”

A fact of life that Michael devoured his twin in the womb.

It’s only now that he’s in some lightless attic, face-down on the floor with his skin prickled against the cold, that this wash of memories coats Shaun with their accusatory foam. There’s a peculiar, pickling scent prodding at his gag reflex; this room reeks of mold and misery. It’s as if the air itself is frothing from an unseen mouth. For Shaun, this triggers a memory encased in nausea. A taste identical to the sour pills the therapist gave him that day spills onto his palate: anti-anxiety medication.

Shaun vomited the first batch he took, so he ceased taking them all together. Instead, he replaced each pill in his medication box with chalky, pastel candy, and made a big show of swallowing one in the morning and one in the evening.

He’s just like Michael, really. As long as there are witnesses, he’ll put on a show.

Splinters impale the meat of Shaun’s mouth, and sawdust cakes his tongue. He hacks and coughs, and writhes on the floor. His knees manage to find purchase in the gloom, but his muscles tremble and quiver with the effort of kneeling. He’s been bashed and bruised, dragged carelessly and tossed aside like a used rag. Tenderised meat before the slaughter.

And Michael’s going to be the same.

Shaun’s breath pulses out in panicked bursts. He can just about see his exhalations curling away in the freezing cold. No, he can’t be this weak — he must shove it back, quash the feeling. He’s worth more than this. If he goes back on the things he said to Michael now — horrible, hateful things — then he’ll never be able to live with himself.

So Shaun breathes steadily, working his way around the anxiety attack the way his therapist never showed him. As his heart rate steadies and adrenaline drops, all that energy and fear circumvents his guts, and heads a frontal assault on his brain. This leads to a conclusion burning through his mind with perfect clarity

This is all Michael’s fault.

Shaun never knew the name for whatever disease ravaged his brother’s mind. Not that he ever asked. The less he knew about Michael’s... abnormalities, the better. He remembers phrasing it that way to his parents, when he finally said no to another trip to see the remains of their estranged son.

Each week flowed the same way: stilted conversation between siblings, and pained platitudes from their parents. All meaningless little words of encouragement deliberately skipping over the elephant in the room — or, rather, the room containing the elephant, with its queasy walls and claustrophobic bars on the windows. No one in there ever used words like crazy or sick — in fact, they gave you a sheet of words to refrain from using when in the presence of the patients. All the relatives and guests of the inmates were expected to behave in this fashion.

This nauseated Shaun. He knew his brother was still in there. And he knew better than anyone how Michael liked to play his little games.

Regardless, Shaun tried his best to make Michael talk, and find something recognisable in the muddy depths of his eyes. But every visit, the dark deepened. No matter how many toys he tried to share, no matter how many stories he’d try to tell, and no matter how many times he affirmed to Michael that they were best friends and one day he’d get out of the hospital so they could play again... he stayed the same.

The final straw comes one dismal, rainy Friday afternoon. Shaun and his dad sit next to each other, opposite Michael with a table acting as barrier between them, saying nothing.

An aide took them both aside before they entered the main facility, and explained that Michael is being trialed on another type of medication. The visit is going as miserably as the weather foretold.

Michael looks barely human. Something is altered in the familiar shape of his body, like a bent coat hanger hastily reformed into an approximation of its original structure. The older Andersen brother slumps back in his chair, his skin several shades whiter than the wall behind him. His mouth is cracked with dehydration, and his hair is tangled with sleeplessness and grease. But worst of all are his eyes. They sit listless and devoid of comprehension, with blank pupils gazing aimlessly at his family, through them, and beyond them. A candle snuffed out before shrinkage of the wick.

Shaun remembers the emptiness of his therapist’s eyes. The glee in outwitting her. The pleasure of looking into those sad, brown depths.

There is no joy in peering into Michael’s skull.

Without warning, Shaun’s temper seizes him with all the ferocity a young boy’s hormones could. He slams his clenched fist down on the table, rattling metal. All conversation in the room ceases, a veil of corpselike silence.

Michael, however, doesn’t react. He doesn’t even acknowledge the sound.

The words jump from Shaun’s mouth like oil from a sizzling pan, murderous in their venom.

“You’re such a freak.”

Before the aides can reach him, Shaun’s dad grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him out of the room, into the hallway. Shaun can tell he’s furious, but there’s so much anger pumping through his blood that he just doesn’t care. He needs to do something, anything, to puncture the film over Michael’s eyes. Anything to make him so much as flinch.

But Michael remains unaffected.

As expected, the facility removes them both immediately, and Shaun is given a one-month visitation ban. This doesn’t bother Shaun in the slightest — in fact, he feels victorious, and righteous in his fury. There’s no way he’s coming back. Not this time. Michael squandered his last chance.

Even so, he’ll never forget his last view of that room, before his father pulls him away.

Tears spilling freely down Michael’s stony face.

From then on, the pre-trip talk with his parents is a minefield to navigate. They try so hard to make everything light and cheery, to speak about Michael like he’s still a part of their family, but Shaun overhears them speaking about their visits when they think he’s not listening. Now, more often than not, Michael’s arms are bound throughout their visits. Other times, they’re only able to converse with their son from behind a pane of tough glass.

Sometimes, they came home early.

‘Oh, Mikey’s feeling a touch under the weather today,’ their mother chirps. ‘But he says he misses you lots and lots!’

Her happy tone belies the true quality of their visit. It doesn’t matter. Shaun never asks for further details. Eventually, Shaun is old enough that his moods are ascribed to the terrors of puberty, and he is left to his own devices.

In retrospect, the seven years between Shaun’s Michael-detox and their first meeting as adults seems superfluous. The difference the years wrought upon Michael shocked Shaun.

Where once there existed a timid, chubby little kid with the brightest of smiles, now stood a gangly, hollow-looking man, with eyes like pits of coal. Though the corners of Michael’s mouth upturn upon seeing him, Shaun doesn’t register any warmth.

Somehow, this infuriates Shaun more than his brother’s tears ever could. He’d always assumed that even though his brother is older, Michael would remain the same size — adulthood somehow being barred for the mentally ill. Resentment boils away in Shaun’s stomach seeing how much taller his brother is, how clean-cut his features are. But this isn’t the thing which incenses Shaun the most.

It’s that, in those eyes, those chasmic clefts gouged out in his pale flesh, Shaun saw quiet patience.

Intelligence.

Forgiveness.

Just the mere hint of any kind of pity from his brother makes Shaun’s thoughts curdle with rage. How dare he be okay? He’s supposed to be sick! Isn’t that the whole reason why he got locked up in the first place?

Shaun knows these are irrational and angry thoughts, but would rather cut out his own tongue than internalise them as ‘unfair’. He slaved away the better part of his life playing second fiddle to his parents’ worry and concern, always visiting Michael, paying more attention to Michael... all while their favourite son plays the part of a theatre dummy.

So Shaun makes the decision there and then. He is under no obligation to take care of this man forced upon him by blood — but he will. He will be the most selfless, compassionate human being his brother has ever seen.

Then they’ll see who has the right to forgive.

The walls of the attic Shaun can’t see feel like they’re closing in on his aching body, dragging themselves closer with hidden, noiseless claws. If you hadn’t lied about seeing the Tall Man, he wouldn’t be as sick as he is, his thoughts hiss, and he thinks that the walls are growing mouths and speaking to him, indicting him, readying to pluck his head from his shoulders and smack it on a pike.

Yet, as his fear increases, tiny increments of light make themselves known in Shaun’s vision. Eventually, he’s able to zero in on a shape just out of each — something large and mostly crimson, with a long curved blade extending from its middle. Sickly, distended panic courses through Shaun like a white-hot fever when he recognises the shape.

It’s a fucking chainsaw.

The enormity of the situation crashes into his nervous system. He’s being laid out, prepped and ready for consumption. Oh God, he drugged me to tie me down and cut me open, and then he’s gonna go find Michael and do the same thing-

Keep it together! Express some reticence, for fuck’s sake. You’re not going to break down. You’re not going to give in. Michael’s the one who hurt you, kept hurting you, all this time. Without him, you would have a real family. A home. A future. Not biting the dust spilled on some dank basement.

The attic betrays nothing but the acrid stench of death. People have died here. People have been tied up and carved open like autopsy specimens, all for the gain of their sadistic owner. Shaun, despite his terror, continues to squint at the weapon.

You’re about to bite the dust anyway...

When Shaun sees the blood staining the steel, he screams.

Another flashbulb memory comes searing into his head: his brother’s wafer-thin form keeling over in the snow. That chokehold of panic throws Shaun into immediate action, forcing him to run and cradle the body of his brother. He’s so desperate and terrified, not knowing if this is really Michael, what this body could be capable of...

And yet Shaun grabs hold anyway, all grudges suddenly forgotten, and oh fuck it must be Patrick, because his nose is bleeding and his limbs are as heavy and wet as the white beneath their boots. Shaun hauls him the best he can, inwardly cursing his lack of strength, and as he drags Patrick over to the frozen table he can only pray his mental fortitude is made of stronger stuff.

“I came here to apologise.”

“Really.”

The sarcasm pours out of Shaun without a second thought, so heated it almost scorches the icy air. But there’s no way he could ever dam this wave of fury.

‘There’s still a lot you don’t know...’

It takes everything Shaun has to not to let his poker face flicker, but the rage beneath makes him want to seize Patrick by his lapels and bash him against a wall. How dare he. This freakshow of a bodysnatcher can’t even keep his brother’s body alive and well long enough to stand up while having a conversation, and yet has the nerve to patronise him?

Shaun hears, ‘I’m sorry for Stormy,’ as if from the other end of a tunnel. All that’s brewing in his head is the conundrum sitting in front of him. Two personalities, one body. They’re interchangeable now, one and the same. Twice the twin, half the skeleton. Michael, playing patient zero to a contagion which wrecks and wrings until bloodied flesh is all that’s left behind. Patrick, a disease forged in the womb and soaked into the being of a boy who could have been something different.

Should have been.

Never will be.

No one could reconcile the two but Shaun.

So it must be a sickness, an illness, a disease. And everything bad that ever comes from sweet Michael’s mouth is a result of his condition.

If that’s the case, is it so awful to want to be as far away from them — from him — as possible, whoever — and whatever — he is?

Patrick is only sharing the broken-down condo which remains of his brother’s body.

Taking back his stolen property.

And where does that leave Shaun?

As the unspoken martyr, of course.

There’s only so much room in my head for bullshit, Shaun seethes. I’m not going to live my life cleaning up after him — not for Michael or Patrick.

And that’s it - that’s the one thing that people never let him have. The realisation which hits upon their return to the motel, where Michael cowers beneath the words spat from Shaun’s molten mouth. He always possessed a thought process blessed by rapidity, but a tongue cursed to be silver. Shaun is nothing but a host to a panoply of pain as essential to him as his own veins.

As essential as the blood flowing between Michael, and the brother he never met.

When Shaun storms out into the cold, determined to be somewhere, anywhere that puts great distance between him and the entity Michael/Patrick Andersen, he feels the full force of the Virus, nesting, breeding, multiplying beneath his skin. There’s no room for guilt and worry and pain — just the cure.

To never be near his brother again.

When Shaun saw Patrick’s nose bleeding, he had to swallow back bile. He knew in an instant that their brother never left, not really. Once, connective tissue held the bonds of their brotherhood fast. The transfusion continues. The real question is — who is the donor, and who is the recipient?

Even his own family emphasised the importance of their blood-bond, unable to comprehend Shaun’s behaviour.

“He’s your brother, Shaun, and he needs your help,” his mom tells him one night, barely holding back the tears. “I know he can be difficult to deal with, but this isn’t his fault. He didn’t ask to be sick.”

And Patrick didn’t ask to die, Shaun wants to scream. No one blames Michael for cannibalism, do they?

Now he’s facedown in the wood, sawdust clinging to the hot streaks his tears leave behind, and that mortifying image which plagues his nightmares comes looming large from the recesses of his mind; two twin boys, floating without care in a shared amniotic sac, their umbilical cords respectively attached to the same fleshy hunk in lieu of a beating heart.

Shaun feels like his foetal never-brother. Severed. Shrink-wrapped in his own sac, the very thing keeping him alive. And then eventually swallowed whole.

It’s time for Shaun to cut the cord for good.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? The tears start for real now, fat and salty and rolling down Shaun’s face in a tempest. His internal monologue is louder now, drowning out the background noise of his softer (yet much more insidious) conscience.

Stormy would still be here if you weren’t so fucked up... I could have had a normal life if it weren’t for you...

There’s no time left for forgiveness. Because of Michael... Patrick... because Shaun willingly exposed himself to this pathogen again and again, he is going to die here, in this glacial attic, with no one around to know or care.

