#wild is definitely capable of pissing someone off to the point of them trying to assainate him

[just-some-brainrot]

time: hey twilight?

twilight: oh hylia, not the bad jokes again

time: no, it’s good this time i swear! ready?

time: so what did the serial killer say before—

wild, getting up and leaving: please don’t joke about murder you guys. i was murdered once and it offends me

time: h

time: h he

time: he’s joking right

twilight: ………i don’t know

#twilight says i don’t know but he’s definitely having flashbacks to all the stupid shit wild did before and is thinking yeah probably #wild is definitely capable of pissing someone off to the point of them trying to assainate him #which i mean #there’s the yiga #but still with some of the shit people do in botw i wouldn’t be surprised if a bunch of disgruntled npcs started up some armed rebellion #like that one guy in tarrey town who screams at you for standing on his table #he’s gonna snap eventually #linked universe #incorect linked universe quotes #lu wild #lu time #lu twilight #lu

[masterqwertster]

54, Kidnapping with Ashton Greymoore

Prompt

So @lunarrolls had this fun little post a while back pointing out that according to the Explorer's Guide to Wildemount, both the Cerberus Assembly and Kryn Dynasty are very interested in collecting genasi for research. And that Ashton would be an absolutely wild catch for them.

Now given Ashton's new outfit has a half-decent approximation of the Kryn Dynasty symbol:

Plus dunamantic abilities, it's possible for Ashton (and Bells Hells) to bluff a Kryn scout/agent into thinking he's already got some affiliation with the Dynasty. Thus skirting around a potential attempt to drag Ashton back to Rosohna.

The Assembly agents on the other hand, are only going to be all the more interested in capturing a "Dynasty" genasi with dunamantic capabilities.

The Cerberus Assembly's people, also, are going to be the the type of people to possess mindcontrol magics to get Ashton to "willingly" come along under his own power. Or some other form of magic to make Ashton less of a threat. Which definitely would make the whole kidnapping process easier.

Because let's be real: Ashton is not someone who is easily kidnapped via brute force or drugging.

Ashton is a beefy tank of a barbarian. If you want to take them via force, you're going to have to work for it. Ambush and numbers are going to be your friends. As we've seen time and again, hitting the barbarian before rage comes into effect is prime circumstance. And if you can't lay down the heavy hurt by yourself, having a team to pile on is a must. And you want to be fast, otherwise allies or other interference can occur, if Ashton doesn't just manage to book it like crazy.

Ashton also has a high Constitution score with proficiency on the Saves, so drugging them, which is usually resisted with a CON Save, is not an easy task either unless you've got something potent.

Of course, once you've knocked Ashton down, transport becomes an issue. He's made of rock and very heavy. I always put his minimum weight at 500 pounds (but the range is really somewhere between 450-600). So unless you're teleporting out, quick escape (particularly on foot) is not an easy task because you've got this enormous deadweight.

Plus, Ashton is a very noticeable figure to try and run off with, so their friends can very easily pick up information about what has happened if your tracks are not sufficiently covered. And that's not even accounting for magical means of locating them. Which, there are means of blocking Scrying and Sending. But, I don't think there's a way to block a Commune if the cleric asks the right questions to get your location.

And that's not even getting into the thrashing mess Ashton will become once he's got his senses back. Hope you've got some good chains and a sturdy cell, because you've got a barbarian baby titan with chaotic dunamancy in there, and he's fucking pissed. Oh, and he's got a criminal background in Breaking and Entering, so it's also entirely possible for him to pick the locks and sneak out if you don't have a solid setup.

If Ashton doesn't escape under their own power, eventually the rest of Bells Hells is going to show up in all their unhinged chaos. You've taken one of their voices of reason, and that was a mistake. If your base of operations doesn't seem suddenly haunted, that may not be a good sign.

For who knows which of their powerful allies they'll tap for the breakout. The Voice of the Tempest causing a political fuss? She can also call on her allies in other political spheres to add even more pressure. What about that Cobalt Soul monk with abs for days and her wizard friend who have jailed Assembly members? Bet you don't want them poking their noses into this.

Honestly, there's some really fun stuff to be done with Ashton getting kidnapped by a world power.

#MQ&A #guy in a situation prompt #ashton greymoore

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

What happened w the rationalist community, if you’re ok talking about it?

LONG REPLY TIME.

In my Wild Youth (tm) I was hardcore in the rationalist/skeptic/humanist community. You know, the New Atheist types (the vast majority of the community didn’t call themselves New Atheists, that was mostly American Dawkins fans, but we were those kinds of people, just less arrogant-PR about it). For people who don’t know, the core philosophy of this subculture basically comes down to: - humans are mostly good people, or try to be good people, and we should act in ways that are good for humanity, the environment, etc. - people with better or more accurate information about the world are capable of making better decisions - it is therefore vitally important that we view the world as accurately as possible. Truth is inherently important and valuable. We should do everything we can to make sure that our beliefs about the world are as accurate as possible. - your mind will lie to you. Cognitive biases have their social and evolutionary uses, but they result in bigotry and bad information. We should do everything we can to identify and compensate for these, and think as rationally as a human is capable of. - while it’s not perfect, science is the most effective tool we have for determining what is most likely to be true. Rationalism is therefore massively pro-science and pro-science education. (This isn’t a blind trust; most hardcore rationalists are scientists and fully aware of the limitations of the messy reality of how science is funded and published and the biases that introduces. These are taken into account. The other hardcore rationalists tend to be magicians/illusionists.)

All of this is perfectly fine and a hill I’m still perfectly willing to die on.

When you get a bunch of people together who are sincerely seeking truth and want the world to be a better place, there are some fairly obvious groups that they’re going to tangle with. Before my time, when we were just called skeptics, the main targets had been psychics and life-after-death spirit-communing con artists (this is where our magicians came from, the philosophical descendants of Houdini, one of the earliest voices in the movement, and later James Randi). But the big proponents of harm in my time were the healing crystals/essential oils/faith healing people, and the ‘Creation should be taught instead of evolution’ creationists. We spent a lot of time trying to stop people from selling oils that they said could cure cancer, and fighting against science education being replaced with religious belief inserted in science classes. (I spent a lot of my teenage years debating creationists on the internet. I can summarise this experience as a frustrating waste of time on both sides of the debate. Neither side was going to accomplish anything in these discussions.)

This is all perfectly fine. I won’t pretend I’m completely happy with everyone’s actions; it’s the internet, so of course there were subgroups doing things like mass trolling conservative religion forums and stuff, which had no purpose except to piss off people we happened not to like, but you get that. The problem with this is that it’s easy. People can believe what they want, but if you’re coming into a rational debate, every pro-Creation, anti-evolution argument is complete and utter bullshit, mostly demonstrating nothing beyond the fact that the creationist debater a) doesn’t understand the most fundamental things about biology or b) does understand and is willingly misleading the audience. Every pro healing crystal, pro astrology or pro telepathy argument is fatuous nonsense. Twelve-year-olds could walk into these discussions and completely shred every argument put forth by big-name “creation scientists” in minutes -- I know, I watched it happen regularly. I was on our conservative creationist Christian-owned community TV station for awhile doing a little ‘creation vs evolution!’ debate against the wealthy station owner’s son to fill air time, and I’d see him do a couple of hours of research for anti-evolution arguments every time we filmed, and it always pissed him off that I’d shred anything he said immediately, having done no research whatsoever, because even to me, a child, the giant drive-a-bus-through-this holes in his arguments were obvious. (Also, they were old hash; I’d read all the books by his idols before and checked the reasoning myself long before.)

Fresh voices in the community came from two main sources -- people who’d been pro-people and pro-reason/science for years finding others like them, and ex-creationists and magic healer victims who’d eventually found the holes in what they’d been taught. This second group, for obvious reasons, tended to be the most passionately pro-reason and pro-science people, and discussing different experiences in a place where people could feel safe being critical and actively celebrate doubt was great. But, inevitably, we got lazy.

A lot of the ‘laziness’ was perfectly reasonable and practical. Time and attention is always limited, and when you’ve dealt with six claims of “the eye is too complex to have evolved!” and explained the flaws in the irreducible complexity argument four times that fortnight, when someone walks in with “blood groups couldn’t possibly have evolved, therefore the earth must be 6,000 years old”, you just don’t fucking bother, and you shouldn’t fucking bother, there’s no value in that discussion.

That’s not the kind of laziness I’m talking about. I’m talking about the part where we got so used to ‘that sounds so fucking stupid’ leading directly being able to tear an argument to pieces,that it became normal to assume that anything that sounds stupid on the surface MUST be obviously wrong. Where ‘this is weird, let’s examine it and check for flaws’ became ‘that person disagrees with my preconceived notions, let’s double down and explain why they’re wrong, because I’m already assuming that they’re wrong’. At some point, “we want to be as rational and accurate as we can be, we call ourselves rationalist and work towards that” became “we’re rationalists, so we’re more accurate and rational than average and probably right”.

You might recognise that as in fact being *the exact opposite of the proported philosophy*. There were always some overenthusiastic idiots in any group, but watching it slowly become normal for rationalising to replace active rationalism and for the names of cognitive biases to be thrown around as gotcha buzzwords rather than things people were seriously considering in their own arguments was... concerning. (There were a lot of very smart people in the community, which unfortunately made it far more vulnerable to this particular kind of thing. Smarter people are better at fooling themselves; a person good at reason is also good at rationalising, and you can’t tell the difference between these things when you’re the one doing them.)

In practical terms, this doesn’t matter that much when you’re playing in the easy leagues of explaining to someone that the overpriced eucalyptus oil they bought from an MLM won’t protect them against chicken pox. The person who’s gotten lazy is shit at being a rationalist, but your reasoning skills don’t actually need to be all that impressive for this. You know what they do need to be impressive for? For when somebody says, “women are taken less seriously than men in science and biased against in hiring, payment and promotion”, and this hypothetical you, a male scientist who’s never noticed this and already knows that his profession is full of smart and reasonable people who wouldn’t do something stupid like that, thinks “that is fucking stupid” and automatically, without thinking about it, puts their energy into shouting down and dismissing alternate evidence. Or when somebody points out islamophobia in the community, or passive racism, or... you get the picture. Social issues can (and should) be examined and interrogated using rational philosophies, but it’s so much harder to do that than laugh at creationists who are sending you abusive messages about going to hell. And given the particular hot-button issues in the community, most of the people there were interested in biology, chemistry or physics and simply had no idea how to *do* social sciences, treating the parts that were familiar from their own specialities as valid and the rest as irrational nonsense. And now, you have prominent rationalists panicking about Sharia law, sneering at the made-up problems of feminism, and generally making fools of themselves... because they got lazy.

Because, like how it’s hard to be a liberal (American definition) but easy to be a conservative in a gay hat, it’s hard to be a rationalist, but easy to be an arsehole with a big vocabulary. And that’s why I can’t gush about how great Richard Dawkins’ early science books are without somebody bringing up his bullshit twitter opinions.

[laurfilijames]

Wild Horses- Part 2 (Prequel to Slow Burn)

Pairing: Modern AU Fili x Female OC Prim

Words: 3682

Summary: Fili and Prim enjoy a night out with Kili and Tauriel playing pool and singing karaoke. Prim attempts to make Fili see how much she’s grown to care for and want him since they met a year ago, but something is holding Fili back.

Warnings: Rated M. Alcohol consumption, swearing. Mentions of intercourse. Discussions of masturbation. Unwanted advances. A punch and bloody nose/hand. Mentions of war/military/deployment. Slight dom/sub suggestion.