But, as the lights are turned off, and a dark, unfamiliar laughter fills his every sense, a set of horrid thoughts riot in the screeching crowd of his brain; the thoughts that could never quite be buried.

Michael didn’t know what he was doing... Michael didn’t know what he consumed…

Shaun once made the mistake of asking his mom what his other brother was going to be called.

No-one ever asks to be infected.

Shaun’s eyes shut against the darkness for the last time.

“I always liked the name Patrick.”

#mlandersen0 #the andersen journals #slenderverse #michael andersen #shaun andersen #patrick andersen #slenderversezine #quinnwrites

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aliceslantern · 4 years

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Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 22--Listless

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Listless.” Ienzo isn’t okay.

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

---

Something wasn’t right.

Ienzo stared deeply into his plans, spread across the worktable and anchored by his research. He bit his lip. It had all been revised and engineered within an inch of its life; yet something was off, wrong. Was it the angles of the joints of the walls?

Maybe it had nothing to do with its creation, and all to do with its creator.

He had a vicious headache. Ienzo took off his glasses and rested his face in his hand for a moment, trying to rub away the pain. Ever since his confrontation with Even, and in the light of Ansem’s overwhelming depression, Ienzo was feeling increasingly shaken, and increasingly anxious. Sleeping was getting more and more difficult again.

Demyx didn’t seem to be doing well either.

It was clear that the poisoning had shaken him. For a few weeks after it happened, Demyx remained mostly in their apartment. He slept a lot, picked at Arpeggio aimlessly, songs that made no coherent sense to Ienzo. Ienzo first attributed this exhaustion to the aftereffects of the poison, but it seemed to go on longer than it should. This must have traumatized him; he was self-conscious enough when it came to his competency, and he could have taken this as a sign he was unwanted in the community. Ienzo was able to analyze Demyx’s mental state with ease; but he himself was too tired to be of any real help. He felt as though he were constantly carrying another dozen or so kilos.

Ienzo, too, just wanted to rest. The early winter day was cold. He would go home, he decided. He would take a bath and make himself some tea and he would read a perfectly awful book, and he would wait for this to blow over.

Would it?

The anxiety threatened to pull him into a spiral. What if this happiness they’d had had been temporary? His growth and healing falsified? He should have known better than to believe they would have a happy ending, or any ending for that matter.

Was this illogical?

He unlocked the apartment door. There Demyx was, curled under the covers. His gummiphone was on the bed beside him, but he didn’t look at it. He barely moved when Ienzo came into the room. Ienzo took off his shoes and slacks and crawled under the blankets as well. He pulled him close, a gesture that sought more to take comfort than to give it.

Demyx turned, and for a moment they faced each other, wordlessly.

“Are you alright?” Ienzo asked.

“No. You?”

“No.” At least he’d come this far, to be able to admit it. “The world lately has felt so very heavy.” He could feel the pinch in his throat, of oncoming tears, and tried to fight it. “I know you’re hurting, and I want to help, but I--”

“It’s okay,” Demyx said. “I know you’re dealing with a lot. You can’t take care of people when you’re drowning.”

“I used to.”

“Then is not now.” He looked so exhausted, his hair flat, circles under his eyes. “I’m not… going anywhere. I just need some rest.”

“I can’t help but wonder…” It was warm under the covers, but still he shook. “What if this is all temporary, you know?”

“I know. God, do I know.”

“I know this is merely a relapse, of sorts. That these are conditions I have to manage and live with for the rest of my life. But they’re so close to convincing me this is how I’ll always be. I’m not that person. I’m logical, I reason. It feels so draining.”

His face crumpled a little. “I know. They… they triggered you. You have to deal with it. Repressing that pain makes it so much worse.” A sob caught in his throat.

“I’m truly sorry,” Ienzo said. “You’re reeling from this trauma, and I--”

“I’ve been talking through it with Aerith.” He looked ashamed to admit it. “She gave me some pills, to help manage things… they make me so tired.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You had enough on your plate. Besides, I should be… better in a week or two. When the chemicals in my head stabilize. Or whatever.” He didn’t make eye contact.

Ienzo knew that it wasn’t that simple. “Demyx…”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Ienzo touched Demyx’s face. He hadn’t shaved in a few days; the pale stubble was scratchy. “There has to be something I can do.”

“You can. You can take care of yourself.”

He inhaled. “You’ll tell me, if things get much worse?”

“Of course.”

Ienzo wanted to believe him. Yet it was so much easier to worry about Demyx than his own increasing instability.

“I mean it, Ienzo. I’m not done with you.”

The smile seemed to take some effort. “Okay.”

---

He tried to get some rest.

He pulled himself away from the memorial, away from the internal. He assisted Even with some simple chemical experiments, had lunch with Ansem, went on a few rounds with Aeleus. Anything to keep his hands and body occupied. Idle hands make the devil’s work. He understood.

Ienzo was determined not to overwork, just to get his mind off of heavier things until he could unravel them a bit more cleanly. Maybe if he let it percolate a bit more, it would grow clearer.

On one of these rounds with Aeleus, they discovered what had evidently been a mother cat’s nest; there were several rodent skeletons, along with damp red stains of birth. But the mother and her kits were gone; aside from a small, wriggling lump in the makeshift scraps of fabric.

“Oh, poor thing,” Ienzo whispered. It was tiny, possibly the runt; its white and brown fur slightly matted. He was shocked to see it was still breathing, but hesitantly so; who knew how long it had been sitting here without its mother. He took the kitten into his hands, to try and warm it up a little bit. Its eyes were crusted over, possibly infected, and it trembled a little.

“It must be sick,” Aeleus said. “Perhaps we should… end its suffering.” It pained him to say this, his blue eyes glinting. “Mothers don’t usually abandon their young unless they feel it’s a lost cause.”

Ienzo stared at the kitten. So small. Yet, the thought of stamping out its life repulsed him. “Well, I certainly wasn’t,” he said. “Perhaps… I want to at least try to nurse it.” He felt like a child. Oh please, oh please can I keep it? “Demyx might be able to help me.”

Aeleus nodded, a shade of relief gracing his otherwise stoic face. “We could use a mouser.”

---

The first few days he was certain the kitten wouldn’t make it, and any attempts to treat its myriad illnesses felt like Ienzo was just prolonging its suffering. Demyx was only able to help so much--he knew humans, not cats--and for several hours Ienzo dripped milk and antibiotics intermittently into its small mouth. At least it was swallowing, and breathing. He kept as constant of an eye on it as he could, rubbing its small belly to stimulate digestion, wiping the pus from its eyes. He didn’t let it out of his sight and held it as much as he could, because it was so so tiny and so cold. Even the incubation lamp he was able to borrow from Even didn’t seem to do much good.

“You’re going to cause yourself more hurt,” Even said gently. “I can… I can put it to rest painlessly, without violence.”

“I think she wants to live. She’s eating.”

Even shook his head. “If this is how you wish to spend your time. You can probably adopt a healthy cat at the market.”

It took about a week of this, of trying different medicines and drops for its tiny eyes, before the kitten seemed to turn the corner. Its breaths were less labored, it was eating even more; it seemed to gain a few grams every day. Then the pus stopped weeping from its eyes and it gave a tiny, scratchy mew. And for some reason this unraveled him; Demyx found him bawling over the kitten and assumed it had died. Before long, its eyes opened--a temporary blue--to a startling new world.

Ienzo wasn’t sure what this whole ordeal had revealed about himself. The symbolism of it wasn’t lost on him. This uncomplicated kindness was a relief.

She lived.

She went from being on the verge of death to being constantly underfoot, or climbing all over things, up to and including the curtains. She found a particular interest in Demyx’s sitar, trying to crawl over the frets. “Well,” Demyx said, “At least she’s not a critic.”

As she got bigger, she slept on (and in) the bed. She seemed to sense their nightmares; more than once Ienzo woke up to her purring next to his cheek, even as he woke in a cold sweat.

The cat was a comfort to them both. But it still took weeks to name her. Demyx suggested silly names like Jat or Rocks, Ienzo found himself thinking about it entirely too hard, going so far as to look into nomenclature before finally Demyx said, “You know it’s a cat, right?”

One morning Demyx woke up with her paws on his face. All he said was “Beans.”

And Ienzo groaned, because he knew in his heart that the cat’s name was Beans. As stupid as it was. He tried to shorten it to Bea, or Bebe, but the cat didn’t respond to that. She, great comforter of anxiety, was now named after the legume family.

So it goes.

But she did help shake him out of that horrible spiral, and for that she was worth her weight in, well, beans. He could work near her, scratch the soft spot behind her ears, and get back to clear and concise thinking. It was grounding. He wondered how much of his childhood suffering would have been nullified if he’d just had a pet. It was something to look forward to, a concrete reason to exist; Beans needed him. As complex as he tried to be, really simple comforts meant more than intense psychological analysis.

Gradually, the sense of heaviness that had been plaguing him began to fade, and he felt again hopeful. In a small way he would always resent how much control his emotions had over him, how they would muddy thoughts that had once been so easy to grasp. But this was part of humanity, and there was no going back.

#beyond this existence: new life #ienzo #demyx #even (kingdom hearts)#zemyx #aeleus #beyond this existence

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kyarymell · 5 years

Text

[Fic] Sugar Hearts; Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Rating: T

Summary: Even with Raccoon City going to hell, you still end up sharing chocolates with the cute Rookie cop you just met.

Just a quick one-shot for you all, Happy Valentine's Day you love-fools! My boyfriend helped me write this by proxy because I’ve been watching him play the Resident Evil 2 Remake a bunch, giving me details on the universe.

No cover art for now, I’m too tired. xD

You were at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Finally able to take a break from work, you were staying at your friend’s place in Raccoon City. It was strange seeing the military barricades everywhere, but no-one thought anything of it. Random acts of violence eventually became frequent and suddenly everyone was clamoring to the exits.

In the confusion, you were separated from your friend. Days passed holed up in their apartment and you were getting worried.

Even if looking for them spelled out your certain death, you would try. As you came to realise, the situation in the city was no regular occurrence.

Humans once populating the streets, were now mindless walking shells of flesh. It was straight out of a horror movie. Armed with a melee weapon, your first point of visit was the Raccoon City Police Department.

Thankfully, the reanimated corpses were slow, unlike those seen in movies. Running over to the historical site, you saw that the front gate was shut. Narrowly moving out of the way as a zombie lunged, you tried to find another way in.

Walking through a side alley, you find a gate with loose boards against it. Making sure you don’t get splinters, you quietly pry the nails from the boards. Slipping through the gate, you breathe a sigh of relief as you’re able to get away from the rain.

Stumbling into the main hall, miserable and wet, is when you meet Lieutenant Marvin Branagh. He’s heavily wounded, bleeding profusely from his injuries. You wish there was something you could do, but there’s no first aid kit in sight.

“Didn’t think there were any civilians left alive around here.”

“Then that means...”

“We were overrun a few days ago. I’m sorry. There were so many people coming and going- I can’t say if your friend was here.”

Downcast, you bit your lip. So that’s it then. Where would you even go now? Zombies surrounded the station as far as the eye could see. Your friend... maybe if you weren’t so scared hiding out in their apartment you’d reunite with them.

Maybe-

“You wanted to show me something, Lieutenant?”

Jumping, you were so deep in thought you didn’t even notice the newcomer. Judging by his uniform, he had to be a police officer. He looked young, hair clinging to his forehead from the rain.

This is your first introduction to Leon S. Kennedy, a rookie cop who was late for work and happened to miss the apocalypse. You’re in his company after Marvin fills you in on the situation- finding a way out by opening a secret passageway.

“Strength in numbers. Remember that.”

It sounds surreal, but then again, you’re in a historical building surrounded by zombies. Secret passages shouldn’t phase you by now. Before heading out of the main hall together, the pair of you make introductions and you find out it’s (technically) his first day on the job.

“Damn, that sucks.”

There’s nothing much to say- passing by what seems to be an office, there’s a banner with the words ‘Welcome Leon’ strung on the ceiling. It’s almost sad to think about his department throwing a party for a person who would never come.

“I couldn’t just abandon the other guys out here. I had to see what was going on.”

“I see…”

The way he speaks is with a hint of regret and you’re feeling it- too frightened to find your friend sooner. You wish you had that sort of confidence. The rookie noticed your faraway look and shot you a smile.

“As long as we stick together, we’ll be alright. Hopefully I’ll find some answers as to what’s going on.”

Trying to ignore how attractive he looked when he smiled, you nodded. It would be nice to know who was to blame for everything becoming fucked up like this.

A lot goes down in the next hour. You’ve been given a knife to fend off any attacks and you find it useful when a zombie grabs you from behind. Sticking your knife in it, you shove it away as Leon shoots it squarely in the head.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

You’re not sure how much help you can be in this situation, with no combat experience to speak of but you can reach and grab things that Leon is unable to. Things continue like this for a while, collecting keys and finding parts to mechanisms.

Then, Leon’s foot goes through a loose floorboard in the library.

“Shit-!”

With all the gear he was carrying, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Diving for him, you grabbed his arm before he fell completely. The zombies on the floor below were alerted to the noise, grasping for his foot. He was heavy- but was able to regain his footing before falling completely.

“Thanks. Guess we’re even now. Let’s go before they catch up to us.”

“Sure.”

If you had to be honest, it was good to have someone watching your back, after days of being alone. Leon was considerate, making small talk when he saw how nervous you were. After running from monsters of all types, you felt a little hopeful that you would make it out alive.

Coming to a dark, quiet hallway Leon motioned for you to stay behind him. Trusting his judgement, you were a few paces behind him. Something still didn’t feel right.

“Le-?!”

You were about to call out to him, until you find yourself pinned against the wall. The rookie’s hand was clamped onto your mouth, effectively silencing you. There was a moment of confusion, then you saw a mass of flesh and bone crawl slowly past.

Every time it made a movement, there was a clicking noise across the floorboards. Claws. You willed yourself to stay put, hoping you wouldn’t be shredded to pieces.

The pair of you leaned against the wall, listening for the creature’s whereabouts. Sweat beaded on your forehead as Leon held you tight, his breath hot on your ear. Trembling, you tried to focus on how warm his body was and not how terrified you were.

After a tense moment of silence, Leon released you.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I’ve encountered one of those things before. They react to sound.”

Nodding, you slowly walked with him and winced when the floor creaked under your boot.

Thankfully, the creature didn’t come back.

It was a blur after that; unlocking the passageway out, Marvin succumbing to his wounds and reaching the parking lot. There was a race against time, reassembling the circuit board to the jail and grabbing the parking key card.

All the while, you were running from some crazed giant mutant who was hell-bent on seeing you both dead. Finally losing the creature and opening the garage door, you were the closest to death you’ve ever been. Caught off-guard, a mutated dog tackled you to the ground.

Desperately trying to get yourself free, you moved to grab your knife and shoved it straight into the creature’s throat. Staggered, you kick it away and Leon is able to shoot it cleanly.

“You alright?”

Your breath is caught in your throat. Were you bitten? Would you become one of those things? Numb, your companion led you by the arm out of the parking garage.

Feeling raindrops on your skin pulls you out of your shocked state. Oh, how you were so glad to see the night sky again.

“I…”

“C’mon.”

Exhausted from the ordeals thus far, the pair of you take a breather after barricading a small newsagency. Setting yourself down on the floor, you’re relieved to be able to rest for once. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you hugged your knees tight.

It’s been horrible from the get go- you’re not sure how much more you can take of this. All the blood, seeing those things rend and tear flesh from each other…

Leon sits next to you, taking you out of your thoughts. There’s a square-shaped box in his hands and you can feel a slight chill radiating off it. The sound of the box unwrapping brings your attention to what’s inside.

Chocolates.

“Found these in the back, I think they’re free from infection.”

There’s a theory between the two of you that the cause of zombies was due to an outbreak.

“You think they’re free from infection?”

As you’re questioning him, he’s already popped one into his mouth. Shocked, you lean over and squeeze on his chin.

“Wait! Spit it out!”

Choosing to ignore your concern, he swallows it down then offers you a piece.

“Have some, they’re pretty good.”

“Leon…”

Frowning, you really don’t have the stomach for this sort of thing but take one anyway. Chewing on the sweet confection, you found yourself yearning for the days when things were normal. Perhaps some sugar was good for you, after the shock you just experienced.

“You’re right. They are good.”

Leon nodded and the two of you sat there for a while, sharing the chocolates. Your thoughts wandered. If only something like this could happen under normal circumstances…

How much more were you to endure before getting out of here? It was frustrating being on the receiving end of the rookie’s kindness all the time.

“I’m sorry that you end up saving me a lot.”

Your companion shook his head.

“You’ve had my back more than once- remember when I got grabbed and you threw me your knife?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you were unsure of what to say.

“-and those weird puzzles we always seem to come across, you solve them pretty quickly.”

“Well…”

“I’m glad I met you.” his words are genuine and it ignites a heat in your chest.

Would you get another chance like this?

You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from earlier wearing off, but you allow your eyes to shut, pressing your lips against his. Subconsciously, your tongue darts out and you taste the lingering sweetness from the chocolate.

Gasping, you pull away from him as if burned.

“I’m sorry! Uh, we just met and-“

He gives you a smile-

“Nah, it’s fine.”

-and leans in to kiss you again.

#resident evil 2 #re2 #resident evil 2 remake #re2 remake #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader

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kotlc-oneshots · 5 years

Text

Blind!keefe au

Hey all!!! Sorry I’ve been dead, but writings block kills lol. Anyways I got this idea off of some lame discord convos and uhhh I hope it’s good. Also it’s late and lmao I have no motivation to edit my own writing uhhh here u go. Some mild swearing. Will be Kam if I keep going w it. Lov yall.

*~*~*

Pt.

one

Keefe

I’m lying in bed, of course, when the shrieking of my alarm goes off about four feet away from me. I blink my eyes open until they don’t feel sticky and gross, then grab my alarm clock. It’s a simple thing, a brick with about 5 buttons total on it, probably.

I pushed the button on the bottom left corner, and the loud wail finally ends. I groan and rub my head, wishing the colors and blobs that cloud the center of my milky vision would just come into focus.

However after years of hoping for that, every morning, I know nothing is going to happen. With a small sigh, I go into my ultra-specifically organized dresser.

Today is the first day of my senior year. Even if I wont be able to see myself, I want to know that others will appreciate the way that I look- or, at least, am dressed. There’s not a lot I can do if there’s anything wrong with my face or hair. I wish I could, though- even though I’ve been blind since birth, I still always want to look presentable. In order to do that, my friends help me once every other week to organize my outfits for the upcoming 14 days. It started in sophmore year, when Sophie got the wonderful idea, and it's been a tradition since. And thanks to my ‘photographic (ha) memory’, I always know what clothes I’m wearing. Always.

I’m about halfway dressed when hear a beep from the direction of my bed.

“New message from Fitz.” The automated, robotic voice of Siri tells me.

“Hey siri- read message from Fitz.” I respond, then finish putting on the rest of my clothes.

“Ready for your first day as a senior?” she reads back to me. I automatically change the sound to Fitz’s deeper, more human voice in my head. It’s pointless, but necessary.

“Hey siri- text Fitz ‘hell yeah brother.’” After a quick confirmation of what I’m sending, I go into the bathroom next to my bedroom. I carefully feel my way around for my toothbrush and brush my teeth, then proceed to run my hand through my hair. For a short moment, I wish I could see myself as more than a blob of milky, too bright color, but it fades quickly. I’d rather not think about it. So I finish up in the bathroom, then return to my room for my bag. With a quick ‘hey siri’, I manage to find my phone as well.

After a few more voice commands, I receive the news that Fitz will be here to pick me up at 7:30, which gives me about 20 minutes. I hop over to the kitchen and make myself a quick, hearty bowl of cereal. Being me, I choose the healthiest kind- Lucky Charms. When finished, I smile to myself and set the bowl near the sink- I know my dads at work by now, so I don’t have to worry about him. Sometimes there’s good things about waking up early. As I slip my bag on and go to the door to wait, I remember how lucky I am to have such a good memory, and such a constantly cleanly household. Otherwise, I’d be as clumsy in my house as Sophie is. I grab my cane and walk outside, chiding myself for thinking so much about the little things.

Fitz is there, honking his horn, about 5 ish minutes after I get outside. Sophie yells at him for being annoying, and I chuckle a bit. A window rolls down, and Biana’s voice comes through hollering to go to the back passengers side. I use my cane to help me a little bit, then grab onto the ledge made by the open window. I proceed to find the door handle, then carefully step into the car.

“If any freshman gives you crap today, you have full right to hit them with your cane.” Dex, who must be on on the other side of Biana, says.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely do that,” I respond with a laugh, and I can practically feel the worry in the air as Sophie warns me not to.

“We really don’t want you to get suspended on the first day. So just wait until tomorrow, and give them an extra hard whap on kneecap.” Biana adds cheerily.

“This is why you’re my favorite.” I awkwardly try to wrap my arm

around her head, but fail miserably. My peripherals are even worse than the center of my vision- there’s almost no light visible towards the edges. So I end up hitting her on the head, and play it off by messing her hair up. This, of course, causes her to whack my arm and call me a jerk.

“Alright, dumbasses, knock it off,” Fitz, my best friend of the

past 6 years, yells. “By the way, Keefe, we’re pulling in now.” A knot forms in my stomach. Man. First day of senior year at Foxfire. I can’t believe its so close to being over. The beginning of the end.

We pull into the parking lot and step out of Fitz’s Volvo. I turn towards the building, and take a deep inhale of the crisp morning air. My friends and family always like to comment on how pretty the building looks. Foxfire is a really prestigious private high school, and I know that they put a lot of money into the architecture

and the grounds. It's a pity that all I see is a building shaped blob of its beige color, and the faint blobs of green and other colors that I know are trees.

I try not to let myself think about it.

We walk into the building, and Fitz automatically splits off. He's supposed to help some teacher set up the presentation that the Freshman go to. I love him, but it's the first day of school and that man is already busy. This year is gonna be rough if we wanna keep up our hangout sessions- although, we both did take the same 6 AP classes. We’ll probably study together, when he’s not with his million other commitments.

After a few hugs and highfives, and a few debate friends greeting me, I go to my first class. I’m /not/ getting caught in that crowd, especially with the idiotic freshman pretending that they own the place. Off to AP music theory it is. C118 is easy enough- no stairs, and it's a pretty straight shot to the classroom. Again,

I thank my perfect memory to get me around. I may not know what the building looks like, but I basically have the blueprint downloaded in my head. Good times, man.

First period doesn’t result in much. We all get a copy of the syllabus, and a short introductory reading. I can feel a tinge of annoyance when the teacher acknowledges my inability to.. Uh, read it, but a girl named Linh volunteers to help me out with it. She seemed nice enough. She had a bit of a Canadian accent, and when I asked about it she confirmed that she was from… Minnesota. She was really sweet, and I’m genuinely hoping that’ll become a friendship.

The next couple periods go uneventfully. Fitz is in one of them, and Dex the other so I don’t have to worry about another situation like in first period. And the teachers always let me go about 2-3 minutes early, so I can avoid the crowds- that is, until lunch. I’m on my way down to the cafeteria when I run into… someone. They must have been very quiet- I didn’t realize they were that close to me and coming around the bend. So when they did, we kinda collided. I hear a soft curse when they thud to the ground, and from the shape and sound I know its a guy. I put the cane in my left hand and offer to help him up. I’m not sure what it is, but he doesn’t accept it.

“You good man? I didn’t see ya there.” I laugh a little, because

duh. He doesn’t. I can’t really make out any of him- his hair is /probably/ black- and this agitates me, because he doesn’t respond. And then he practically runs away.

I have no way to identify him- probably a dumb freshman that didn’t want his ass kicked by the blind senior. Trying to shake off the interaction, I roll my eyes and start on my way to lunch again.

“Honestly, today was AWFUL. The second half, at least.” I’m now at Fitz’s house, along with Dex. “I already told Dex about that one guy that ran into me, but Stats teacher was awful. She probably heard something from Michaels about last year- just because I rarely showed up doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing! I got along in that class fine.”

“Keefe, I taught you like half of that course.” Fitz replies, laughing.

“Because you actually know how to do math! Michaels is an awful excuse for a pre calc teacher. Dex, be glad that you got Hex.” I retort. It’s not wrong- Mr. Michaels had been very incompetent. If not for Fitz, I would have gotten the worst grade I ever had in my high school career.

“You know I am.” Dex agrees. “Even Hex hates Michaels, but she won’t admit it. Outright, at least.”

“Ok, enough about horrible teachers. Tell me about the guy who ran into you.” Fitz pipes up, not wanting to be apart of a conversation dissing his soccer coach. I let him divert the conversation, even though I really wanna rag Michaels to the ground most of the time.

“Well, that's the thing. There’s nothing to tell- I ran into him and he fell. Then he ran away, without saying a word,” I say. “I wanna know just as much as you do.”

“That’s cute.” Dex comments, and I shake my head.

“You know what I mean.”

“Suuuuureee.” The tone of his voice makes me hit him, which starts a wrestle between the three of us that lasts for about half an hour. By the end of it, I’m sure I have multiple bruises from falling, kicking something wrong, and getting hit, but I don’t care much. We fall into a panting heap on Fitz bed, and we through half hearted punches at each other that hold no intention. Needless to say, I’m sweaty and gross, and when Fitz informs me that it's almost 8, I ask to go home. A man's gotta shower- and get his beauty sleep.