A/N: This was so enjoyable to write, I had so much fun building the dynamic between them and adding to that slow burn. But be warned, angst is ahead in the coming chapters!

The song that Prim sings is linked below if anyone wants to listen to really get a feel for the chapter. (The original song is by the Divinyls but I like this cover better).

Thank you again to @guardianofrivendell for editing, listening to my struggles and always giving wonderful advice and endless support!

—————

“It’s your round this time!” Prim whined.

“No, no, I got the last one remember? It’s definitely your round,” Fíli argued.

She did remember, she was just hoping he wouldn’t.

“Fine. I’ll make you a bet, whoever loses this game has to get the drinks,” Prim wagered.

“Deal!” Fíli moved around the pool table to line up his next shot. Before he did, he looked up at Prim and smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But the loser also has to go up there and sing a song.”

“You bastard! You’re only betting that much because you know I’ll lose and you won’t have to sing.”

He grinned at her, amused at upping the stakes.

“Exactly,” he said, sinking his shot as he did.

Prim was awful at pool, leaving her questioning exactly why she would make a bet with him, knowing it would result in her buying the drinks and now apparently also singing a song in front of the entire bar.

She focused as she lined up her shot, praying she was successful in landing the ball in the intended pocket but faltered when she felt Fíli’s body cover hers from behind just as she attempted her hit, missing her shot completely and losing the game.

“See, you should’ve aimed more over there-,” Fíli teased, laughing as she whipped around and smacked him hard on the chest.

“I would’ve got that in if it wasn’t for you!”

He looked at her doubtfully, and although she was pissed at him for making her lose the game, she enjoyed the proximity of his body to hers. His hand remained on her waist in an almost claiming way, probably making them look like lovers to people who didn’t know them.

Prim reluctantly stepped out of his grasp and gave him the most devilish look she could as she walked over to the stage where the karaoke machine was set up. There were large speakers surrounding it and a single microphone standing in the middle, waiting for its next performer.

Prim couldn’t help but grin despite the embarrassment she felt, watching Fíli clap and hoot loudly at her as he leaned against the pool table, Kili and Tauriel following suit from the table where they sat.

She knew exactly which song she was going to sing, something that would hopefully turn Fíli on while also letting him know how she felt about him.

After spending so much time getting to know each other over the last year, Prim knew without a doubt that he was the only one she could ever want. Their relationship so far was effortless, friends who could make each other laugh and were able to share anything with each other, the good and the bad, all traced with whispers of an eagerness for more.

She adored his family and they welcomed her without hesitation as a part of their own. Prim especially admired the relationship between the two brothers, as well as the one they shared with Thorin.

It made her wish she could say the same about her own family, but this found family was all she needed.

And Fíli… Fíli was incredible. He still treated her as sweetly and with as much care as he had the day they met.

He evened her out. His calm manner balanced her fiery ways. Nobody else’s personality had ever complimented hers more and he made her feel instantly happy just by being in the same room.

So it didn’t come as a surprise to Prim when the inevitable happened: she fell in love with him.

But it was almost as if an unsaid agreement to take things slow stood between them, both of them knowing at some point they would be more than just friends, but Prim was growing increasingly impatient. She had often tried to hint that she wanted more, that she was ready to take it to the next level, but Fíli wasn’t budging. Maybe Prim wasn’t as conspicuous as she thought she was.

It was about time she started to make things a little more clear for him.

The music started up after she selected the song and she readied herself before the mic, willing courage from her three glasses of wine to grace her.

“I love myself

I want you to love me,”

The crowd erupted in cheers, realizing what she had selected.

“When I feel down

I want you above me

I search myself

I want you to find me

I forget myself

I want you to remind me,”

The look on Fíli’s face was priceless, full of surprise and curiosity and maybe even a hint of lust as he pushed his tongue in his bottom lip, so Prim continued, her eyes locked on his as she began to run her hands down her sides and over her breasts,

“I don’t want anybody else

When I think about you

I touch myself

Oh, I don’t want anybody else

Oh no, oh no, oh no,”

Encouragement from the crowd kept her going, but not as much as the expression on Fíli’s face did. Prim continued her seductive dance as she sang, carding her hands through her hair and down her neck to her chest, still managing to sing despite the huge grin on her face,

“I close my eyes

And see you before me

Think I would die

If you were to ignore me

A fool could see

Just how much I adore you

I’d get down on my knees

I’d do anything for you,”

When the song ended, Prim bowed to the standing ovation given to her by the entire bar. She hopped off the stage and walked back over to Fíli who was shaking his head in disbelief.

“Wow,” was all he managed to say, his eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“I don’t think after that performance I should still shout the drinks,” she suggested.

“Um, no, that wasn’t the deal,” he corrected her, standing close enough she could see his pulse thumping in his neck. He stared at her like he was trying to figure out what she was up to, and also like he could kiss her. His eyes lingered on her lips as though he was about to consume them and Prim thought how she would sell her soul to have him do it.

Did he still not know how badly she wanted him?

With the adrenaline from her performance still coursing through her body, Prim was about to confess her feelings to Fíli. She wanted to tell him that the song was indeed dedicated to him, and that the lyrics applied to her when she thought about him, but was interrupted by Kili and Tauriel coming over to congratulate her.

“Prim you never cease to amaze me!” Kili said, gripping his hands on her shoulders from behind.

“I think you have every man in here worked up!” Tauriel added.

As appreciative as she was for their compliments, the only opinion she really cared about was Fíli’s.

“Yeah, you are incredible,” Fíli praised her, still regarding her peculiarly.

Her stomach flipped. He thought she was incredible, not just her karaoke skills.

“Oh, I had some inspiration,” Prim admitted, staring into Fíli’s eyes and willing him to figure out just how much she longed for him, but not able to say it with Kili and Tauriel standing beside them.

“Well, the drinks are on me!” she declared, walking over to the bar to complete her end of the bargain. Kili followed her, wanting to order food, or so he said. Kili had a tendency to get involved in things that weren’t necessarily his business, and whatever was happening between Fíli and Prim was no exception.

“I can’t help but feel like there were some underlying messages in your performance,” he inquired without looking at her.

“It was just a song, Kili,” she denied.

“Yeah, one about masturbating to thoughts of my brother!”

She looked at him fiercely. Was it so obvious to everyone but Fíli?

“See, you can’t even deny it!” he laughed.

“I’m not trying to deny anything,” she told him while peeling the label off of an empty beer bottle, beginning to get annoyed by his interrogation.

“Well, I bet he thinks of you whenever he touches himself,” Kili said point-blank, popping a chip in his mouth.

“Kili!” Prim said with alarm, smacking his shoulder. Although part of her did hope it was true.

Once Kili stopped laughing, Prim sighed and continued her thoughts out loud.

“It’s just so frustrating! I feel like I do everything but literally throw myself at him and nothing happens.” She placed money on the bar as the bartender handed her their drinks, “I just really care about him,” she admitted.

“I know you do. He knows you do- knows you love him even. He’s going to kill me for telling you but he does feel the same, he told me himself,” Kili explained.

Prim shot her head up to look at him, “You better not be joking right now, Kili,” being fully aware of the pranks he was capable of.

“I’m not, I swear!” he raised his hands in defence, and threw a quick look over his shoulder towards his brother before he continued, “He fancies you, he always has. That’s why he’s still single, and you are too, I reckon. You’re both just too stupid to do anything about it,”

“Oh, thanks for that,” Prim glared at him and took a chip from his plate, making Kili slide it closer to him protectively so she couldn’t steal any more of them.

“I’m not saying you’re stupid, Prim, but one of you needs to admit it or someone else is going to come along and ruin it. You see how women look at him,” he pointed out, and Prim’s heart sank at the thought.

Of course she saw how other women looked at him, and she couldn’t blame them. He was perfect.

Prim didn’t want anyone else and she hoped what Kili had said about Fíli’s feelings towards her were true. She grabbed the drinks and walked back to the table, her head reeling from the information.

Fíli beamed at her as she approached, his dimples revealing themselves beneath his facial hair, making her melt for him once again and forget the threat of anyone coming between them.

Fíli could hardly believe the act he’d just witnessed. He had run his hand over his face a few times to try and disguise his flush, beads of sweat appearing on his temples as he watched Prim’s risqué dance on stage, making him throb for her all over again.

He wondered if she truly felt what she’d sung in those lyrics, that she wanted him and only him, that she imagined him when she pleasured herself.

The thought alone drove him mad.

Her eyes had been locked on him the entire time she was up there, there was no disputing that.

Fíli enjoyed making her feel as frenzied and desperate as she made him, but it was getting increasingly difficult to keep resisting her. She knew how to play him as well.

And even though he really didn’t want to resist her anymore and simply give in to the yearning want, he knew he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

Thorin and Kili were leading a special ops mission and although Fíli as a trainer was now exempt from having to deploy, he refused to sit at home while his uncle and brother went head first into danger.

He was going too.

Fíli had been deployed countless times since he was in his early twenties. He had seen battle and horrific things that people could never even begin to fathom. The thought of going to war again filled him with dread, but he needed to protect his family.

If he pursued things with Prim, he wouldn’t be able to stand being with her for such a short period of time and making her anxiously wait for him to get back. It would break both of them. It wouldn’t be fair to her, so they would just have to wait until this mission was over before they could give each other everything of themselves.

He watched her now as she leaned against the bar, talking and laughing with Tauriel, finding himself automatically mimicking every upturn of her mouth.

But her expression quickly changed when a man came up to her who was obviously a fan and hoping her words were directed at him. Prim politely shrugged him off, turning back to face Tauriel.

Fíli remained in his chair, carefully watching the interaction. He wouldn’t step in unless he needed to, and he prayed the idiot wouldn’t do anything stupid.

“That song was about me, wasn’t it doll,” the man slurred, stepping closer to her.

Prim laughed and said over her shoulder, “Don’t you wish,” and Fíli could tell the man was starting to get on her nerves.

It was difficult for Fíli to hear all that was being said, but the man seemed persistent in getting her attention. Prim said the odd thing to get him to leave her alone but tried her best to remain focused on Tauriel and ignore the pleas from the drunk.

Kili sat beside him and could see the fury rising up through his body. He patted Fíli on the back, “Easy brother,” he said, trying to assure him that she would be fine, knowing what damage Fíli could do to the other man if provoked.

It wasn’t until the man grabbed her ass and she flew around to punch him that Fíli stood from where he was seated and quickly made his way over. He knew Prim could hold her own, and judging by the way the guy was holding his bloody nose, she had done the job. Regardless, he needed to give this asshole a piece of his mind.

Fíli took hold of the man’s collar and held him upright after being folded over from Prim’s punch, his feet now barely touching the ground.

“Touch her or go near her again and you’ll regret ever laying eyes on her, mate,” Fíli spat in his face, his rage ready to erupt at any second.

The man nodded in a terrified manner, and scrambled away as soon as Fíli released him from his grip.

Fíli brushed his hair back out of his face and turned to Prim, who was shaking her hand out and looking slightly unsettled.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his anger now turned to worry, never wanting any harm to come to her.

“Yes, I’m fine. He’s just a prick.” She didn’t meet his eyes, her gaze cast down to observe the damage to her hand. Her knuckles were red and split from colliding with the man’s face and blood was beginning to creep up slowly.

Fíli took her hand in his and brushed his thumb lightly over her wounds before bringing his lips to kiss them gently.