So Fitz drives me and Dex home, the three of us having pointless conversation about classes and plans we should make. I get dropped off first, and they wait as I carefully make my way to door of my house, not leaving until I get inside. I hear the thrum of his engine as Fitz drives off, then make my way to the bathroom.

After a quick shower, I brush my teeth and head off to bed.

I drift off, and my thoughts are filled with a mysterious blob with probably black hair and evil math equations.

#keeper of the lost cities #dex dizznee #kotlc #keefe sencen #sophie foster #tam song #blind!au #fitzvacker #writersblock #highschool!au

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hollypastl · 6 years

Text

Twins of a feather: miya atsumu x twin! reader

This fic is some horrible amalgamation of OHSHC, The Twelfth Night, and Mulan let us pray for everyone’s sanity. Y/B/N = your brother’s name

You would do anything for your brother, and when you meant anything, you meant anything. So when he tore his ACL the summer before high school, (which happened to be a volleyball powerhouse) you asked him what you could do.

It was a joke of course, he had jokingly told you that taking his place was the only way he’d ever work up enough brownie points to be a regular by his second year. But you took it seriously. After all, your brother was always the “better twin” out of you two. He was athletic, hardworking, good looking, and had so much going for him. You, on the other hand? You were set to homeschool yourself for high school so you could speed through the work without wasting time in class, all so you could spend more time playing video games and watching anime.

But your brother had always been there for you. Always. He protected you from bullies all throughout elementary and middle school. He still played 1v1 FPS games with you even though you kicked his ass every time. He was the best big brother (by four minutes, but who’s counting?) that you could have ever asked for.

So you get a haircut, by a binder, and spend the entire summer learning how to play volleyball. You’re just lucky that you two have always been the same height and that he plays Libero. If he were taller, there’d be no way you would have a chance of pulling it all off.

The first day of school is… easy. You like wearing pants for once and not having to wear makeup is great for your skin. Maybe pretending to be a guy online to avoid sexual harassment for all these years has finally paid off. The class plays some icebreakers and you make friends with as many guys as possible. It’s a little weird having to switch the way you talk, but at least you’re not close enough with anyone to have them calling you by your first name. You also don’t recognize anyone from your middle school, which is a godsend. You think you look enough like your brother to pass as him, but you didn’t want to take any chances.

The day finally ends and you just want to go home and play CoD, but you have to go try out for volleyball.

You change in the bathroom and arrive at the gym shortly after school ends. The team is slowly trickling in, full of tall boys who tower over you. Even the other Libero is at least three centimeters taller than you.

The coach starts off tryouts with a three on three match between all six of the first years trying out. You’re placed on a team with two ridiculously tall boys who don’t seem to even notice you, but you shrug it off. The only thing you can focus on is making the team, and all you have to do to achieve that is receive these stupid balls. They don’t matter.

The other side serves first and you call out to receive. It stings, but it’s nothing like the force your brother could dish out. You send the ball flying back into the air, right above the setter, who tosses it in a messy arc that the spiker barely reaches.

It goes on like that for a while. You receive and occasionally set the ball. Your serves are shit but at least they get over the net. You’re lucky that your reflexes are top notch after years of gaming or you would’ve really been screwed.

Your team wins to your surprise and you feel that rush of endorphins that comes right after beating a boss or leveling up. You finally get what your brother has been talking about all these years.

The coach sends all the first years home except for you and one other guy, saying that the rest of them are welcome to try out next year or find another sport.

You stifle a girly squeal of excitement and finally take note of all the upperclassmen you have to get to know. The thing that stands out to you first is the twins. All you can think of is the notion that it really is a small, small world. The next person you notice is someone with black hair and a middle part, who looks like he’s secretly watching vines on his phone. After that is the captain, who introduces himself. He’s kinda plain and you wonder how someone as ordinary as him had the leadership skills needed to be captain.

You run drills after and the coach mentions that the team already has a practice match set for next week. It’s only when practice is officially over that you get a feel for what this team is really like. They’re complete trolls. Memelords. Whatever word worked best. The second the coach left the room, the twins were fighting, Suna (you had learned his name at some point) was catching it all on video, and Aran was looking like he was in the middle of his own personal hell.

These were the type of people you could learn to like.

---

You make it through the first week without any trouble. So little trouble in fact that you think the gods are waiting to dump all the trouble on you all at once.

“L/N!!! Is that you?”

You’d recognize that annoying voice anywhere. It was the class rep from your middle school. Of course she would go to the high school where your practice match was at. Of course she would be the manager for the other team.

You turn around, leaving the pack that the team was walking in and speed walking over to the girl before she could say anything else.

“Wow L/N, did you cut your hair? It looks cute, but I almost mistook you for-” You slap a hand over her mouth before any of her words could reach your team, whipping your head around to see if they were paying attention.

They weren’t.

“Listen.” Your voice is low and sickly sweet. “I can’t tell you the details, but I’m acting like a boy right now, okay? Just use my surname and refer to me with male pronouns, okay?”

She gasps, fiddling with her glasses. “Oh my gosh, L/N! Are you transgender? I’m like, totally cool with it, so don’t worry! Your secret is safe with me.”

You figure that correcting her would only make things worse, so you let her believe it, making your way back to your team.

“Looks like L/N is popular with the ladies.” Thing One elbows you in the side and you elbow him right back, not in the mood for his teasing.

“Careful, Atsumu. Your ugly bleached hair is turning green with envy.” Half the team howls at your roast, an art that you’ve carefully perfected after years of clapping back to assholes online. He glares at you like you’ve just killed his first born and you flip him off, following everyone else’s lead in getting ready for the match. You don’t play for the first set, but coach puts you in for the second, saying you better not screw up, and you shiver with anticipation.

It’s the first time you’ll be playing in a 6v6 game and although you know it’s gonna be different, you’re not one to let nerves get to you. Aran told you in passing the other day that you were a lot like the captain in that way.

The other team can tell that you’re a first year. Whatever girlish features you possessed were misconstrued as childish, so they make sure to aim all their serves straight at you.

You receive most of them cleanly, but you flub one or two of them. Most of the time you’re just in awe of how seamlessly the twins play together. It’s amazing and you can’t help but be the tiniest bit jealous that your brother couldn’t be here. Although, that would mean that you wouldn’t be here… Still.

---

The next few months are grueling. Day after day is filled with blood, sweat, and tears, and sometimes you want to quit, but something always stops you. Sometimes it’s Suna referencing a meme during the middle of a game, or Aran saying something so wholesome that your whole heart can’t help but sigh at how innocent he is. Other times it’s Atsumu’s invite to play Fifa at one in the morning and all the stupid shit he says over the head set.

There are some close calls and times when you almost get caught in your big lie. For example: training camps. They were your worst nightmare. Finding discreet places to change and reasons to not bath with everyone else were hard and you found out the hard way that sleeping next to Atsumu was a big mistake. Not only were his snores louder than a volcano erupting, you woke up to him clinging onto you like a koala bear.

There was also the time when you were out with your brother (who could finally walk like a normal person again) and you spotted the -other- twins from across the market and you almost gave your poor brother whiplash from how fast you pulled him around a corner. You would’ve been fine with seeing them in public if not for the fact that you had girls shorts on and you could clearly tell that you had boobs from the thin top you wore.

The closest call definitely comes late after practice one night in late December when everyone is walking home.

Suna, the little shit he is, suggests that they play Truth or Dare.

“What are we?” You sneer. “A bunch of girls in grade school?”

Nevertheless, several of them agree and the rest are roped into participating.

The first few are pretty normal.

“Do ten push ups.”

“Whaaaa? That’s easy.”

“Okay. Do ten push ups but you can only use one finger.”

“Steal the light bulb from that lamp.”

“It’s like twenty feet in the air!”

Kita still manages to do it.

“I dare you to give me twenty bucks.”

“Fuck you.”

Atsumu finally is chosen for the slaughter.

“Truth or dare?”

“We’ve had way too many daredevils, so truth.” He says.

“Hmmmm.” Osamu rubs his chin. “Out of all the people in this group, who would you go gay for?”

“Y/B/N.” He answers it so nonchalantly and quickly. The worst part is when the nods of agreement come about.

“Yeah, Y/B/N is definitely the prettiest out of all of us.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d totally fuck you.”

“Plus he’s just so adorable!” Atsumu throws an arm around your shoulder and you know blood would be rushing to your cheeks if not for the fact that it already was there from the freezing cold air. “Don’t you just wanna cuddle him all the time?”

You’re lucky that the turn where you break off from the rest of the group is here and you can escape the awkwardness that is a bunch of boys thinking they have gay crushes on a cross dressing girl.

You wake up the next morning to the happiness that is the weekend and a text from Atsumu asking if you want to hang out. You want to say no, because weekend time is strictly reserved for catching up on all the gaming time you miss because of practice, but he shoots you another text when he sees that you’ve read it, saying that you guys can see that action movie you were freaking out about the other day and then stop by the frozen yogurt shop you like. And that he’d pay for it.

You get ready in your guy clothes, which are a pair of joggers and a hoodie with a windbreaker pulled on top. You almost forget your gloves and earmuffs while leaving, but your brother has enough mind to stop you and your airheaded self.

Atsumu has already bought tickets, and a large popcorn and soda to share when you get to the theater. You’re surprised when you stick a straw in the soda and find out that it’s rootbeer, your favorite and his worst enemy. Why would he buy a soda that he hates when he knows you’d be just fine with something they both liked?

The movie is incredible and you two walk out of the theater with your minds blown. You can’t stop talking about every single easter egg, action sequence, and joke that happened and Atsumu can’t believe that you remember so much after only seeing it once.

“Y/B/N, this is really awkward for me, but I’m just gonna come out and say it.” He starts, hands stuffed in his pockets as they walk towards the frozen yogurt shop. He’s obviously having a hard time forcing the rest of it out, so you stop and tilt your head to the side, waiting for him.

“I think I have feelings for you! The romantic kind, to be specific.” He blurts out. “Which is weird, because I’ve never been attracted to guys before, but uhhhh, I guess there’s a first time for everything.” His words are racing out at a mile a minute now and you can barely keep up. “I dunno, I’ve just been feeling this way for a while now and I tried to make it go away because I have no idea if you’re into girls or guys or anybody for that matter. Hell, I even tried to talk to ‘Samu about it, because we both know he’s very bisexual, but all he told me to do was tell you, so here I am, feeling like an idiot, so please just say something so I can stop talking.”

You unclench your jaw. You weren’t expecting that. “Atsumu…”

He looks like a scared puppy and all of a sudden you have to decide if you feel the same way he does. But if anything, he does deserve to know that he’s not crazy for being attracted to you.

“You’re not bi.” You sigh, wondering just what you were getting into.

“If this is your way of letting me down easy-”

You grab him by the wrist and drag him into the little sidestreet so you could have some more privacy for what you were about to show him.

“Y/B/N, what are you-”

You turn back to face him and grab the bottom of your hoodie, bringing it up to expose your bare stomach and the sports bra you were wearing.

It takes him a second.

“So you’re…”

“Yep.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and decide to go ahead and tell him why before he has an aneurysm.

“Long story short: My brother was gonna go to Inarizaki, but he injured himself and couldn’t play. I’m just filling in for him for this year.”

He looked like he was about to faint.

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Of all the things to fixate on in that explanation, he chose that? “We’re twins.”

He freaks out again. “You have a twin and you didn’t tell me?! A fellow twin? That goes against the fuckin’ twin code!”

You scowl. “It would have blown my cover! And what do you mean by the twin code? I’ve never heard of that!”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re a fraternal twin. You guys are really just siblings born at the same time.”

“Don’t look down on me ‘cause I’m a fraternal twin! Identical twins don’t seem to have it better, you and Osamu couldn’t get along if I paid you to!”

“At least ‘Samu hasn’t turned out to be a girl!”

“Oh shut up!”

“Make me!”

You shoot out a hand, grab him by the collar, and kiss him, which surprises you way more than it does him. He’s frozen for a split second before he starts moving his lips against yours and slips his tongue into your mouth. Wow, he’s a good kisser. Your arms move to wrap around his neck and one of his hands is resting on the small of your back while the other is playing with the short hairs at the nape of your neck.

You break away first and properly process what just happened. You kissed Atsumu. And you liked it.

“So, do I get a second date, or what?”

You smile and let out a giggle for the first time in months. It’s high pitched and girly and it’s a relief to finally talk like yourself to someone that wasn’t your brother. “A second?”

He nods. “I think this was a pretty good first date.”

You take a second with that. He wasn’t wrong. Under all social standards, this was a date. They did something social together, he paid for it. They even kissed at the end of it.

You cock your head to the side and peck him on the lips. “I guess it was nice.”

“That’s a yes to date number two then?”

You nod. “One condition though, you can’t tell anyone. I still need to make sure my brother can play next year.”

He agrees immediately, hugging you tightly.

“That means keeping your hands to yourself when we’re around other people.” You say, swatting his hand away from its creeping path to your butt.

He hums in thought for a second, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno…” He muses. “Actually wait.” His tone turns serious. “If you get kicked off the team then I won’t be able to stare at your ass during practice anymore.”

“Atsumu!” You smack him and grab his hand, lacing your fingers with his and heading towards the frozen yogurt shop.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #inarizaki #miya atsumu #miya #atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #bi!osamu #miya osamu #suna rintarou #is a lil shit #actually thoroughly tagging my work for once in my life #twins

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chasholidays · 6 years

Note

Thanks for doing this again!! I'd love to read a Dancing with the Stars Bellarke AU if possible!!

The nice thing Clarke has found about Dancing with the Stars is that, as a general rule, the less she likes her celebrity partner, the sooner she’ll be eliminated.

It’s not a purposeful thing; she always does her best with every season, she’s way too competitive to not. But it tends to be hard, to work with people she dislikes, as the root cause of her dislike is generally that they won’t fucking listen to her. When she goes out early, it’s almost because her stupid celebrity refuses to listen to her or thinks she’s too harsh or the dance is too hard. It’s not like she usually gets to know them on any deep level; they spend a few weeks together in a surreal environment, and then she never sees them again.

Finn Collins, though. Finn Collins is new.

“You could just break one of his legs,” Bellamy suggests. They’re getting drinks and Bellamy is mocking her because while Ontari is something of a nightmare, she’s at least an expected kind of nightmare. She’s a controlling former actress who wants this to reboot her career and thinks Bellamy is there to serve her, not teach her. It sucks, but they’ve all dealt with that before. “Like, casually.”

Clarke snorts. “What’s the casual way to break someone’s legs? Ski mask and a tire iron?”

“I was thinking you just trip and fall and get him with your knee as you go down, but if you’ve got a ski mask and a tire iron–”

She elbows him. “Seriously, I’m worried that if he gets to the final he’s going to propose or something. Just to get audience votes.”

“That is how he got famous, right? Deciding he was going to marry a woman he barely knew?”

“If he tries to give me a rose I actually will break one of his legs,” she grumbles, and Bellamy laughs.

Finn’s not the first “star” to make it on the program because of his experience in reality TV, but Clarke will admit she finds him one of the least impressive. He went on The Bachelor despite, apparently, having a serious girlfriend, and he was somehow hoping that she wouldn’t find out because she hated reality TV, and that he’d be able to dump her cleanly if it went well.

Instead, it all blew up in his face, as he deserved, and by three months after his engagement at the end of the show, he was single and slightly infamous, which is, admittedly, the sweet spot for people who want to continue to appear on reality TV. He’s hosted some specials, been on some morning shows, and now seems to be known mostly as a pleasant, generic attractive white guy, like they didn’t have enough of those on TV already.

“If it makes you feel better, he’s not actually a good dancer, so he should get weeded out pretty soon,” Bellamy points out, practical as always. “He’s been scraping by on charm and luck. I’m just glad the charm stopped working on you.”

She makes a face. “It wasn’t working, I was being polite.”

“Because you didn’t know anything about him.”

“I’m still being polite.”

“I’m just saying, before I told you to google him, you actually kind of liked him.”

Clarke grins and nudges him. “So you were trying to save me?”

“Friends don’t let friends date former Bachelor contestants, Clarke.”

“Especially not ones who cheated on their real girlfriends. He would have lost me pretty soon anyway. He’s just so–”

“Finn?” Bellamy supplies.

“Pretty much. How’s Ontari doing? I feel like you aren’t complaining as much.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to cut into your time,” he teases, and she elbows him again. He ducks his head, laughing, and Clarke finds herself smiling too. He’s in a good mood today, a rarity, and it’s nice to see him so relaxed. “Honestly, she’s fine. Don’t get me wrong, she hates me, thinks she knows better than I do, and if she could just be her own teacher and partner, she’d be fucking thrilled. But the judges keep praising all the stuff I say they will, so she’s coming around. And I’d take unnecessary asshole hostility over someone trying to hit on me every time.”

“So, my life is terribleand makes you feel better about yours?”

He raises his glass. “Appreciated.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “Happy to help.”

As with so many things, the Finn situation gets worse before it gets better. He’s one of those people who, as he gains experience and confidence, also gains opinions, and while that can be a good thing, his opinions are bad, and he should feel bad.

“He thinks we need to put more Bachelor stuff into the routine,” she tells Bellamy, a week later.

“I told you he wanted to give you a rose. I tried to warn you.”

“He used the word synergy.”

That makes him wince. “Jesus, really?”

“Synergy, I swear to god. He thinks the cross-promotional synergy will really help his brand.”

“If that’s an actual quote, I might break his leg.”

“It is.” She puts her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “I never thought basic competence would be this annoying.”

“Yeah, it’s a real burden.” He pauses, thinking something over. “Did he say what he thinks his brand is? Because asshole from The Bachelor is a pretty competitive field.”

“That’s why he wants to add dancing. None of the others are dancers.”

“I’ve seen him dance, he isn’t either.”

Clarke smiles. “Doesn’t that reflect on me? I’m the one who’s supposed to be teaching him.”

“You’re doing your best with what you have to work with.”

“Ontari is actually good.”

“She’s nominally a singer, so I guess she should be.”

“Nominally, you’re such a snob.”

“I just think when you autotune that much you should lose some of the credit for your musical skills,” he grumbles. Bellamy googles everyone who signs up for the show extensively, which is how he knows things like who Finn is and what Ontari’s music sounds like. Clarke’s experience tends to be more scattershot, with some people she recognizes and some she wouldn’t know were stars unless someone told her. Which doesn’t bother her, but she’s pretty sure Bellamy is still embarrassed about his first season, when they had Roan Churchill on the show and everyone else was star struck and Bellamy mistook him for a new PA.

So now he’s an expert.

“But she does actually have rhythm and some taste.”

“Let’s not get carried away. I’m still rooting for Monty.”

“Me too,” Clarke admits. Usually she roots for her own star, and then Bellamy’s, but since both of theirs suck, they had to find other people. Monty’s kind of quiet and dorky, famous as a cartoonist of all things, and everyone expected him to fail out basically immediately, but the guy can move. It’s kind of awesome.

“So, what does Finn do with the rose in this hypothetical dance?” he asks. “How bad is it?”

“It’s in his mouth.”

“For your disco week number?” Bellamy asks, sounding dubious.

“Don’t tell me you’re against disco roses.”

“At this point I think it’s safe to say I’m against Finn,” he grumbles. “I don’t really want you to get knocked out, but–yeah, if he could got horribly injured and you had to get a new partner, I could live with that.”

“Still working on how to break his legs and make it look like an accident. But if I figure out how, I’ll let you know.”

“If you need an alibi, just ask.”

She grins, kisses his cheek. “Yeah, I know.”

Clarke and Bellamy have been professionals on the show for six seasons together, but they’ve never actually danced together. It’s not something Clarke thinks about, not something she felt like she was missing in her life. She knows Bellamy is a great dancer, one of the best she’s ever seen, and she’s always thought it would be fun, but she hasn’t danced with plenty of people.

It comes up primarily because Bellamy and Ontari somehow get eliminated before she and Finn do, which is just absurd. It’s not like Clarke likesOntari–quite the opposite–but she was without a doubt a much better dancer than Finn is, and she definitely should have stayed longer.

On the bright side, Bellamy is no longer the competition, but he’s still her friend, so he’s just hanging around offering commentary on their moves. It’s kind of cheating, probably, but it’s not like he isn’t offering commentary on other people’s routines. She’s just his favorite, and he hates Finn, so he’s doing it extra for them.

“This is impossible!” Finn finally says, in exasperation. “No one could do this!”

“That’s just bullshit,” Bellamy says, mild. “Just because you can’t doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

“Yeah? Then you do it.”

It’s an incredibly stupid thing to say, and Finn realizes it maybe a second after he says it, but it’s too late.

“Sure,” says Bellamy. He glances at his friend Miller, who’s behind the camera today. “Assuming that’s cool.”

“I don’t give a shit,” says Miller. “They might not use the footage but go for it.”

“Clarke?” he asks, and Clarke finds that she really, really wants to.

It’s a surprise, but it shouldn’t be.

“It would probably be good to get a demonstration in. You know it?”

“Yeah, I know it.” His eyes sweep over her, just once, like he’s checking in, and then he offers his hand.

She’ll be the first person to admit the whole thing works a lot better with Bellamy than it does with Finn. It’s less that sexual attraction is required for dance–it definitely isn’t–and more that comfort with the partner helps.

But it’s also a little bit that it’s a sexy song, and a sexy dance, and given her choice between dirty dancing with Finn and dirty dancing with Bellamy, Bellamy wins every time.

The speed was what was tripping Finn up, mostly, and some of the more complicated footwork, but of course Bellamy doesn’t struggle with that. He’s light on his feet, his movements sure, and his eyes never leave hers. It’s close and hot and intimate and like no other dancing has ever been, like no other partner has ever been. Her whole life, nothing has ever been like this.

By the time they’re done, everyone is staring at them, and Clarke’s wondering if she’s allowed to drag him off somewhere and fuck him now, or if she’s required to wait until later.

Judging from his expression, he’s wondering the same thing, but he makes up his mind first. “See?” he says, to no one in particular. “Anyone can do it.”

“Yeah, that’s the lesson we learned there,” says Miller, dry.

Finn, on the other hand, is just sort of gaping at them; Clarke offers him a sunny smile. “I don’t think it’s the choreography,” she says, and that makes him close his mouth.

“No,” he says, at last. “Probably not.”

Bellamy is waiting for her when she leaves the showers after, looking like an anxious kid after his first school dance, of all things.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi. I thought I could, uh–I thought we should talk.”

“Talk?” she asks, amused. “You want to talk?”

“What’s wrong with talking?”

“Nothing. But it seems kind of unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary,” he repeats, but there’s a smile lurking around his mouth.

“Was some part of what happened there unclear?” she asks, trailing her fingers up his chest.

“I hope not,” he says, and leans down to kiss her.

So they’re definitely on the same page.

When she and Finn get eliminated that week, she assumes that it’s partly because they included some of the footage of her and Bellamy practicing together, and nothing she and Finn did came even close to being that good.

Bellamy assumes so too, because he greets her with a kiss and, “See? We got rid of him.”

“I don’t know if that counts.”

“He’s gone and we’re together,” he points out. “That sounds like winning to me.”

It’s hard to argue with that logic, and she cuddles into his arms, warm and perfectly content, despite the loss. “Yeah,” she says. “When you put it like that.”

#hart-and-friar

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yumestar19 · 3 years

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Original Sickfic Dialogue #1 - A little star gets sick

I may do more of these in the future... But let's see if it works out, first.

- Chise, a star with a human body, sits on a hill, watching the sky as it turns dark -

Chise: //How long have I been here...? In this world...?// *reachs out to the sky* //Home feels far away...// *puts his hand back on his lap; shakes his head with a force that makes his green hairs fly* //I'm getting melancholic again... C'mon, Chise, think, think... Why did I came here, today?// *trembles from the cold that coats him, he puts his arms around his body, trying to stop the shaking* //Pulling myself out, damn... How stupid am I?// *stands up and stumbles a little; stops a sniffle with his long sleeves* //I'll get myself sick, won't I?..// *grits his teeth* //It won't be easy to hide...//

- Chise returns to the palace where he owns a flat; the hallway leads right to the living room where his roommate Yusei, an arch-angel, seems to be waiting for him

Yusei: *looks up from the poem that he was writing a few minutes ago* You're back? What were you doing in this awful cold?

Chise: *closes the door, sighs* Honestly, I don't know... Searching, I guess. *pulls off his cloak and hangs it on the garderobe*

Yusei: Searching? For what?

Chise: *shrugs with his shoulders* If I find it, I'll know... *pulls his arms around him, trying hard to make the shivering invisible*

Yusei: *stands up with the chair scratching on the wood floor* Damn, you look like a dog coming right out of a cold store.

Chise: *enters the living room and passes him* You're a great poet, you know? *sighs* You're imaging things, you know? *grins* I'm doing just fiii- *sneezes, but covers it quickly with his sleeves, therefore, it can't be heard, he sniffles and looks at the clear snot, shudders* //I'm getting sick... I'm getting sick... This is horrible.// *stays cool from the outside, though panicking inside*

Yusei: *confusedly* What were you going to say?