The way she looked at him made his heart clench, almost like she was surprised at his affection towards her. He wanted to tell her he would do anything for her, would give her the world, and that it made him feel terrible that he allowed that guy to touch her like he did. But he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve stepped in sooner,” his voice full of regret at how he handled the situation.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Fi, you’re my hero,” she said with a mischievous look in her eye, her fire back and immediately replacing his anger and regret with desire for her.

“I can usually handle my own, but I don’t mind you protecting me,” she said playfully.

Her eyes were filled with lust as she looked up at him through her eyelashes, and he was reminded once again of what he wanted to do to her.

Before he acted on pressing his lips against hers, Fíli called to the bartender for some ice for her hand, as well as a shot of whisky for them both.

They all managed to enjoy the rest of the night, no one harassing Prim other than with lustful glances from multiple men, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was having too much fun and a good buzz was keeping the pain in her hand at bay.

She stuck close to Fíli, often touching him playfully on his arm or chest, and even occasionally on his thigh. Her hand landed there now, causing him to stop talking mid-sentence to look at her delicate fingers resting on his jeans.

Fuck, she was going to be the death of him.

His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth so much, a habit to keep his increasing thirst for her at bay.

The bar announced the last call, and they all were quite drunk aside from Fíli. He typically managed to stay sober whenever they went out, wanting to ensure they all got home safely and didn’t have to pay and wait for cabs to take them all to different places.

With Kili and Tauriel dropped off at Tauriel’s place, Fíli was now on his way to take Prim to her own apartment. She was definitely drunk, but not sloppy, in more of her usual flirtatious state that had tried to lure him into her bed on more than one occasion. Tonight was no exception.

She laughed as she fumbled with her keys in the door, dropping them onto the mat. Fíli stooped to pick them up and when he straightened himself Prim was leaning playfully against her door frame.

“You want me and it’s killing you,” she boldly stated, revealing a part of him that he wasn’t ready to divulge to her yet.

He shook his head and chuckled while he unlocked the door, not wanting to have this conversation with her now.

She waltzed in ahead of him, her body language full of confidence from the drinks she had consumed.

“Do you want a nightcap?” Prim asked, trying her best to get him to stay.

“No, thanks. I’m going to head out so you can get some sleep.” He had to fight to get the words out, wanting so badly to stay.

Prim squinted her eyes at him, annoyed at being rejected.

“Are you ever going to give me what I want, Fíli?” she asked, her voice laced with bitterness.

He couldn’t help but grin, desperately wanting to tell her just how badly he wanted her. How he wanted the same things as her. How easy it would be for him to roughly pull her pants down and slide into her, fucking her until she screamed his name over and over.

Especially when she acted like this.

He took a step toward her so he was hovering slightly above her body, and he saw the fearlessness in her eyes change to a softness, like she would submit to him in a second if given the chance.

“The problem is, Prim,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he stared into her, “If I kiss you now, I won’t be able to stop.”

She faltered for only a moment before lifting her chin up in an act to reinstate her poise.

“Then don’t stop,” she challenged him.

It took every fibre in his being to pull away from her, not wanting to do anything while she was under the influence of alcohol.

“No,” he shook his head and laughed when she threw her head back and growled in frustration.

“Why?” she snapped, her distaste at being rejected clear.

He never wanted to make her feel this way. She had to know she was his greatest desire, his biggest temptation.

Fíli remained in place, not daring to go close to her again.

“Because I want you to be fully aware when I do the things that I have planned for you.”

He watched her shift, his words sinking in and probably helping to sober her up. It was a promise of things to come. A hint at his intentions to explore her body.

“Are you good?” Fíli asked in a normal tone, needing to change the subject and wanting to make sure she was okay before he left.

“I’ll be good when you’re putting your hands all over me,” she countered, her voice raspy and still persistent in trying to get her way with him.

He chuckled at her determination, making his way to the door despite her wishes. She was relentless.

“Goodnight, Prim,” he called over his shoulder, not able to look at her knowing if he did she would draw him back inside.

He sat in his truck for a moment before driving away, his thoughts solely on how much he wished to tell her he wanted to be with her.

Fíli toyed with the idea of establishing the relationship with Prim anyway, being selfish for once in his life and indulging in her for whatever amount of time he could before he left, but quickly decided against it.

He loved Prim. And he only wanted to love her in the way she deserved, and loving her and then leaving her was not it.

He smiled at how easy it was for her to tempt him into almost doing things that were so out of his character. But once he was back home he would give in to anything and everything she offered, because fuck did he want to.

Fíli knew without a doubt that they would end up together someday, so what was waiting a couple of more months in the grand scheme of things? As far as he was concerned they had all the time in the world.

But right now all Fíli could think about was how Prim was probably getting into bed and fantasizing about him while she extinguished her fire, her hands exploring her own body in search of a high that one day would include him. He palmed at the growing tension in his pants, knowing that he was going home to do exactly the same.

—————

#fili imagine #fili durin #fili the hobbit #fili #fili x oc #wild horses #series #slow burn #fili fanfic #fili smut #smut #oc #modern fili #modern au

[thegeminisage]

So like, I was just thinkin bout Dean n John today and if Mary and him were in the boys adult lives again (as per the latest season,) what wud the dynamic be?bcus John doesnt NEED Dean like he used to so I think certain pressureswouldn't be there anymore but hed still be controlling of Dean and try to dictate or manipulate his independence, right? Like those abuse dynamics don't rlly go away but manifest differently, I'd assume?

YES yes yes yes sorry in advance this is going to get so much longer/more off-topic than u bargained for, but like okay i’ve said before i think that half of john’s problem is that he didn’t have mary to be there and be his “john don’t” person for when he’s being a huge asshole. and it’s actually really wild writing this fic i’m doing rn where they’re all under the same roof again bc now that john has mary most of his REASON to be such an asshole is gone, but it’s already sort of solidified itself as habit. so i’ve actually been having a really wild time trying to figure out where he’d push things and be his worst self and where he’d sort of agree to stow his crap because mary is standing next to him and What Else Matters Except Mary

i like to think that since mary was such a distant, hard person sometimes, that to match that john before her death was someone who was very kind and giving and emotionally available - that sam and dean’s natural aptitude for empathy and kindness, in a terrible twist of irony, came from the person who was arguably the one to treat them with the most cruelty

it’s more fun for me if john really was a genuinely good person once upon a time, not because #johnrights or anything but because it’s sort of an example of how easy it would be for sam and dean, who are also good people, to lose themselves and turn into the kind of monster he was. and they ARE capable of being terrible - in fact, i’d argue that john makes sam and dean the worst versions of themselves. when he’s around, kind gentle mild-mannered sam’s temper is on a very shouty and aggressive hair-trigger, and stubborn determined asshole dean becomes a passive people-pleaser. many times when sam and dean fight, it comes back to the different ways john raised them and repeatedly inadvertently pitted them against each other

and also on that note, i do think, for all that i rage about hating 14.13, that john’s character was done best out of any of them - he was teary and fully prepared to self-flagellate (a form of deflecting guilt by making the person you’ve hurt want to stop airing their own grievances so they can console/reassure you, and we know from his journal john is a master at deflecting guilt) and also he was not at all mad about anything anymore BECAUSE HE HAD MARY BACK

it’s sort of like dean in season 13 - in the span of just a few episodes, he goes from wanting to kill jack and kill himself to being the happy-go-lucky fella we see during the brokebacknatural episode. cas comes back and it’s like a switch flipped - it’s practically a full 180 overnight. john and mary’s love story is as real and important to them as dean and cas’s is to us. so once john gets mary back, yeah, no, not only does he not NEED dean anymore, but the source of his pain (losing his wife) has almost completely dried up. so like.......god what is he even LIKE now, you know? what is he like with sam and dean??

you know how in season 12 dean is talking on the phone to cas and he’s like “please help me i literally don’t know how to act around my own mother”? probably like that, except in mary’s case there was no old habit to fall back on, and in john’s case they do still have their old dynamic of drill sergeant/soldiers 

(it’s also important to remember i think that john is only Nice John WHEN HE HAS MARY. if uh for any reason mary takes some issue with his parenting choices and decides she needs a break, i think it’s very likely john would immediately seek out dean to be his mary-replacement again, and lean too hard on him just like he did for all those years she was gone)

but even though john’s MEANNESS is reduced to almost nothing (comparatively lol) when mary is around, i don’t think his levels of ENTITLEMENT would change. that’s a hard 22-year habit to break. like he’ll come back and boo-hoo about how sorry he is about sam and dean ending up where they are (again, this is self-flagellation/deflection) but he’d also feel he had every right to know all about their lives now, what they did when he was gone, a right to tell them what to do now - less in an “ordering” sense and more in a “i know best” sense, but the result is the same. bc of course he would also still think he absolutely knows better than they do even though at this point they’d be practically the same age. 

and like: obviously sam would push against that assumption bc he always has, but i think dean would struggle a lot bc he’s grown up and grown out of his dad’s shadow, and he has people in his life besides john and sam now so he doesn’t have to white-knuckle them so tightly, but he also doesn’t know any...other way to be. like when mary comes back. wtf do we do now, you know??

and speaking of sam: i definitely don’t think dean’s going to be the mediator between sam and john anymore. firstly because sam is old enough now and has had enough distance to understand how that all screwed dean up and is not the sort of person who would want to add to his brother’s pain, but ALSO because i think grownup sam would see letting john piss him off as letting john “win.” post 5.22 sam has sort of mastered his anger issues, and he values self-control so highly as a way to cope with his trauma that letting john provoke him into losing that control would upset him and he’d do everything in his power to avoid it. so no more fighting for them, and no more mediating for dean.

so like, to answer your question finally, i think it would probably be like the old dynamic, but less earnestly. it’s something that’s a fallback, not something that comes so naturally anymore. so it’s the same except there’s all these stops and starts and moments where it chafes. and instead of dean stepping in between john and sam it’s sam (and possibly mary) stepping in between john and dean - not because they’re fighting, but because john is always going to be overbearing simply by virtue of their loaded history, and dean’s family would want to protect him from that (i really dug the way they triangulated around him when he was having a crisis in 14.12, so that’s the vibe i’m aiming for in my fic anyway)

[spn masterpost]

#liz answers asks #anonymous #liz watches spn #liz's spn stuff #liz's meta #broken road #i guess #long post #sorry i answered this in the MIDDLE of the night so i'm scheduling it to go up when you're awake and will hopefully see it #br meta

[jamiedc-they-them]

Reckless Pride (Platonic)

hey can i request a dany x sibling!reader where r tells dany how coming to westeros was a bad idea, and that they'll follow her no matter what and then they're on raeghal when hes shot down and then idk angsty... B

Being twins was a thing that sometimes happened. It just was. Granted, with your family history, didn’t have the best expectations. But you and your twin sister broke them. Instead of fucking, you didn’t. Good job you.

You and Danny acted like actual siblings; none of those longing stares of that type of love. No, just sibling love between you both. You were both best friends rather than fuck buddies.

Still, your brother wasn’t the biggest fan of that. He hated that you both didn’t give him what he wanted. He wanted heirs with his blood. He wanted a throne for himself. That selfishness drove him. It drove him to lash out at you both and hate you both with a fiery (pun intended) fashion.

That was what led (other than just being twins) to you both being protective of the other. Danny more so as you held the more masculine tropes; anger, hate, vengeance, little emotional expression. Obviously, Danny was the other side of that coin.