Chise: *quickly* I'm fine, I'm fine. Totally. I'm heading to my room, now. *makes a run to his room* //Gosh... I sounded horrible. My nose is too stuffed up...//

- Chises room is a personification of order and cleanliness; minimalistic furniture, it seems empty at first glance, but looking closer one can see that his entire stuff is just near his loftbed -

Chise: *climbs up his loft bed; breaths heavily when he reached the top; throws himself on the blankets; closes his eyes* //Damn, angels don't sleep... I need a better cover...// *takes a book from a shelf attached to the loft bed; pretends to read* //How long can I keep up with that...? This is the first time I got sick since I moved with him... And I can't tell him straight-forward that I'm a star and that my body is frail.// *moans frustrated and pulls the blanket around him as the shivering won't stop* //Can't get sick... Can't get sick...// *sneezes* //Damn it...//

Yusei: *knocks on his door* Chise? Is everything alright? Did I do something wrong?

Chise: *shakes his head; tries to raise his voice, but sounds hoarse* You didn't. Don't come in, please.

Yusei: *opens the door nevertheless* I'm worried... Also, I waited the entire day for you to come back...

Chise: *lets out an annoyed sigh* Why would you do something like that...?

Yusei: *comes closer and looks up to him* 'Cause I love... I mean I would love to learn more about you... It's three months already, and I don't know a thing about you.

Chise: *closes the book* I already told you what's important. My name is Chise, I'm 2147 years old and I was raised in this palace by two loving parents. Anything else?

Yusei: *looks at him sadly* I thought we could talk about... Futures, perhaps... //C'mon, don't talk like an idiot in front of him... He's just an angel like you... Not holy or anything...//

Chise: *smiles bitterly* This world has no future, so what to talk about?

Yusei: You're always pessimistic. How do you know we will lost the up-coming war? *laughs a little and makes a post like holding an axe* I already prepared for battle!

Chise: *mumbles* You're stupid. *pulls his leg closer to his body, puts his chin on his knee* The demons are stronger. How can you face them with such a brave smile? How can you run into your grave so cheerful- *coughs softly into his crook*

Yusei: *laughs* I'm not running into a grave, you're too funny. *smiles proudly* I'm doing this to protect the people I love.

Chise: *looks away* You said you don't love your parents. You only do this for your friends?

Yusei: *flies up to him and lands in front of him* I'm also doing this for you. You will be our tactician, right?

Chise: *nods, his nose is running a little bit, but he tries to ignore it*

Yusei: *smiles softly* I want to protect you.

Chise: *looks away, blushing* //His kindness is too much for me to handle. Are all angels that kind? ... No, not really. He may be a rare one.//

Yusei: *looks confusedly* Sometime's dripping off your nose... *tries to reach out for it*

Chise: *slaps his hand away* Are you stupid? Don't touch it! You could infect your- *turns away and sneezes with a suddenness that makes him forget to cover it*

Yusei: *his eyes widen at the sight of a sneeze; it's something he never saw or experienced* Are you... sick, perhaps?

Chise: *shock drives through his body and paralyses him* N-No... I-I mean... *pulls the blanket to his face, burying his nose into the soft fabric; speaks quietly* It's just from the dust...

Yusei: *looks around* You try to tell me there was a corn of dust in your room? *laughs* You're joking, right?

Chise: *lowers his glance*

Yusei: *surprised* You must be joking!

Chise: *pushes him* Go out! Immediately!

Yusei: *grabs Chise's hands and shakes his head, speaks in an unusual serious tone* I won't leave you... Not when you are in this state.

Chise: *groans desperately* I'm not sick... I'm not! *sniffles*

Yusei: Calm down... You always seem cool, but you're quiet a heatstroke.

Chise: *outraged* I'm... what?

Yusei: *holds his hands up* Nothing, nothing, darling...

Chise: *raises an eyebrow* Darling...?

Yusei: *blushes* Ah, nevermind! It just slipped out.

Chise: *snaps a little* I'm not one of your one-night stands. You should better take care of them instead of me. *turns away to cough*

Yusei: *makes a hurt expression; sulks* They don't mean anything to me, I swear...

Chise: *cold-hearted* And I mean something to you, or what?

Yusei: //Oh no, he knows...// *whistles* Only as a friend~

Chise: I hope. *coughs into his hands* I'm not gay.

Yusei: //He's not...?// *sighs* I understand. *tilts his head to his side* You're producing weird sounds...

Chise: It's called a cou- *shakes his head* Nevermind.

Yusei: Nevermind? *sighs* Now, I'm talking to you, but you're making no sense.

Chise: Please... Just leave.

Yusei: And you always tell me to leave... I'm hopeless.

Chise: *tries to scream, but it comes out hoarse* Just... leave...

Yusei: What's with your voice...?

Chise: Out... Now... *puts a hand around his throat, making a painful expression* I want to read in peace...

Yusei: Alright, alright... *opens his wings to fly down, but turns to Chise first* Listen, if there is something I need to take care of... I will do it. Even, if this something is you.

Chise: I'm not a something.

Yusei: *smiles* Yeah... You're more than that. *goes out and leaves behind a feeling of pure sadness*

Chise: *sighs* //Help would be nice... Having someone to take care of me...// *shakes his head and forms a bitter expression with his lips* //I can't... I need to keep that secret to myself. Keeping myself enclosed in this rainy sky... He's not my rainbow... Just a stranger who lives with me... I can't trust him. I won't. Ever.//

Maybe I will continue with writing dialogues... It's kind of funny and also easier for someone who's first language is not English... Haha.

Chise and Yusei are my little babies... And the cutest couple though they don't know about it yet ♥️

Thanks for reading!

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surayajasmine · 6 years

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15 Things To Live By When In High School

I decided to make this list of things that I should have done before, during my first year in high school and take it into account sincerely. Anyways, I think it’s important that I share it with everyone.

1: Forgiving is SO important. And, I don’t mean the meaningless, insincere type of forgiveness that you say to your friends, just because it makes them feel better about themselves. Sometimes, you need them to feel guilty about what they’ve done and learn to gain that trust to redeem from their mistakes. And, forgiving people makes you stronger, mentally, and it gives you a sense of maturity, instead of holding unnecessary grudges.

2. Happiness isn’t CONSTANT. What does that mean? Well, it means that being happy all the time, in front of your peers or crowd in school, is okay. But, if you’re feeling down, there’s no need to hide it, because we all have our bad days. Let it out if you’re feeling down. No shame in releasing some steam. Just make sure to get back on track ASAP.

3: To care OR not to care. Why would you want to spend your high school life, pretending to be the cool and snobby one, and pretending to not give a shit about others? At the same time, why would you even pay attention to those who talk bad about you? What I should have done in school is to actually care about those who matter to me, who are kind to me, who help me in any way. Those people are the ones worth caring about. It’s hard to ignore the buzz in the background about you, but, trust me, taking the high road makes you the better person, regardless of how much it stings. Eventually, what goes around, comes around. Karma will give them a taste of their own medicine.

4: Parents play a HUGE role in your life From what I’ve known, plenty of my schoolmates aren’t close to their parents, or maybe their parents disagree with them on something. Guys, believe me when I say this, your parents are almost always right. I used to think that was freaking ridiculous, until I considered the consequences of my actions from their point of view. Imagine this; Your child, only daughter, sneaking behind your back to spend the lunch money you gave her on shopping, and seeing boys behind your back. If we were the child, we’d think it’s nothing harmful, it’s just shopping and dating. But, from your parents’ eyes, you are spending their hard earned money on items that you don’t need, and you’re betraying their trust. To earn our parents trust, is to understand their situation, talk to them, be honest (seriously, guys, it’s so important), respect their choices, and think rationally and maturely. Someday, we’ll have kids of our own and what we do now, could potentially be a reflection of ourselves when we misbehaved during our teen years. Don’t push your parents away. And, do what you can to bond with them. Family is first.

5: CLEAN, clean, clean. Do whatever it takes to maintain a good appearance and surroundings. Deodorant, brushing teeth and face wash are a MUST. Firstly, why would you not wear deodorant to school, where you’ll be spending nearly 7-8 hours in such an environment. Your body odour is a big no-no. To not brush your teeth is very disgusting, cause your morning breath definitely doesn’t smell like Chanel perfume, so, never skip brushing teeth, even if you’re running late. A messy appearance isn’t the way to go. Try your best to have a good overall cleanliness. Shave, brush, shower, etc. After all, you’re a teen and you undergo some insane hormonal changes. Best to look good and feel good.

6: REST your mind and body. We’re growing teens, therefore, sleep is so important to us. Yes, I like sleep as much as the next person, but oversleeping isn’t good either. I know people who don’t get enough rest every night, so, when school starts the next day, the coffee fiesta has begun, and the dozing off students.

7. LEARN TO SAY NO. They force you to take some illegal shit and it’s against your values and morals. Say no. They want you to be their lap dog and cover their asses for them when they’re wrong. Say no. When someone pushes you around, and thinks they can get away. Hell nah. You own it darling and show em how it’s done.

8. COOKING is a lifesaver. Okay let’s be honest here, I’ve had my disasters in the kitchen too many times. Like I’ve accidentally burnt instant noodles in the microwave. (don’t ask me how. I was only 7 years old and hungry af). Cooking will go a long way. You will find yourself one day cooking for yourself in college, in the kitchenette. It’s best to learn how to cook at an early age, at least get some basics of some simple recipes to help you when you’re off to universities or whatever. Even when you move out into your own place, you have to make use of the kitchen, and not always buy food or order outside. You gotta spend wisely. Start cooking even in high school. You’ll learn and master it, trust me, you will need it.

9. Spend your CASH wisely. Just because you have pocket money, or your parents give you lunch money, or even your own earnings from a part time job, doesn’t mean you HAVE TO SPEND IT. You see that top that you really like? But costs an arm and leg? Don’t splurge on it! Save that dough up for some other good shit that you really need. Like money to get a place of your own someday. Or some cash to get you by when things are rough. Or even money to pay for your own college funds. Things are hella expensive these days, and we have to think of how to save it, so we can use it for the right times.

10. GET A PART TIME JOB. Yeah, I can’t seem to emphasise this enough, but, you guys are on the road to adulthood. And, to NOT have the experience of what a working environment is like… That’s criminal. It’s good to have some exposure to what the real world is, for instance, booking appointments for clients, doing some hard labour, etc. You have to start somewhere. Corporate world is all about hiring young adults with experience. But, if you don’t have the least idea of what a working world is, it can be difficult to find a job that is suitable for you.

. 11. Not everyone you are FRIENDS WITH WILL LAST FOREVER. As harsh as it may sound, it’s the truth. Just because you are friends with them now in high school, doesn’t mean it’ll work out when you guys graduate and ship off to other ends of the world to earn that degree. Nope. You will grow apart after sometime. You will notice the distance of the conversations you share. It’s normal and there’s nothing to be scared of. Some people just don’t vibe with you, or maybe you realise that you deserve better. It’s okay.

12. Enjoy high school while you can. I’m going to be a senior soon and, it made me realise how much I’m going to miss high school. Ya sure. It sucked so much for me at certain points because people can be a bunch of dicks. No surprise there. But, where else are you gonna get an experience of high school? I’m gonna miss the high school food the most, cause it rocks. I’ll miss the insane practices I had to go through every day after school. You wont get anything like this when you’re an adult. So, being in high school has its ups and downs. But above all, there is some fun in it. And, you may not notice it now, but when you approach your last days of high school, it’ll hit you.

13. BE KIND High school is not a Mean Girls movie where you can just put everything in a Burn Book. Yeah, okay, that person pissed you off, but to go out and have vengeance on that person and get yourself in trouble too? Nope. Don’t be that person. As hard as it may seem, you have to be kind to the people you don’t want to be with at all. Even if they’ve hurt your feelings. Or even threw you aside like you were nothing. It’s painful. But, it’ll give you the strength to pick yourself up and move on and grow into the gorgeous human being. Patience is key.

14. Go easy on the PARTIES. Everyone loves a good party. Including yours truly. But, you have to put some limits on how hard you party. Don’t overdo yourself and don’t do anything you are forced into. It’s a big no-no. There’s a thing called partying too hard, and it will take a toll on your mind and body. It’s terrible and I’ve witnessed someone going through a tough time the next day in school. It was horrible. Go for the parties that are worth going to. Like birthday parties. Christmas. New year’s. Just as long as you are aware of your surroundings, but still having the time of your life. Be a good but careful party animal.

15. A GOOD PLAYLIST CURES ALL. You sure as hell don’t wanna go through the bad days of high school with a terrible playlist. The wrong song can set your mood from 100-0 in no time flat. Listening to Coldplay has definitely helped me survive dark days of heartache and perked me up on a good day. Make playlists for different situations like studying, exercising, relaxing, etc. (However I do not recommend putting a sad playlist when you are in the middle of a breakup. That’s gonna make you feel worse.) But, do put songs that perk up your day. As well as songs to release your frustration. And don’t be afraid to dance or sing along to the songs. Why else would you make such an incredible playlist?