So, when the chance came for your brother to get what he wanted; he took it instantly. He didn’t care that it meant selling your sister and being with those he deemed savages. Granted, their methods were wild and what not. But, to him, they were nothing more than pawns.

Danny and you saw some sort of humanity to them. Even if not much; you saw how much genuine care Drogo showed your sister. Even how seemed to keep on eye on you too (be that either by Danny’s request or otherwise). That definitely pissed your brother off.

“So, I see the little whore has got you under the Khal’s protection?” Your brother sneered as he entered your tent. While you had both once feared him (Danny still did) you had learnt how to piss him off and how to use it against him.

“Careful, brother. Reckless ambition normally ends in consequences they didn’t see coming.” You warned your brother. Danny entered the tent, so she heard your warning that was meant for your brother.

“Y/N!” She yelled out in concern as she ran to your side after your brother punched you. You had to admit, he did have a good punching arm on him.

She grabbed you as you tried to get back at him, barely holding you back. She kept a hand to your chest to keep you from creating more conflict and escalate things further than they already had been.

“Y/N calm down…calm down.” She whispered to you softly, but she was scared. She was scared for the both of you. As much as she didn’t care for her other brother. You were her best friend, her twin. You were someone who would her back and she would always have theirs.

No matter what.

 Your brother was a bother, a massive pain in the ass. And other words. Either way, when he came stumbling into the tent where a party was being held, you watched with calculating eyes. You watched as he went towards Danny (after finding her, of course) with a drunken stagger. Even then, you could tell that he was not in the best of mindsets (even at the best of times when it came to you both).

As soon as the sword was drawn, you started to walk over to help Danny out; however, Jorah stopped you and gave you a look that told you to calm down. Danny moved her eyes to you and slightly shook her head.

Her eyes gave you a simple message, “I’ve got this”

So, you watched as she stood up to face him with an apathetic look. She’d already eaten a heart and found a genuine connection with the Khal. Still, as a worried brother you watched your twin. You knew you both always felt fear for the other that one day you would lose them.

Still, you watched as your brother was brought to his knees and the Khal threw gold into the pot that was bubbling away happily. Danny held out her hand for you; you took it and stood next to her. For once, the roles were flipped. You were the emotional one whereas Danny kept her’s in check.

“He won’t hurt us anymore.” She promised you and gave your hand a squeeze as said person’s screams echoed for a moment before gong still. A BANG! Made you look and see the melted gold on his head.

 You were in your own tent. For once in what had been a long time, you were speechless and slightly scared. Don’t get it wrong, your brother deserved what had happened to him. It was just…the look on her face. Something had been opened; a door you were sure she was going to walk through herself. A door to a dark place. A place where anything would be done to get what she wanted.

You closed your eyes, hating yourself for thinking that about your sister that had been nothing but kind to you since birth. Then again, everyone had a darkness inside of them. Everything was capable of dropping the deep end and never coming back from it.

Although you hated it, you knew your mind had a point. You knew that something had snapped inside Danny. It was a subtle shift.

You closed your eyes and let out a breath. If you were going to help her not fall down the path that your brother fell down; you were going to have to act now rather then later.

So, you left to find your sister to do the first step in a plan you were making up the whole time.

Step 1: Fight for her in her army while also being a trusted advisor to her. That way you could keep an eye on the two fronts.

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

You were 8 when your brother first hit you. It was out of defiance of something about your sister (your brain made you forget what the topic was) and the next moment, a hand struck your face and you fell to the ground.

“Y/N!” A same aged Daenerys ran over to you as she yelled your name in pure concern.

“Step away from him, whore!” He yelled; that boiled rage in you. You swung at him and caught him off guard. As soon as you did, you grabbed Danny’s hand and ran with her.

You entered his room and hid under his bed. You knew he’d check your rooms first and never suspect his own to be the chosen hiding place.

“Why did you do that?” She asked you with an unsteady pace. Her breathing was picking up, she was panicking.

“I had to protect you and defend you –”

“But, look at has happened to you in the process –” She lightly pressed a hand to your bruised cheek. You grabbed the hand and lowered it slowly.

“I’m fine.”

“Just…don’t be so reckless like that, again.” She warned you.

Funny that she was the one who gave you that warning back then.

 Danny held some resistance, but she let you fight. She seemed to see that you were better suited out there anyway than cooped up inside.

So, with Jorah as a mentor, you learnt how to properly fight. Even the Khal gave you private ones. So, you could fight on two fronts: honourable and not honourable. To you, it didn’t matter if it was honourable or not, it just mattered you won, and the opponent didn’t. You weren’t much of a believer in a life after this one; so, killing someone with non-honourable way wouldn’t exactly matter if you made it through and not them.

So, you learnt what you could form the two whiles being at Danny’s side when she needed you. Being an ear to guide her and a brother to her when she needed that support. One of those times was when the Khal had sadly passed.

You had started a genuine friendship with him. He called you brother on a few occasions and fought with you when you needed backup. He loved you like his own. Obviously, getting along with him made Danny happy. She wanted her twin to be involved with her goal as much as possible. As of now, you were the only human of her family that was still around. So, she wanted you in her life, even if she worried about you going out on these missions

Now he was gone, and there was nothing either of you could do about it.

 “Danny –” You said softly as you entered her tent.

“Not now, Y/N.” She said, stopping you before you said anything.

“Danny –” You tried again, knowing that she shouldn’t have to go through this alone.

“I said not now!” She yelled at you in raw, unfiltered grief.

You didn’t say her name again, you only took her in your arms and held on tight as she tried to fight back. In the end, however, she sunk into them and cried. Just let it all out, all the grief and pain. She cried, sobbing into you.

You didn’t say anything, you just let her cry. You knew words wouldn’t help her through this moment. She had lost a child and lover near enough in the same moment. You knew this would only drag her further through that open door. But you knew that bringing it up now would not be a good idea. You knew that it was better to leave it for now.

For both of your sakes.

 “Sorry.” Danny said softly as you flinched away from the sting that trying to clean your cut had caused. Neither of you wanted the other in pain. Yet, here you were, yet again after getting your ass kicked by your brother for something or other. It wasn’t like he needed a reason to hate you both anymore.

It just seemed like merely existing and being a threat to what he wanted was enough justification for him to hit you and do whatever monstrous acts he did to Danny. You didn’t want to even think about that.

“It’s ok. Just stung is all.” You told her. She, in a gentler way, dabbed the cloth on your face.

“It’s not ok. One of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed because of this.” Thinking about it now, you would’ve laughed.

“You know we can just put a heated blade to it, right?” You said to her, moving on from the confrontational words.

“What?” She asked, in a moment of shock and concern. However, after a beat, she understood what you meant and went to fetch one. You grabbed her hand and showed her one you always seemed to keep in case of emergency.

She didn’t confront you on that, only left to heat it to use. She could only theorize that you would use it on your brother when you had the chance. Although, the chances of that getting you killed shot right up.

If she was scared for you before, after that day she was terrified.

 Meereen was another piece to her puzzle to gain control. She already had a footing; she’d burned slavers and freed slaves. But you were worried, very worried. But, right now, a rider from the city was coming out to face you all.

Daenerys turned to you all, the three of you (a new friend being the third) all putting yourself up as bait to go after him.

“I’ll go.” You said, and Danny couldn’t hold her worry as she instantly answered you. She was calm with the other two. Then it came to you.

“No.” You, her best friend since birth, her twin. She needed you with her. She wanted you to be there at the end.

“Danny, I can beat him.” You assured your sister.

“I said no.” She said, more firmly. For a moment, the two saw a more vulnerable side to her. A side she tried to hide. With them, she was calmer. But, with you, it was raw, sisterly, instinct driving her here.

“Let him.” She looked to Jorah with shock. Even if she just called him one of her closest friends. IN this moment, she couldn’t look angrier and more disappointed in him.

She looked at you, seeing the confidence in your eyes. She knew, in that moment, that you weren’t the children either of you were now. You were a fighter. You always had been.

 You let him come to you, something your new friend had taught you. Instead of going on the attack, you’d play defence and then go on the attack.

You let him rid, let him get his hopes up that he would win. He got closer, and closer, and closer, and closer. He rods more and more, eager to reach you and then to kill you. To prove himself to his city.

The next moment, his horse fell to the ground. He tumbled to it, rolling in his armour.

You approached him, blank face as you did so. Danny watched you with an impressed look. As you got to him, you only stabbed him and ended his life.

Was it fair? No. But, you were alive, and you weren’t.

Danny had sent broken cuffs to the walls of the city before the fight. You saw it in her eyes. The truth she carried, that she had freed them.

But you also saw the lie as well, that it meant all her actions were in the right.

 “You bitch!” Your brother yelled as he went to strike Danny. You ran up to him, pushing him away. He turned his gaze onto you.

“No, Y/N stop! Stop! Leave him, Y/N. Leave him. It’s ok –”

“It’s not ok!” You yelled; your brother only watched you with fiery eyes.

“I know. But you must leave it. Please –”

“You don’t deserve this.” You said, keeping your gaze on your brother.

“Maybe. But, leave it.” You looked at her, “Leave it. I’ll see you after.” You were speechless. Your sister, as much as she hated it, was allowing it.

But what had hurt you was that it came out as an order; no longer a plead.

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

You had the city, and she was loved. That was the issue, she was loved. No one was challenging her. It was just what she said goes. Granted, she was the queen and all that. But any argument that didn’t go her way, she walked away or merely didn’t change her view until someone else did.

If no one else was going to do it, you were.  

“No.” Now you were firm.

“Y/N –” Danny tried to say, but you continued.

“Your going to marry one of the bastards?!” You were loud; the other ones in the room only watched you both.

“I need to keep control –”

“Through marriage?! To him of all people!” She had seen you angry before; but it had never been directed at herself. She started to see her older brother in this moment, not her twin brother.

“I’m losing control. It’s either slavers rioting or the slaves themselves. Some want chains, others don’t. What would you have me do?!”

“Listen to us! Ask us for fucking advice! And actually listen! Instead of dismissing or argue. For –” You stopped yourself before you would cross some kind of line, “Just, why have us if all you want from us is for us to saw you’re right and move on.”

Your words got to her; they struck a chord with her. If more than anything, they hurt her. But, to you, this is what you needed. It was what she needed. She needed someone to calm her down. She was starting to lose control and was willing to do anything to hold onto it.

Yes, your brother was a monster, no question. Now, however, she was the one who was going to a dark place to keep some kind of peace and control.

Yes, this place was vital in some way as a home and place to stay for now. But her end goal was to go across the sea and take over the seven kingdoms. It wasn’t to stay here, so why did it matter if you did or not have this place.

“They want chains. Let them –” She looked at you in shock.

“Y/N…” She drifted off, looking at you in disappointment. She was about to go into queen mode again when you spoke up before she could.

“What would Viserys do in this situation? If he was still here? If he was still in control?” You asked. Now, you had crossed that line.

“Get out.” She had never used him against you. Now you were doing that to her. She wouldn’t let it slide.

You went to talk, probably to try and take it back. But she had heard enough already, “I said. Get. Out.” She was definitely in queen mode now. Now, you were merely a soldier. You weren’t an advisor. You were a soldier in her command.

 “Are you ok?” You asked your sister as she walked into the room; she didn’t answer, only placing herself at the balcony.

“Come on Danny, talk to me.” You begged her, standing next to her.

She only looked out at the view. Yes, what he did was horrible. But –

“You can’t keep doing that.” She said, softer than she had before.

“I can’t just let him hurt you.”

“You can help me after, just like I do you.”

“Did he tell you to –”

“No! I hate him just as much as you do,” She turned to you, “But, angering him more does not do anything but make it worse. I need you to stop doing that.” Now she was the one who was reckless.

She saw the conflict on your face. She saw the dialogue you were having with yourself internally. Like most twins, you could read each other easily.

“I don’t like it either,” She told you, softening her voice more, “But…. just do this. For me, please?” She asked, taking your hand in her own.

 “We have a mission from our Queen. One she wants just for yourself.” Grey Worm said as he approached you. He had respected you. Only now, he looked at you as another of his men. He cared for them, and you. But you were ultimately at the beck and call of your leader.

“Why just me?” You asked as you stood up.

“She ordered it. We don’t question her.” God, it sounded like a cult. Yes, you knew the importance of armies and having a good amount of control; and you knew that they were in debt for her for being saved by her.

However, you knew that she had fully gone through that door. Now she had a place to live. She was close to being able to go over to the other side of this world to go after an Iron chair. You were sure she was starting to become disillusioned with her family name. A lifetime of abuse and powerlessness mixed with loneliness was driving her now.

It seemed she was even willing to lose you both in death in bond wise. Seemed she was risking anything and everything to get to this throne now.

You were sure that if you said no, you’d either be arrested or killed. So, with no other choice, you took the job.

 You could see why she gave it to you. It was a hit job; something that been attempted on her a few times. Even yourself. Now, she was using those tactics on her enemies. And sending in a person she used to see as a brother rather than another name of a list of people to send out to die.

So, you went. It was a slaver, a bad person, you wouldn’t debate that at all. He was a man who owned people and hurt them if they disobeyed. Now, you were continuing that reckless cycle of death and punishment. Only now you were a free person doing the killing.

The man tried to fight back; tried being the key word. You merely slashed him in the belly and then snapped his neck. It was quick, simple even.

 The next time you helped her heal the physical wounds, she was crying too much to talk. You weren’t going to hold it against her, though. You knew it was bad what he did. Now, however, you just had to help her heal physically. You knew mentally would be another ball game entirely.

“Tha—Thank you.” Daenerys said to you with a stutter.

“Of course, we need to watch out for each other, right?”

She nodded, “Right.”

 “Is it done?” Your queen asked you as you walked back into the main room. For once, you were at the entrance and being the one who was scrutinised by her rather than you are being by her side and trying to find the truth yourself.

“Yes, my Queen.” You answered, making sure to hold the last word to make your feelings on this known.

She looked you up and down, “Very well.” She said, dismissing you.

 A few months of fight after fight, you had gone across the sea. But, at this point, your dynamic was almost completely void. You had barely spoken, neither of you trying to patch things up where you left off.

During your visit, you were called, “My lord” even if you weren’t looking like one in any way, shape or form.

Hell, even the way you held yourself argued otherwise. You only spoke when spoken to and not at any other point.

You looked and acted hollowed.

It had gained the attention of Jon Snow. Who, while he had begun some sort of dynamic with Daenerys; with you he had become a friend to you? He had taken the time of day to speak to you and bond with you. Plus, a trip beyond the wall helped you get closer as well. If it wasn’t for him, you’d have been dead a few times.

 When you got to Winterfell, it led to Arya Stark finding you an intriguing person. Someone called a lord but held themselves as anything but.

“Place at the table free?” She asked as she had approached you silently.  You had been sat at a table with others, but you were one your own for the most part.

“Course, my lady.”  You answered as if an autopilot.

She sat, liking the silence for a moment. She hated small talk as of late. Seemed you did too, that just made her more interested in talking to you.

“Why aren’t you up with your sister?” She asked you, gesturing her head towards the woman in white.

“Not really much of a sister now.” She looked at you with a confused look.

“Then what is she?”

“A queen to anyone else who’d asks it.” She nodded but continued her question.

“And to you?”

“Just like the rest of them. Someone willing to risk it all for something so tame.” You were honest, it had been the first time you’d told anyone out loud.

“She seems lonely.” She commented.

“Yeah, well. Accidentally push some people away in an attempt to focus on what you want, that’s what you get.” Arya was more intrigued now. You were honest and not a bullshitter. You had survived the game so far, so you had to be doing something right.

She decided she liked you and sat with you on the table.

 Daenerys had spotted you talking to the young Stark. She watched you as you smiled and spoke. She missed you, she did. She missed having you by her side to support her as an advisor/soldier/brother. Now it was just the middle option.

She wanted to apologise, she wanted to get things back on track. But she wouldn’t show weakness here. Not in front of these people who would soon be under her rule.

 The battle against the dead had come and gone. A night that had taken a lot of lives, almost yours in certain situations. Arya and you had stuck together during it apart from the end.

It had, however, taken a close friend of yours, Jorah.

At the funeral, Arya stood with you as you watched your friend be burned and put to whatever came next.

 As you walked off, you felt a hand grab your arm. You turned, seeing your sister look at you as something other than a soldier for once. You caught Arya’s eye, and nodded for her to continue. She did as ask.

“What, my queen?” She hated the way you threw the name back at her. She was hurting, as were you. But, right now, she wanted; no, she needed support.

“When we go to Kings Landing, I want you to ride Raeghal.” You watched her with mistrust, as if she could be lying to you. She hated it, “I need us to be ok.” She said, maybe it was the grief, the hurt of losing a close friend that made her not look at you as a soldier anymore.

Despite the anger you carried, you nodded. It was something. Something was better than nothing.

 So, you rode. Well, you flew, but still. You flew for what you were sure was your first time. But you seemed to be quite adept at it, despite this fact. As you did, Danny watched with a happy smile. Despite the pain of losing Jorah, having you be happy for once was enough to help for a little.

That was until the spike went through Raeghal. She could only watch as you fell on top of the dragon.

“NO!” She cried out as she watched you hit the waves below. She rose up to the clouds, then went straight down.

She was gong to make them pay.

 She had lost her best friend next. The losses were piling up, she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t lose anyone else. Well, that was mainly because there was no one else. There was no one else left to lose really.

Then her heart hurt more at the last memory of you being you falling towards the ocean.

So, as Jon approached to try and get her to spare the people of Kings Landing. She only had one thing to say.

“Would they have shown Y/N the same mercy if they had him at their mercy?” Jon knew the answer just as well as she did.

No; no, they wouldn’t. So, why should she?

 You washed up on shore. How? You had no idea; mainly just pure dumb luck had brought you there. You were alive though, that was what had mattered.

You closed your eyes a moment. You could just stop here; you could just stop and give up and let yourself die. You could just let your sister have her way in the dark door that she was shutting behind her now.

 “Danny.” You said as you got ready to leave with the Dothraki. She was terrified, something you understood. You felt your own fear for her. But it was just another dumb and reckless move your brother was making in a mere hope that he could reach his end point.

“Yes, Y/N?” She asked you in a soft, almost childlike voice.

“Look at me,” She did so,” Look, whatever happens. I’ll be there, ok? I’ll be there until the end.” You promised her.

 No, you couldn’t stop. Especially not when you heard screams in the distance.

You stood to your feet, saying, “fuck the armour” and ditching it. It was ruined anyway and would only run you down.

If there was one thing those that taught you to fight had done, it was show you how to conserve energy the best way possible.

So, you ran, you ran as fast as you could towards the screams.

The screams that you knew had been caused by your sister.

 You saw the burning gate of Kings Landing as your own lungs burned. How you made it? You didn’t know, you were just glad you did.

It was then you saw a horse coming out of the gate, a white one. It was one that belonged to Arya Stark. You continued onward to try and catch up with your friend.

“ARYA!” You yelled to her. Somehow, your voice reached her, and she stopped, before meeting your gaze. She dropped from her horse and ran to you, you both embraced each other.

“I thought we lost you.” She said, in a voice that was different to what you were used to. It was scared, an almost childlike one. It reminded you of your sister. The one who had the firepower to burn the city and do the damage that had been caused.

“Are you alright?” You asked her as you gave her a once over. She did the same to you.

“Are you?” She asked, concern dripping from her words.

“I’ll live,” Your words gave her some ease, “Now, where’s my sister?”

 She was giving a speech, your apparent death apparently meaning nothing at this point. She stood, talking about all the chaos as if it was the plan all along, as if it was a victory rather than what it actually was.

A defeat. A massacre.

You moved forward, only for your friend to grab your arm. You looked to her and she shook her head.

“You can’t go out there, you’ll be killed.” She warned you.

“I have to stop her.” You vowed. She nodded, agreeing with you; but she then nodded her head behind you. Turning, you saw Jon walking up to her.

“Come on, we’ll go around. I used to run around this area when I visited. We can take a shortcut to get up there without getting caught.” You nodded, following your friend as she did so.

 “I have to get in there.” You said as you walked between the two siblings. Jon looked at you with shock, but it died when he looked at Danny once again. The woman he loved and his aunt. It was complicated. So, maybe the cycle wasn’t completely broken.

“I don’t know how to do it…” He drifted off. You saw his conflict first-hand; you looked at Arya. She seemed to be more guarded in his moment, but she softened as she saw your sad look and nodded. You gave your own, knowing what you had to do.

“I’ll do it.” You said, Arya gave you a blade to do it with.

You looked to Jon, giving him a pat on the arm and leaving to do what needed to be done.

 “Y/N…” You heard Danny say as you looked up to meet her gaze. Her eyes watered as she looked at you with that sisterly love that had been lost so long ago and replaced with either apathy or slight care.

“Did you even look for me?” You asked, for once not feeling selfish in your question.

“I had a war to win, Y/N. And, look, we made it. We did it. Father’s stories weren’t true…. But we won!” She was excited; you’d never seen her this excited apart from when you were both younger and heard those stories.

Now, this seemed to be the end of that story.

“One last hug before you take the seat?” You asked, trying to keep your voice from cracking. She obliged your request, running over and hugging you tightly. It had been the first hug you’d have in so long.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry I did that to you. You’re my brother. The good one. I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that.” She went to say more, but a knife was plunged into her before she could do so.

She gasped, eyes wide staring back at you as she looked at the blade in her stomach. You held her shoulder’s as you laid her down on the ground. She looked at you with that childlike innocence for a moment longer.

“I’m sorry.” Was your last exchange before her breathing stopped and her eyes glazed over?

You let out a sob as you fell back. You had done what had been needed; you stopped the cycle of death and destruction. You had stopped her reckless moves, only if a little too late.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, you saw Jon above you. He held out an arm for you. You took it and was hauled to your feet.

“Give me the knife,” You looked at him with confusion, “I’ll take the fall,” You went to answer back; to argue your case when he continued, “You’ve done so much for family in a short space of time. You brought Arya back to her humanity. And you helped us when needed. Just…let me help you this time.” So, you handed him the blade, uttering only two words.

“Thank you.”

 You stayed out of the politics, but Jon was being banished beyond the wall. However, it was a fit thing for the man, he was always better there anyway.

Oddly, you were invited by the Stark’s to see them off. Seems Jon’s words were right.

So, you stood to the side as you watched the siblings see each other off. Even if seeing it hurt you a little. Once they had all said their own goodbyes, they looked to you and silently told you to approach.

“I almost lost myself,” Arya admitted, “But, meeting you helped show me the path I was on and what it could lead to. Thank you for that, Y/N.” She said as she hugged your firmly. She seemed to sense your grief as well, as she tightened it a little more at your tense reaction.