Those are pretty much my tips and advice on high school. And, it might not work for everyone else. But I hope it does. It did work out for me. I’ve been through some painful shit in high school, but thankfully I am doing well now. It’s not only to help you with high school, but it’ll shape your character into the better version of the person you are now. That’s all from me.

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davidddiep · 7 years

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Stacey’s Story – Medical Cannabis and OCD

In support of Mental Illness Awareness Week, Oct. 1 – 7; and International OCD Awareness Week, Oct. 8 – 14, we are pleased to share the following story with you. What do you know about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD)? Most people think of Jack Nicholson in the movie As Good As It Gets or about the popular sitcom on TV right now where a main character has to knock on a door and say a name 3 times every time he wants to enter a room. Many people joke about having “an OCD moment” because they want something to be a certain way, and won’t accept it any other way. While all these examples have some basis in truth, they don’t come close to sharing the often crippling struggles that a person with OCD goes through every single day.

Take a moment and think about a picture of a dog – any dog will do.

Now think about a different dog.

That was easy, wasn’t it?

Now, think about that first dog again, and imagine that you can’t stop thinking about him. Imagine the image of dog 1 being replayed in your mind’s eye over and over, overriding that image of dog 2 and any other thought you may try to distract yourself with.

Imagine that even if you aren’t thinking about that dog 1, he may appear at any time in your mind whether you like it or not, and that thinking about it is giving you horrible anxiety and depression.

Those feelings of anxiety are your brain’s alarm system, telling you that you have to do something to deal with the dog that won’t go away. You can’t stop thinking about it and feel anxious even though you know logically that those feelings make no sense and that it’s just a picture of a dog. You are stuck in a loop, forced to live endlessly with dog 1 stuck in your mind, because your brain is lying to you – more than that it is forcing you to perform compulsions and routines to help get you past that endless loop, so you might have to walk around the block three times before dog 1 leaves your head.

And on and on and on this cycle goes, endlessly repeating itself. That is a vastly over-simplified way to help you understand how OCD affects a person.

Stacey struggles daily with her OCD, and has for most of her life. Yet, when you speak to her you can’t help but notice her positive attitude, especially when describing some of the trials and tribulations she has lived through while dealing with her condition. She speaks very matter-of-factly about the voices in her head, jokes about the horrible thoughts she has to deal with, and is extremely honest about how her OCD led to self-mutilation. Stacey is in a good place now, through hard work and with help, and is dedicated to helping others with OCD by sharing her story, and how medical cannabis has made a major impact in her life.

It's important to understand that individuals with OCD don’t want to have the thoughts and compulsions that they do. They can’t just “suck it up” and “push through.” Acting on their compulsions can provide some relief, but it’s only temporary. Learning to live with OCD takes years, and is generally achieved through a combination of therapies and medications.

Stacey’s journey began when she was a child. She was always a little quirky, always focused on making sure everything was just right. Her family and the school guidance counsellor considered her a bit of a perfectionist.

I remember being four or five years old, a little ballerina, except I had trouble with my ballet slippers. You see if I put my right one on first and it was wrong, something bad would happen. If I put the left one on first and it was the wrong one I also felt the fear of the unknown bad consequence. It was scary to decide what to do. I thought everyone was the same as me, but they could make the right choice as to what slipper to put on first. I believed I was simply a failure at what everyone else could handle.

Despite these challenges she was able to channel her OCD nature into her schoolwork. Over the next decade Stacey continued to struggle with the condition, and at one point was even incorrectly diagnosed with schizophrenia, and medicated for it. Being obsessed with doing everything right actually made her a fantastic student and she graduated high school with honors. Of course there were challenges as well, and as Stacey neared adulthood the stresses that come with getting older began to take a toll on her. It was at this point that Stacey began to cut herself.

I believed that cutting myself would cause pain that would cause me to focus on the pain which would make it so that I didn’t have to listen to the voices.

Once Stacey had to deal with post-secondary education, and then the work world, things got progressively worse. At one point Stacey had what she describes as a “nervous breakdown.” By then she was hearing voices in her head that would incessantly nag at her and promise dire consequences if she didn’t do what they told her.

I was around 19 when I lost control completely of all the voices and they were so loud, so very loud. I remember rocking slowly back and forth, counting as high as I could, breathing hard, gasping for air, hot beads of sweat alternating rapidly with cold shivers in every muscle and bone, crying about the routine I broke and the consequences or death that was the result of my wrong doing.

At one point Stacey ended up in the Emergency Room. She had decided that night that she would give her family a “gift”: she would take her own life. She reasoned that in taking her life she would spare them from the pain and suffering she was inflicting on them and that they would live better lives without her in them. Stacey shared her idea with the on-call psychiatrist in the emergency room, and he took the time to listen and have a discussion with Stacey. At the end of the discussion two things happened: he talked Stacey out of giving her family the “gift”, and he diagnosed her with OCD.

Coming out of that encounter Stacey began the process of learning how to cope with her illness, trying a combination of coping strategies and medications to help her lead an active life. She even worked as a teller at a bank for a short while, but the numbers, which are a key part of working in a bank, made her OCD worse, so she was forced to quit.

The repercussions of trying to work were that Stacey’s voices got louder. For hours she would turn the lights off and on – to the point that her fingers began to bleed. She had to constantly check the door to make sure that it was locked. She began to be obsessed with germs and cleanliness, and began to wash her hands with boiling water.

The voices got so loud that I couldn’t hear anything but the voices yelling at me to double-check that I unplugged the curling iron because if I didn’t it would burn the bathroom down, and then burn the house down and then it would burn the neighbour’s house down and then I would be responsible for the whole neighbourhood burning down. All because I didn’t check 100 times that I didn’t unplug the curling iron.

The same psychiatrist who had helped her in the Emergency Room continued to help Stacey learn how to manage her condition, but it was an ongoing struggle. Eventually they discovered that expressing herself through art, painting and poetry helped Stacey find some peace. She dove into that passion, and was even able to make some money creating art for local businesses.

So it went for years, with Stacey having good days and bad days, doing her best to cope with her illness and getting by. Then she met the man who would become her husband and moved to the US where he was from, and things began to change for the better when Stacey experienced just how effective medical cannabis was in treating her OCD when she used it as part of her overall treatment strategy.

At this point it’s important to note medical science does not recommend medical cannabis for individuals with mental illnesses, particularly those with a personal history of psychosis. This is due in large part to the lack of research on the topic. To date, research on humans has been very limited, meaning that we have a limited understanding of how cannabis can affect the brain chemistry of someone with OCD. Having said that, research initiatives are underway and we are optimistic that there will be more useful data available soon.

While there is limited research data on how medical cannabis can help OCD patients, there is a growing amount of anecdotal evidence from patients like Stacey who have been using medical cannabis to help manage their OCD.

It was while she was in the US that Stacey tried cannabis for the first time. For her it was a revelation, a fantastic option for treating her symptoms without the side-effects common with conventional medications. Over the space of a few years Stacey determined that she received the best results from a balanced THC/CBD mixture and was able to wean herself off all her OCD medications.

I 100% managed my symptoms with medical cannabis and behavioral therapies.I was in a better place while on cannabis by itself than I’ve ever been while on my presciption drugs. I was better mentally and physically. I was happier and more normal.

Stacey is quick to point out that she treated her cannabis like any other medication. “Start low and go slow” is the key to success, and that is what she did. Starting on a low dose Stacey slowly worked her way up to find the dose and products that gave her the best results. Once she had done that, she slowly weaned herself off her conventional medications. She is also clear that cannabis is not for everyone.

Some things work for some people, some things work for other people, and they should have the choice. But some people are better on anti-depressants.

But for Stacey it did work. Cannabis allowed her to manage her symptoms in a way that worked for her life. If you ask her how it helped she is very clear:

Medical cannabis quiets the voices. The routines seem not so important, the compulsions not so detrimental. It softens the stress.

This is in keeping with some of the other anecdotal evidence we’ve heard from other patients: medical cannabis can help reduce anxiety and improve focus.

For Stacey, and many other patients, getting off the conventional medications also means leaving behind the many side-effects that can come with them: constipation, insomnia, detachment, etc.

The prescription drugs quiet the voices too, but they slow me down mentally and physically. The cannabis quiets the voices, but I could cope. I could go grocery shopping with my husband, or go outside and paint. I can’t do that while on the regular medications.

After half a decade in the US, Stacey and her husband returned to Canada. Back at home she hasn’t had the unrestricted access to medical cannabis afforded her by the state she lived in, so she’s had to go back on some of her conventional medications as she determines the best way to get what she needs from Canada’s medical cannabis system. But make no mistake, medical cannabis is still very much a part of how Stacey deals with her OCD.

OCD never goes away, but it can be managed. Stacey uses medical cannabis as part of an overall treatment plan that includes coping mechanisms and strategies, routines, some conventional medications, and the support of her husband, psychiatrist and dog.

After decades of struggle, Stacey finally has stability in her life, thanks a treatment plan that includes medical cannabis. Stacey is sharing her story in hopes that others will be inspired by it. She is confident that if she can learn to manage her condition and find happiness, others can too.

If I can help just one person it makes all my struggles and all my hurt worthwhile.

If you have questions about how medical cannabis can help treat the symptoms of OCD, ADHD or other mental illnesses, please contact our patient care team at 1-855-787-1577, or [email protected], or talk to your medical practitioner about how medical cannabis may be able to help you.

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aliceslantern · 6 years

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Nocturnal Memory, a Kingdom Hearts fanfiction, chapter 20

[Summary: Dying takes a lot out of you, it's true, but when Demyx wakes up for the first time since his fight with Sora nothing's right. His memories are fragmented and he's missing his true name. And he's not the only one. An incomprehensible mystery and an inevitable war make him question what, exactly, he would do to become whole, and reclaim the music lost to him.

on FF.net/on AO3]

Later that next afternoon, Yuffie showed up at the castle.

It was strange to see her there. She just walked right into the hall where they all lived, like it was her home too. He'd been sitting on the one cool spot of his bedroom floor, staring at the piano book while his eyes slowly slipped out of focus. The thought of the uneaten toast on the plate next to him made him feel sick. A weak, hot draft came through the open door, and he wiped at the sweat on the back of his neck. Her heavy footsteps startled him out of the dumb reverie.

"Oh hey," she said. She was slightly breathless.

"Uh… hi? Can I help you?" He was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was wearing only underwear and a thin T-shirt.

"Nice legs," she said.

Demyx's face burned. "I wasn't exactly expecting company." He grabbed a pair of jeans from the chair near the bed and pulled them on.

"Merlin wants to see you," she said. "I was downstairs anyway and figured I'd pass on the word. Have you seen Lea?"

"…Not in a few days." He strapped on the holster for the dagger. "Ienzo said he had something to do. Some kind of mission. I don't really know."

"He was supposed to have been back by now." She frowned.

His hair looked awful but there wasn't much he could do about it. "What did you need from him?"

"I wanted him to check on Sora."

He wondered how long it would take before Sora's name stopped giving him stabs of anxiety. "…Oh."

"I thought you two were okay, after the whole weird light thing?"

Demyx sighed. "Sure, I can stand being in the same room with the guy, but we're not friends."

She considered this and wrinkled her nose. "Let's get going," she said.

"You're coming with me?"

"I want to see what he'll do," she said. "He wanted to see you separate, and I was like… that's cool."

Despite the heat, the sweat under his arms was cold.

"Relax, if it makes you so uncomfortable, I'll go." She shrugged.

They set off towards Merlin's house. The day was impossibly hot. Demyx had never been one for the summer—maybe due to growing up in a desert and knowing there was something better-but now without full control of his powers, he felt it doubly hard. It was like the sun was hitting him down to his core. Sweat crawled along his skin and he hoped he didn't smell. "…How can you stand being out here all day?"

"Got to," Yuffie said. He noticed patches of bright pink sunburn all over her body. "I kind of like it. I dunno. Except for the blistering. That's… yuck. It sucks that nobody can go outside at night, though. When I was a kid everyone used to just sleep through the day, and party at night. We had a whole solstice festival around this time of year. Aerith talked about having one, but it would be too dangerous, you know?"

"…Festival?" Xigbar flashed through his mind's eye.

"It was pretty great," she said. "The adults would get hammered and we'd basically just eat and eat. But shit's pretty scarce right now. That was back before the drought."

"…Drought?"

"It comes and goes in cycles," she said. "I mean, there's always the off chance that something got fucked when the world came out of darkness. But we'll be okay."

"If you say so." He pushed away a nasty memory of bitter thirst as a child. He was too familiar with droughts, the way they twisted and wrung out everything, how everyone always would go on and on about how today was the day it would break.