“I’ll be sure to write to you and let you know what I found.” She told you as she pulled away.

Sansa gave you a smile, “Winterfell is always going to be open to you, my lord. You’re welcome any time you’d want to visit. We’re in a great debt to you.” She said, you smiled gratefully at the offer; you bowed to her to show your gratitude.

Bran just watched; you didn’t really have much to say to the new king. Besides, he probably saw it coming anyway.

Jon looked at you with mixed emotions; not at yourself, of course; but at your actions, “You can still come, if you want.” He offered you, sweetly.

“I can’t,” You declined, “I need to fix this. I couldn’t stop her quick enough. So, I have to try and help rebuild what she broke.” Jon nodded, respecting your answer and reasoning.

“I wish you well, lord Y/N.” You placed your arm on his.

“I wish you a safe journey, Jon Snow.”

 You were the last Targaryen now. That was once told to be a dangerous thing. But, in your eyes, it was going to be peaceful. Yes, you’d morn your sister for years to come. But you had a calmer spirit now. The reckless streak in you had been buried years ago. But now it was gone for good.

 Now you could focus on the future. Now you could slowly rebuild. After all, you’d seen what happens when you rush it and give into power.

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen imagine #game of thrones x reader #daenerys targeryan x reader

[seyaryminamoto]

Masterpost: answering a single anon in a single post

So. I wasn’t going to answer asks today but frankly, considering what I should be writing I’d rather answer asks, might actually get a laugh out of it. Most of all, because of what I intend to answer here.

To spare y’all from the pain and annoyance of having to read through any of my answers to we-know-who, I’m going to do it differently this time. All in one post. Because frankly, filling my blog with their TWENTY asks, no less (and it’s official this time, used to be sixteen but then I reblogged that post about conflict in stories and they went wild, as usual) isn’t worth anyone’s time. Hell, it’s not even worth mine, but procrastination is overpowering.

Here we go. If you’re not the anon in question and still want to read this, I hope you have fun.

This is a free world. That means multiple things some people can’t seem to accept. One such thing is that people have no obligation to even interact with each other, let alone to do what others demand of them, especially when they don’t want to. The fact is, being harassed (because, yes, there’s no other word for it) by someone has been a pretty irritating and stressful thing for me, to the point where it has impacted my ability to write...

And the harasser doesn’t give a single fuck about it and just keeps going :’)

With such introduction, I decide to engage my least favorite person in this site once again because clearly, ignoring them, blocking them, closing asks, deleting and rewriting reviews, is still not enough to get across the message that reiterating an opinion a million times doesn’t automatically make it more valid. So let’s see just what’s going on with this very much desperate person who apparently can’t stop seeking my attention:

First of all, I asked this person, point-blank, to address their asks, if they would continue sending them, to my main blog. Let’s see how that request turned out:

Oh my, astonishing! They sent it to Gladiator’s blog instead! And what a bigger shock: they’re, as usual, trying to control and direct what I write and how I write it. While sprinkling empty compliments that don’t mean a thing, such as claiming RESPECT for me and my work when every single ask they’ve sent is an outright disrespectful act against me, considering how many times I’ve requested, directly, that they stop this, and how many times they’ve ignored me. It even is extra poignant considering my request for them to send asks to my main blog instead, and yet they deliberately sent it to Gladiator’s blog. This is what RESPECT looks like, in this anon’s head. Fascinating stuff, isn’t it?

And then comes the mad onslaught that left me facedesking for days:

... I mean. Can someone please read this and tell me the person on the other side, with their vague condition, whatever it may be, has any idea what an apology even MEANS? 

For someone who’s so obsessed with alleged consistency, you’re damn bad at it yourself, Anon. You can’t send four asks in a row, to the WRONG BLOG, demanding for explanations you don’t even care to read, because every single time I’ve taken your whining seriously you’ve disregarded all my responses and gone right back to the same BS as before, and THEN pretend you’re here TO APOLOGIZE.

You don’t feel any remorse. To this day, you don’t even KNOW what you did wrong. This is NOT expressing yourself: THIS IS HARASSMENT. Need me to define the word for you to understand what it means, seeing as it’s becoming abundantly clear your reading and interpretation skills are not the greatest?

Definitions of harassment:

1. (n) the act of tormenting by continued persistent attacks and criticism 2. (n)  a feeling of intense annoyance caused by being tormented

I’ve said it before: PEOPLE HAVE HAD COMPLAINTS ABOUT THIS STORY, FAR MORE VALID THAN YOURS, AND I’VE NEVER REACTED THIS WAY. Care to guess why?

Because you NEVER stop. Because you keep going, constantly, never slowing down to think YOUR behavior is affecting a REAL LIFE HUMAN BEING. You’re obsessing over what happens in a fictional story that, by the way, is a fanfic, ergo, it obeys certain rules that general fiction does not. Among such rules is abiding by ORIGINAL characterization to a certain extent, and that means, hahaha, that Azula ISN’T an experienced character in any social or romantic situations because she ISN’T in canon, and there was no reason to change that, especially considering the worldbuilding I crafted, which makes it CRUCIAL for Azula to be careful with her virtue, despite she doesn’t want to be and realizes the whole notion of female virginal purity is absolute BULLSHIT.

But why am I explaining anything anyway? You won’t understand it, because you don’t want to. You claim, constantly, that you’re asking things OUT OF CURIOSITY, as if that makes ANYTHING better, when the truth is you’re just here to impose your cursed opinions on everyone else, especially me, and pretend you somehow own this fic and ship and your demands mean more than anyone else’s. Meanwhile, oh, I understand you PERFECTLY: you don’t want Sokka to ever have any experiences with any other women because you only believe in pure, untainted love of virgins who wait for each other and don’t ever make mistakes or are forced into unwanted situations. Because, again, you can’t understand that those sorts of things CAN happen. Because you don’t see there’s nuance to human beings, nuance I attempt to capture through my characters too.

I said it semi-jokingly, back in my past answers, now I say it directly: IF YOU CAN’T STOMACH THESE SITUATIONS AND CAN’T ACCEPT THEM, THIS STORY IS NOT FOR YOU.

An M-rated story doesn’t owe you any apologies for being what it is. An M-rated story, at the end of the day, is a STORY. You are a human being who should be capable of controlling not only your impulses but your reactions to things, at least to some degree, and yet you refuse to. You, in fact, continue to prove you CAN’T control yourself in the least because hey, just now, halfway through writing this post? I got THREE MORE ASKS by you. No less than three. And you finished them off, again, with a pretense that you’re going to stop pestering me...

... But hey. You said that at the end of the last ask I pasted up there. Hmm. And yet...

You came back, over and over and over again? :’)

RIGHT ON ALL ACCOUNTS! So... how do TWENTY ASKS, after claims that you’d finally stop, count as “regret”? You’re not changing at all, anon, because YOU DON’T WANT TO. You don’t, to this day, see what you did wrong. You don’t get it. And you won’t get it. So how about we just keep going with the next four?

Oh! But hey, you actually switched blogs this time. Super sweet of you to finally listen to ONE thing I said. Very nice.

I’ll just point out: I received the last NINE asks I’ve pasted here in a SINGLE DAY.

Nine. In one day.

I only ever got that many asks in a single go during review parties (admittedly, there were more than that, but still). The fact that you felt the need to send me NINE ASKS, to beg for forgiveness with a completely dishonest apology, is all the proof of harassment anyone could possibly ask for, right? If you weren’t an anon and at least had the GUTS to own up to your opinions, which you seem to consider absolutely sacred and completely correct, you’d have never gotten away with this. Ergo why you don’t have those guts, and why you keep sending anon reviews and asks too.

The fact that you’re so obsessed with this problem, to the point of believing Sokka’s best sex was with JUNE? We’ve literally finished an entire arc of Sokka and Azula banging across the Fire Nation with no restraint, with the two of them repeatedly remarking this is the best time they’ve ever had, and you’re so completely obsessed with this problem that you apparently think Sokka angrily fucking someone WHILE DECEIVING HIMSELF INTO THINKING IT WAS SOMEONE ELSE is... better? Are you FOR REAL? Are you seriously THAT BAD at reading?

Please, click here. I can’t even stand it anymore. It’s not even for my own sake but yours. You need it.

Also... you’re projecting so bad. Like, so bad. June’s teasing in that chapter is 100% intended to piss them off. The fact that she starts asking for Azula to lend her her “second boyfriend”, AKA Rui Shi, should tell you just how much stock June puts in what happened between her and Sokka: SHE DOESN’T GIVE A DAMN. She’s honestly more entertained by pissing off Azula as a consequence of it than over the sex she had with Sokka, especially considering she even lost her temper with him after he started apologizing in 28. You’re so completely beside yourself you can’t see ANYTHING clearly?

If you REALLY need it spelled out, no, Sokka wasn’t June’s best sex. June has probably done anyone and everyone she ever wanted to, and chances are she absolutely found someone, or several someones, who actually wanted HER, for HER, just as much as she may have wanted them. And that, you insecure mess of a human being, would absolutely make for a much better lay than what she got with Sokka. Why don’t I outright state this in the story, you’ll ask? Because despite what you may believe, this story ISN’T a love triangle between Azula, Sokka and June! Oh my, the horror! We’ve literally spent 198 chapters building up the story and developing Azula and Sokka’s relationship but the ONE TIME encounter with June apparently makes her that pivotal for your whole existence?

Dude, I literally don’t look at 28 AT ALL these days, because I don’t care to. Because even when I wrote it, it hurt me so bad having written it that I was crazy about getting to everything else so I could put it behind me. Whenever I reference it, I do the same way I reference ANYTHING ELSE. The only person who seems to think I’m doing it to further torture anyone IS YOU. 

And yes, did I just say it hurt me too? Oh, my, what a SHOCKER! The fact is, that scene is only as intense as it is because I literally couldn’t bring myself to write it. It wasn’t until it came to mind that Sokka COULD imagine Azula in June’s place that I finally found the way to do it: it wasn’t just Sokka imagining Azula instead, it was ME. Because if it had been anything else? I wouldn’t have been able to write it at all. I basically wrote it as hatesex Sokkla because I NEEDED to in order to write it. “THEN WHY DID YOU EVEN WRITE IT?!?!?”, you’ll scream, I’m sure: BECAUSE I TREAT MY CHARACTERS AS HUMAN BEINGS WHO MAKE MISTAKES AND DO THINGS THEY SHOULDN’T HAVE. BECAUSE SOKKA WAS IN A DARK PLACE AND DIDN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT AZULA WAS FEELING OR THINKING. BECAUSE AZULA WAS IMPULSIVE AND CONTROLLING AND COULDN’T REALIZE THAT THE MORE SHE TRIED TO FORCE SOKKA TO BEND TO HER WILL, THE MORE HE WOULD TRY TO BREAK FREE.

But all this is clearly too complex for you. Can’t even fathom understanding anything remotely close to characterization and conflict within relationships, no. You’re something else entirely.

And so, we move on to the post-apology Anon: you DO realize that forgiveness is something earned? I mean, it’s kinda funny because Sokka actually earned his own. He spent ages working for it, and even AFTER Azula told him he was forgiven, he still feels so bad about having hurt her that, to this day, he regrets it. Being FORGIVEN was not a condition for him to feel remorse. He regretted his actions because HE KNEW THEY WERE WRONG. Because he’s an actual, decent human being who, when faced with a catastrophic mistake, actually wants to amend it and wishes he had acted differently despite he can’t take anything back anymore.

But you? You can’t even begin to understand what regret means. I guess another dictionary definition would help?

Definitions of regret

1. (v) feel remorse for; feel sorry for; be contrite about

2. (v)  feel sad about the loss or absence of

3. (v)  express with regret

4. (v)  decline formally or politely

5. (n)  sadness associated with some wrong done or some disappointment

So, your attempts to beg for forgiveness fall completely flat. And I say it in plural, ATTEMPTS, because in case you think I’m daft and forgot your old reviews and asks, I didn’t: THIS ISN’T YOUR FIRST ATTEMPT TO APOLOGIZE FOR THIS BULLSHIT. I thought I should clarify that, because heh, you have claimed you won’t come back, you have claimed you’re sorry, you have said many platitudes in the past that actually had no meaning... and I could tell they didn’t, which is why I never answered them. Because there was no way someone who had exhibited such obsessive behavior would actually control themselves and get over their issues after MONTHS of persistent harassment.

And so, you didn’t disappoint, because I had zero expectations that you’d actually abide by your apologies. Empty apologies, again, because to this moment you don’t even know what you did wrong. You don’t get it. To put it in the way I did for someone else who talked to me about this mess:

You could be complaining to me about something else entirely. You could be here, demanding that I explain why I’ve been writing Sokka killing people, for instance. You could be disregarding all sense, reason, historical precedents and what-have-you as to why a warmongering, canonically genocidal nation like the Fire Nation would ever have a system like the Gladiator League and enslave other cultures to do their bidding. 

And if you came back with those complaints PERSISTENTLY, FOR A YEAR, I’D BE JUST AS ANGRY AS I AM NOW.

It’s NOT about the situation you’re throwing a fit over. It’s NOT about me having it out for you. It’s about YOU not knowing limits or boundaries, going as far as you constantly, consistently have, ever seeking to twist my story into whatever warped, fucked up perception you’ve developed over it, without ever slowing down to think that your actions and your behavior are affecting someone else. I’m not just a rambling robot who can’t seem to stop talking or writing or whatever you may think I am: I’m an actual person with a FUCKLOAD of problems, who literally just had the WORST year of her life, and you just decided to continue adding to the pile, never slowing down to consider that your feelings, and your opinions, and your pain, does NOT invalidate other people’s, let alone does it make you EXEMPT of hurting others. Which, heh, if you knew how to read, you could’ve even LEARNED this from Gladiator! :’D 

Because Azula, so hurt as she was, took to hurting Sokka too, in many, many ways. And Sokka, once he understood how wrongly he had judged Azula, simply let her hurt him because he thought he deserved everything she threw at him. Later on? Azula realizes all the pain she caused Sokka COULD have led him to choose the White Lotus over her. She’s in a life-or-death situation, unable to fight back, and the ONLY reason she doesn’t get screwed over and captured by the enemy is because Sokka decides she matters more to him than joining forces with sketchy people who are out for revenge. But what if she’d hurt him more than she had? What if she’d done WORSE than she did? Maybe he would’ve been so hurt too that, at this point, he would’ve chosen the White Lotus and not only abandoned her but handed her over to her nation’s enemies! :’) oh, the horror. Is it really that unthinkable? Why, it’s not to me. And why not? Because if Azula had been as unforgiving and unyielding as you are, if she had been so obsessive over whatever caused her pain and refused to move on... this story would SUCK. BADLY.

Makes you wonder what that says about your mentality, doesn’t it?

Alas, after all this digression as to why your behavior is absolutely appalling to me, let’s see what you did indeed, right after your absolutely shallow apology that was obviously not sincere, because you don’t regret having bothered me at all, you just regret that I won’t abide by your whining...

Is THIS what an apologetic, remorseful person looks like? Really, now? Honestly, if Sokka were half as bad as you are, he would’ve slept with half the Fire Nation by now while constantly coming back to Azula like “Oh woops did it again, sorry!”

Yes, I can honestly make the link pretty easily. Must be why you keep assuming he’ll ever be with someone else, because if you were in his place, you would do exactly that :’) beautiful how things just come full circle, isn’t it?

That ask came as a response to another, potentially ill-intended one, potentially sent by you too. An ask I answered with a whole list of unique things Sokka has done for Azula. Not only did you NOT understand the list’s purpose despite you may have even been the one to ask for it... but you took a line directly referencing OBVIOUS events like chapters 64, 69 and 93, moments in which Azula either put a stop to opportunities where she and Sokka might have ended up going too far, and he accepted it without complaint... or Sokka himself put a stop to them, KNOWING that Azula would be taking a huge risk if she gave herself to him completely as she does from 97 onwards. That you literally took something that was SO VERY OBVIOUS, and twisted it into chapter 28 again speaks LENGTHS of how absolutely messed up your perception and interpretation of this whole story is. You have issues. Serious issues. And I’m not saying this just to be an ass, I’m saying it because it’s clear as day that if you CAN’T stop linking absolutely everything I say or do to chapter 28, whether it’s being referenced or not (and in this case, it was NOT), the problem isn’t me, IT’S YOU.

And here we go again. You are actually trying to POLICE the Sokkla fandom at this point? An ANON? And hey, you returned to the Gladiator blog! Which means you were so pissed that I didn’t answer your previous asks and your phony apology because I KNEW you’d come back that even your teeny, tiny behavioral correction was pulled back because you were MAD. And you HAD TO MAKE YOUR OPINIONS KNOWN, AGAIN.

Do tell, are you the same ass who harassed a pretty new friend I’ve made in this fandom? An honestly solid writer who happens to feature Sokka having other, prior relationships to Azula because, haha, if you work with CANON settings, that’s basically guaranteed since Sokka already has canon relationships before even knowing Azula exists? And then, even if in those experiences Sokka ends up going “... I bet it’d be better with Azula”, you STILL take this as a slight and you consider it a reason to go around harassing writers and potentially even THREATENING to report their content because you’re mad that Sokka isn’t exclusively Azula’s in every single story you pick up?

The worst part is, I actually wrote at least 2 stories in my Saturdays’ oneshots where Azula and Sokka are each other’s first everything, absolutely so. And I got nothing from you for it, not even a teeny tiny “HEY THANK YOU YOU FINALLY WROTE WHAT I WANTED TO SEE!”. No, you only come out of your hole to ATTACK writers. To tell us what to do when you think we’re not doing it right. As if you had the SLIGHTEST right to tell ANYONE what to do.

I literally have been here for EIGHT YEARS. I’ve been creating content for this ship for that long, when nobody else was anymore. I won’t take credit for the ship’s rise in popularity, despite yes, it’s far from a major ship no matter how far we’ve come... but my story didn’t reach the heights it has out of sheer dumb luck. I worked my ass off with Gladiator in every way I could to make it a story of the scope and depth it deserved to be, and the fact that people who didn’t even ship Sokkla were interested in reading the story all the same has always been something I take pride on. A ton of multishippers read this story, and support Sokkla too: neither you nor ANYONE has any right to demand or claim or pretend that someone else has no right to be part of this fandom or to set guidelines as to what their content should be. There’s LITERAL stories out there of Sokka having a goddamn HAREM, just so you know, with Azula included amongst the women involved in it... and you’re here, throwing a fit over people featuring Sokka having one-time encounters and brief relationships with other girls before committing completely to Azula.

I’ve been here, working my ass off for Sokkla, not only in writing but literally developing my art skills to the best of my ability so I could ONE DAY create the visuals and images these two evoked for me... 

And yet I don’t feel I have any right to tell ANYONE how to make their content. 

If there was a set number of words in fics or artworks someone needed to make for a ship to prove themselves worthy of obtaining the skill of GATEKEEPING, I am 100% positive I have more than outdone that limit.

And yet I DON’T play gatekeeper. I NEVER have, and I NEVER will. People can create whatever they want to create, whether I enjoy it or not is up to me, and if I DON’T enjoy it, I DON’T read it. If there’s Sokkla content out there I can’t even STOMACH? I would ignore it and move on with my life. You? You make it your whole life’s crusade to attack people over anything that tickles you wrong. That’s how it works, isn’t it?

Unless you’re planning on pulling a Scooby-Doo-esque twist where you remove your mask and reveal you were a known Sokkla fan and content creator all along, which I find ABSOLUTELY unlikely, then this means you haven’t done anything, ANYTHING, for this fandom beyond sending anonymous harassment to people who are actually taking time out of their lives to create content for this ship. The main reaction I’ve seen at you from ANY of us, whether anons like yourself or actual content creators like myself, is that you have too much time on your hands and need a better hobby. And I agree, completely.

So, where people like me and my fellow Sokkla creators are actually making content that convinces people, if not to ship it, to at least CONSIDER this ship a possibility... you’re out there, in hiding, pretending you have any right to tell us what to do and going ignored on most accounts. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: if I had any respect for someone, and they either stopped responding to me or started responding by telling me to leave them alone, I’d feel like such stain of garbage I’d never even try to interact with them again. While people absolutely can be different and react differently to things... I can’t see how, exactly, you have any respect for me when knowing you’re a problem for me has never stopped you and most likely never will.

I’ll admit, this one actually made me laugh. Like... you’re seriously trying to tell me that a sex scene was way too good and that’s why I have to change it. I actually disagree on every account, because the last time I revisited 28 I thought the scene was absolutely distant from my best work? I’ve written soooo much smut recently and literally any of those scenes kicks 28 out of any “best smut” contest by MILES. But... heh. This one, apparently, was too good.

I mean... thank you? For telling me that my smut skills are apparently that great they need to be toned down? Fascinating, really.

But again, “it sadly seems to be a too late to write chapter 28″. Sadly?

SADLY?

You can stick your sadness up where the sun doesn’t shine, dude: 

SOMEONE WHO THREW SUCH A FIT OVER THEIR REVIEWS BEING REWRITTEN SHOULD

NEVER

TELL SOMEONE ELSE THAT IT’S TOO BAD THEY CAN’T REWRITE ANY OF THEIR CONTENT.

EVER

You can’t pretend, again, that you were EVER sorry for ANY of what you did... while still trying to tell someone they should rewrite their content. Honest to gods, you’re an asshole. You are. And if you think I’m one too, great, I own up to it gladly. But you’re the one willingly intoxicating their brain with my content, only to consistently go MAD over it, and then unleash this kind of illogical nonsense right back at me. I know art can generate a myriad of responses, but I am NOT responsible for your immaturity and inability to handle serious subjects and topics that SHOULD MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. If you don’t KNOW how to deal with the fact that there’s a lot of questionable, dislikeable things in this world, then my damn story is the least of your concerns because you’re well on your way to leading a VERY miserable life, Anon. Better get ready for it, will you?

And again, the Gladiator blog. Again, pretending to be well-mannered, and also, again, using the world “sadly”, same as the ask above. Like... man, what on earth is wrong with you. Are you seriously this masochistic? Do you also drink arsenic for sport? What on EARTH brings you the belief that asking how far or how much was done between Sokka and his previous one-night-stands would help you IN ANY WAY, WHATSOEVER? 

I think I’ll answer that question, for once, with actual quotes, taken right from some of your favorite chapters, no less:

"When you and Ruon Jian got married, was he…?" she asked. Mai only raised a confused eyebrow, and Azula had the distinct feeling that Mai knew what she was talking about, but would force her to blurt it out anyways. She sighed: "A virgin."