Town was quiet. A few kids sat listlessly in the shade, unable to play. Even the few Heartless they encountered skittered away like bugs, only to get caught and vaporized in the claymore system. "Better for us," Yuffie said. "You haven't seen real action, have you?"

"No. I don't think I can."

"Oh, please. Even kids can take on little Shadows. If you want to fight, you have to start somewhere." She dangled her shuriken at her side.

"…I suppose." His heart beat harshly and he tried to swallow down the anxiety. They turned the corner towards Merlin's house.

"…Here we are," she said. "You alright?"

"Uh. Yeah. I guess."

She put her hand on her hip. "He's not going to hurt you. I promise. Talk at you, maybe. Which is kind of painful. I'm guessing that means you don't want me around."

On one hand, it might be comforting to have someone impartial there. On the other, it was her. "I…"

"It's okay. I'm not offended." She shrugged. "What are you doing later? Figure you might want to get out of the house for a little bit."

More than anything else, that caught him off guard. "Oh. Uh. Nothing, I guess."

"Come by my house when you're done," she said. "Looks like I've got to get back to the grindstone." She waved and ran off.

His hand shook when he knocked on the door. A voice bade him come in. He took a deep breath and went inside. The room was blissfully cool and startlingly dark; it took his eyes a moment to adjust. A single lamp burned in the corner of the room.

"Oh, good. You're here," Merlin said. "Please, come and sit." He gestured to a pair of chintz chairs by the lamp.

"Nice AC you got," he said lamely.

"I figure there's no point to suffering indefinitely," Merlin said. "All it really is is a Blizzard spell. Quite simple."

He walked over to the chair and found his knees had gone weak.

"No need to be nervous," the wizard continued. He poured two cups of what looked like iced tea and brought one to Demyx. "I just want to have a look at you." He sat down and drank for a few minutes.

"…Where were you for so long?" Demyx asked him. The tea was strong and bitter, but it was cold, so he drank it anyway.

"I have any number of things that need doing," he said. "Most of my time, however, has gone into training the new Keyblade wielders."

"But you're not one yourself?" Demyx looked at the slim bone-colored wand on the table.

"Heavens, no. I have no desire to be one. But… there's a certain theory that can be taught relatively easily. Most of our efforts go into making the wielder worthy. Quite interesting. Quite ancient, the magic, anyway. Lea, now… it took Lea the equivalent of months before he earned his."

"I'm still surprised," he said.

"As am I. But he seems to have redeemed himself, however unlikely it seems. The same goes for you, and the others."

He looked down into the cup. He couldn't tell if nerves or the caffeine were making him jittery.

Merlin set down his tea and came to stand closer to him. "Can I have a look? Turn a bit closer to the light. My eyes aren't as good as they used to be." Merlin's hands were cool and papery against Demyx's chin. Much like Even, he asked him to look left and right. "Yes. Yes. Quite."

"What do you see?"

"I'm sure you know the damage is quite extensive," Merlin said. He sat down. "Not immediately life-threatening, but still, something that could be perhaps triggered appropriately."

He was shaking too hard and had to set the glass down. "Appropriately?" He repeated.

"Surely it's come to mind that any alterations made to you and the others were probably done to benefit him?"

"Well… sure. That's why I volunteered myself to work."

Merlin laced his fingers. "And the memories?" He asked. "Have any come back?"

"Some," he said. "Nothing… very early. It's mostly been memories surrounding my reformation and my turning. And a very little about how I used to live when I was human."

"How odd," he said. "Yes. Why the cutoff?"

He shrugged.

"And have you tried using the dark corridors since then?"

"No," he said. "I'm scared to."

"Probably for the best. You never know what darkness might do. But your other powers are returning?"

"Slowly. Yes. I still can't summon a weapon, though."

Merlin thought for so long that Demyx was starting to get restless. "They seem to want you for something," he said at last.

"I know, I know." He tried to breathe. "Can you fix it?"

Silence. Demyx could hear the clock ticking in the other corner of the room. "I had… thought so, but I hadn't realized just how deep the damage ran. Doing so would take enormous power," he said. "Not to mention, delicacy and precision. If one were to make a wrong move, your heart would shatter entirely."

"…So I would become a Nobody again," he said desperately. "And grow another heart."

"No. Not quite." Merlin stroked his beard. "It's different when a heart falls to darkness. The heart is still whole, but consumed, which allows it to become a Heartless. The heart has been cleanly removed from the body and will. When a heart shatters, however, fragments still remain behind, and the body and will still cling to them. It's horrible. A comatose state."

Even and Ienzo had told him this, but he had hoped— His vision was getting blurry.

"It already looks like there has been some recent interference," Merlin continued. "I'd say it's best to leave you as is, and hopes the damage heals over time. If your power is returning, I'd say it's possible."

"What about Sora's light?" Demyx asked. "It hit me when we went to the lab."

"It's kept the damage from worsening on its own," Merlin said. "But the child… is still mostly untrained. Even a skilled practitioner of light would be largely unable to heal it all."

"Even and Ienzo said that the trauma from the memories could make it worse," he said.

"They are correct in that regard," Merlin said. "But we're so far into the realm of probability and mysticism that it's hard to say. I say that if you've survived remembering some of the most traumatic instances of your life, you will probably be fine."

That didn't make him feel better.

"Mostly… what should concern us is that they might use this to their advantage. If they break you… they could take your body and make you a vessel. If your heart is shattered there's nothing left to fight back, or rebel. Xehanort learned from last time."

"I thought they had enough vessels for him," Demyx said.

"It might not be Xehanort's heart they seek to put in you. I can't say with certainty what they would use you for instead."

This was all stuff he'd sort of already known. But hearing it from Merlin, definitively, that there was no way to fix him, made him feel sick. He was glad he hadn't really eaten.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. "Short of putting you in a temporal pocket and waiting to see what happens, there's nothing I can do for you."

"It's fine," he said. His voice trembled.

"You can still live a full life," Merlin continued.

Demyx laughed. "I don't even know my name."

Merlin smiled sadly. "I'll convene with Yen Sid and see what else he may know," he said. "And not to be arrogant… but if I don't know how to help you, I doubt he will."

"I understand. I, um, should go. Thanks for the tea."

"Anytime, my dear boy. Feel free to visit. Heaven knows my door's always open."

He was still shaking when he got to Yuffie and Aerith's. He wondered if he should go back—at least to react in private—but maybe distraction was what he needed. The sun was already setting, and although it provided some relief, he couldn't stay very long.

Inside the house, it was cool and quiet. The energy in the room was dull. Aerith rested her head on the wooden table, a glass of water in one hand. Yuffie sat reading a comic book that looked as old as she was. Its pages were yellowing and disintegrating.

"I'm afraid it's not exactly the party I thought it would be," Yuffie said. "These grumps all decided they needed naps."

"We're conserving our energy," Aerith said to the table. "You should be, too."

"It's too boring. Come on. I've been inside all day. Let's get some air. Wait," she said, before he could get in a word edgewise. "Let me get something." She disappeared into the one of the two tiny bedrooms and came back with a canvas knapsack.

"Where are we going?" He was tired and didn't feel like walking much more.

"You'll see," she said. She crossed behind the house and scrambled up a narrow ledge onto the roof.

"Very adventurous," he said. He followed her up. The roof had stone shingles which hurt his hands. She sat on a precipice next to the chimney, watching the sunset.

They had never spent any time together, alone, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. While the anger had faded into belligerent friendship, he still didn't know what to say to her, and wasn't sure he had the energy to try.

She slipped a glass bottle out of the knapsack. It was full of a clear liquid he was positive wasn't water. She kicked back and took a sip. "Wanna come sit down?"

"Don't you have patrol later?"

"Squall does. I'm off tonight." She shook the bottle vaguely. "Turn up, am I right?" She offered it out to him.

He laughed weakly and took the bottle from her; it was surprisingly heavy. He tasted it and flinched at the burn that echoed up into his nose. "What is it with you and Lea drinking straight grain alcohol?"

She shrugged. "Please. It was only recently that some idiot built a still. You don't have to drink it."

"No. Now it's a challenge."

For a few moments they passed the bottle back and forth in silence. He already felt his head getting light.

"…So no luck," Yuffie said at last.

"You mean—oh." Demyx tried to keep from treading in that part of his mind, and took a longer swallow from the bottle.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her legs swayed back and forth. "For what it's worth."

"I shouldn't have let myself think he could do anything," he said. The scrawl of emotion hovered closely overhead; he wondered if he should stop drinking.

"I really thought he could," she said. Her face was already flushed.

"Why do you care?" he asked.

She took a drink.

"I mean, you hated me," he said. He was beginning to ramble, and his body felt faintly heavy.

"I don't hate you anymore," she said, and handed the bottle back.

When he drank, the fumes brought tears to his eyes. He shut them for a moment.

"It's lonely here, I guess," she continued.

"I know what you mean." Something akin to that Nobody void was opening up inside of him. There was no fixing this, no perfect cure, just… this horrible numbness, forever. It was almost unbearable.

She kept talking. "I'm alone, most of the time. And I don't always mind, you know, but day after day… doing the same things… I love my town, I'll do what it needs, but still. Still."

"It gets boring." He was starting to get dizzy and couldn't tell whether or not it felt pleasant.

"It gets so boring," she said.

He lie down and shut his eyes. The night air was heavy and cool against his skin, even though the shingles were sharp against his back. He heard the soft tink as she set down the bottle and lay down as well.

"Drunk already?" She asked.

He hummed vaguely.

"Me too. You're right. This shit sucks. Works way too fast."

He opened his eyes. The stars, less numerous than ever, shone weakly through the haze of clouds. He could just barely see her profile in the darkness. She shifted slightly; he figured she was trying to get more comfortable on the shingles.

He felt the warmth of her skin before he realized what was happening. She kissed him fiercely, gripping him around the waist with one strong arm.

"I'm sorry," she said when she pulled away. "That was not cool."

"It's fine," he said. Dazed, he tried to recall the last time someone had kissed him. The awkwardness in her voice was new and unfamiliar. Something jagged and terrifying had opened in him, but the fear was oddly exhilarating, breaking him away from the horrible void. With a hand he wished wasn't shaking, he touched her face. She barked an odd little laugh.

They kissed again in the darkness. She was warm and real against him, though she was less than gentle. She smelled like sweat and the coarse green soap they had no choice but to use. His hip ached from pressing into the roof. She slid her leg around his waist and pulled him against her tight enough to hurt. After carrying around his body like it was dead weight for so long, he was overwhelmed, and an icy intense panic threatened to overtake him.

She must have felt him tense. "We're drunk," she said, taking her leg back. "We can't—we shouldn't-."

"Right." He struggled to catch his breath without being too obvious. He sat up and drew his knees to his chest, suddenly aware of a whole other problem, and was intensely mortified.

"Want to go back down?" She asked.

"No. Um. I think I should stay sitting for a little while."

"Oh." She laughed, jittery and hesitant. "I'm sure I had a joke for that, but I just can't think."

His heart was still racing. He heard her take another drink. When she offered it to him, he drank deeply. His mouth was starting to go numb; he couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol or the kissing. He touched his lips, unsure if they were real. He wanted to touch her, to hold her hand, to ask her to hold him. Anything to ease the vicelike loneliness he'd been feeling. But he didn't speak.

"…Are you okay?" She asked.

"Yeah… it's just been a while."

"Me too," she admitted. "You have to admit… when there are only so many other people our age around… it's hard."

"I hadn't thought about it." It was true, mostly. Any future of his seemed purely hypothetical, and misty.

"Thought about…?"

"Being… being with…" he faltered.

"Sex," she said.

"Well. Yes. I've had a lot on my mind." He pressed his fingers into his knees. The drunk thoughts passed through him unchecked. "I wasn't sure, you know, how it would work, going from Nobody to human, or if that was just how I was. I feel numb, all the time. Like a dead fish. And, like, I can't ask Even or Ienzo. I think I'd rather die."

"Wait… so are Nobodies, like, asexual?"

"I mean, it depends if the Somebody was." He shifted uncomfortably. "But, like, I was young enough that I never found out as a human. There's no feelings at all, just this very cold… attraction. I guess it's instinct? Though we are—they are—sterile, so maybe there's just no purpose to it really? God. I need to shut up."

"No. I want to know."

He hiccupped. "I was really young when I turned. So I guess I'm saying this is kind of new to me. I'm so embarrassed."

"It's fine," she said.

Neither of them spoke; the alcohol was hitting them now in full. He tried to think of boring things but found his thoughts were mostly incoherent. The intense emotions were draining out of him, leaving him bereft and drunker than he'd ever been.

#nocturnal memory #demyx #kingdom hearts 3d #kingdom hearts #fanfiction #i am such shipping trash for these two #even though it's such a weird pairing #i'm not sorry

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