Ty Lee's hands flew to her mouth as Mai raised her eyebrows. To Azula's astonishment, she merely shrugged.

"I don't know. I never asked," she said. Azula snorted.

"Then you're smarter than me. By far," she grunted. Mai smirked.

And as things digress there into Azula explaining what happened, let’s skip that and go straight to Mai’s direct answer:

"I've never asked Ruon Jian about whether or not he had anything serious with other girls before me because I seriously don't care," said Mai. "If I knew about it, I'd probably have a bout of jealousy like yours, I suppose… but it's in his past, and he left them behind to make me his present and his future. So, whatever he might have experienced before, with however many women there were, isn't something I'm overly concerned about."

"You're awfully mature compared to me if that's the case," said Azula, slipping her fingers through her hair again. Mai smirked.

"You've been complimenting me quite a lot today, Azula, that's not like you…"

"Shut up," Azula grunted. Mai chuckled.

:’) 

This is the only answer this ask warrants. The fact that you’re so immature and so obsessed as to want to know more about what happened with something you HATE is completely cringeworthy and absurd. If you want to get angry imagining Sokka having wild sex with every woman who crosses his path, go ahead and do it, but do us both a favor and torture yourself, and yourself alone, with those thoughts rather than coming back TWENTY TIMES to my inbox looking for MORE reasons to get angry. You’re honestly unbelievable.

You know, that reading comprehension site I linked up there? Courses, 20% off! Seriously, perfect fit for you. You need it, direly.

Like... how can someone read a story built on the premise of Azula literally defeating Sokka painfully in battle to the point he’s left unable to move, taking Sokka away from home, turning him into a slave, being objectively responsible for the WORST TWO YEARS OF HIS LIFE... and then come to my inbox asking if Azula will ever hurt Sokka?

Dude, you’re off the deep end. You can’t even pretend you have a grasp on reality if you SERIOUSLY THINK Azula has NEVER hurt Sokka. Like, seriously, it feels like you’re reading this truncated version of Gladiator that’s only chapters 28, 111, 112 and perhaps 123? Is that what’s going on?

I’ve had Sokka and Azula arguing over ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING, whether for humorous or for serious purposes, since the very beginning of the story. Their first serious falling out is LITERALLY caused by the direct conflict of their worldviews clashing in chapter 12. Their second falling out was indeed caused by women: by Azula’s discovery that Sokka didn’t want to fight women, which of course, doesn’t bother you in the least because you and I both know that’s NOT what your problem was.

I could literally run through the whole story listing every single argument they’ve had, every single time they’ve hurt each other if that’s what you want: their first time? It literally comes from a very serious argument where Sokka believed he had reached the pinnacle of his potential as a fighter and feared Azula would need someone else to achieve her goals instead of him.

AND YOU’RE SERIOUSLY HERE ASKING IF THEY’LL EVER ARGUE OVER ANYTHING ELSE.

You don’t read this story. This ask absolutely proved it to me. You only read chapter 28 and everything potentially connected to Sokka having anything with other women. You don’t CARE about anything else, simply. Because if anything actually had ANY impact on you? You’d say something about it. But the only thing that touches your weird heart is Sokka sleeping with anyone else or having any potentially romantic interactions with someone else, whether he rejects them or not. 

You don’t care about Gladiator. You only care about your ego, and the validation of your worldview and puritanic morals.

And to that I say, fuck that noise. I write whatever the hell I want to write, and you’re not going to rope me into playing it safe just to please insecure harassers who don’t know boundaries and are completely incapable of empathizing with anyone while demanding everyone should understand their feelings.

Final note on this matter: you, also, have no idea what love is. You plain and simple don’t understand it. You’re even more confused by what love should be than Azula was at the start of this story. You don’t get it, AT ALL.

All you want is for them to get even on things? You literally asked me, when I was in my angry spree of deleting your bullshit, to make Azula and her future husband have happy consensual quality sex with who knows how many orgasms... because it was only fair!

AGAIN: YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND LOVE IN THE LEAST.

If you think love is about getting even, you’re seriously an asshole. If you think love is about both people being 100% equal in social regards and experiences, you don’t even UNDERSTAND human relations. Do you live in a bubble, by any chance? Maybe you do! You must have zero contact with anyone other than people with your same puritanic beliefs, right? So that means you assume everyone who’s different from you is fundamentally a bad person? I take it?

Like... literally at this point I think you’d hear about someone who was abused in their childhood, molested, and your reaction would simply be “Oh wow I hope someone molests whoever they end up marrying too, so that way they may be even in the future and been molested by the exact same number of people, otherwise it’s not really love”.

This is fucking sick. I’m not holding back at this point, it’s SICK. It’s TWISTED. It’s VILE. Your mentality is absolutely repulsive to me. You don’t know what love is, and you have the most literal, obvious change to understand it better by reading this story properly, but instead you just read chapter 28 over and over and over again, isn’t that right?

And here’s the evidence of that. You really want me to answer that last question?

No, it doesn’t bug me to read that AT ALL. Because unlike you? I don’t obsessively reread 28 while disregarding everything else in the story. Unlike you, I don’t revisit the chapter every day to pick apart every line to look for reasons to get extra angry at those developments.

Most of us, when faced with things we DON’T like in fiction? We move past it. You, instead, dig yourself into a hole and continue digging, and then pretend to hold other people responsible for whatever impact this may be having on your psyche. Because yes, you’re holding me responsible for whatever trauma or insecurity this is awakening inside you when you continue to pester me as you have: if you’re an adult, you should have the tools and brains to determine what is and what isn’t acceptable behavior, as well as to curate your own experiences with media, with fandom, with EVERYTHING to do with these communities. If you choose to look for things to hate instead of things to love, THAT’S ON YOU.

And if you’re allegedly looking for things to love but can’t find ANY that suit your purposes (which... is bullshit. Clearly, your only priority is “Sokka must be a virgin who never had anything with anyone else”, and such stories DO exist, which I guarantee considering I’ve written at least THREE of them, where it’s absolutely stated that Sokka’s first and only one is Azula)...

Well, it’s funny. Because when I got here? I was looking for some very specific fics so I could explore whether or not Sokkla made any sense. And I didn’t find them.

Which resulted...

... In me writing the very stories I wanted to see.

Oh, my. Imagine taking your impulses and channeling them into something productive rather than looking for reasons to get angry 24/7! Must be such a NOVEL CONCEPT for you!

Seriously, you have no right to dictate what anyone does. Again, worth bringing up because you INSIST on the rewriting matter. Even if you’re claiming you’re done asking for it, you somehow KEEP bringing it up. And then you act like me mentioning 28′s events here or there in the story is absolutely outrageous... but you just go right on ahead and do the same thing yourself, don’t you? Funny how much of a hypocrite you really are, isn’t it?

The fact that you’re bringing up something I have NEVER written, and have NO INTENTIONS of ever writing, as some sort of stupid, ridiculous argument to be made AGAINST the post I literally reblogged TODAY... is just absurd beyond belief.

The fact that I ever even wrote Sokka cheating on Suki with Azula, which I DID, still bothers me. Because yes, it made for a good story, but the truth is, it doesn’t sit well with me. It worked in The Reason, worked in my collab story with a friend, but it doesn’t mean I feel 100% happy with that choice. Even if the cheating only amounted to a kiss in The Reason, and then a lot worse than just that in the other story, it’s still not cool! :’) I know this!

... And yet no one, NO ONE, has ever caught me writing Sokka cheating on Azula. In fact, when my collab story with my friend seemed to start moving towards that angle I BEGGED her not to do it, and then she didn’t, and my heart was deeply relieved and blissful for it. Because not only did it mean we wouldn’t have to deal with the very controversial and unsettling notion of someone in a good relationship cheating on their significant other... but because in that story, it also showed how much he had grown, and how he was truly devoted to Azula despite he hadn’t been to Suki.

But alas, I have my qualms with that concept, of course I do. And I don’t like it. Ergo, I’ll never write it.

Which begs the question as to WHY, exactly, you’re so obsessed with the notion of Sokka cheating on Azula? Like... do you get off on it? Are you wanking at the idea of Sokka and June every single night and then wake up feeling like crap and then take it out on me, by any chance? Is that what’s going on? Because I’m seriously starting to believe it is.

You clearly don’t understand anything about storytelling, which is probably why you don’t have the guts to create your own content in the first place. But the fact that I reblog a post about how conflict in a story is GOOD, and your first thought is “THEN THAT MEANS YOU APPROVE OF SOKKA CHEATING!” actually says A LOT MORE about you than it says about me. You need help. Clearly, the therapy site I was sending you to the last time wasn’t much good, was it? I guess you just ignored it in the end. Hopefully the reading comprehension one will suit you better, right?

Fuck you, seriously, for coming to someone who has been working this hard for this long, for a ship that they’re completely devoted to, to spout this kind of senseless shit. To think you seriously ever believed I’d accept your half-assed apologies when you’ve been doing this sort of bullshit for this long... you’re a piece of work. If you have the time to write that BULLSHIT into my inbox, at the very least use that time to look INWARD and ponder just what your damn problem is, resolve it on your own, AND LEAVE ME THE HELL OUT OF IT. Someone as immature and unstable as you has no business reading M-rated fiction, and I honestly rue the day you ever clicked my story. Both your life and mine would be countless times better if you simply had scrolled past it.

And on and on we went today. The THREE MORE ASKS that arrived as I was typing this insanely long response. Which resulted in you bumping the total, successfully, to 20. MIGHTY NICE OF YOU TO PROVE ME RIGHT! :’)

Now then, getting serious here... I must say your priorities are fucked. Like. Really fucked.

You’d rather Sokka tries to KILL AZULA than have a one-time sexual encounter with someone?

Like... you’re here, condoning VIOLENCE AGAINST WOMEN to that extent...? :’D and then you... you actually have the balls to whine because apparently him  hurting her feelings is WORSE?!

Are you EVEN LISTENING TO YOURSELF???

You know, I think I have to offer you some REALLY good advice right now: go watch Naruto. Seriously, all of it. Go watch it, and enjoy your sweet loins’ release once Sasuke and Sakura start trying to kill each other, ONLY TO END UP TOGETHER AT THE END! :’) They were both 100% faithful to each other too, in the sense of Sakura getting depicted as a girl who can’t ever get over the guy she had a crush on when she was 6, no matter if he tries to kill her or her friends once he starts to go off the deep end, and Sasuke getting depicted as a guy who treats everyone like garbage, even the people he loves, because his manpain story somehow validates him being absolutely toxic to everyone he knows, so that’s absolutely up your alley! 100% the love story you’ve been looking for! You’re gonna LOVE IT.

Man, I just can’t believe you. I really can’t believe you. You’re seriously asking me to feature Sokka trying to kill Azula because that’s more acceptable to you. There was a story out there, you know? With Azula basically using Sokka to commit suicide, impaling herself on his sword and dying? You should just go look for that too, perfect fit for you (though it may be gone from the depths of this wretched site by now, which tbh I’d be grateful for, since it was the most unsettling, disturbing read).

Also? Thank you, truly, for all  the remarkably shallow compliments you’ve thrown at me to “soften” your “criticism” (which, again, is whining, not legitimate criticism). Calling me a capable writer is super NICE of you, especially after all these months of persistent harassment and constant repetition that I should rewrite whatever you don’t like. I mean... that’s definitely the way someone treats a capable writer, isn’t that right? 

“The problem isn’t conflict it’s what the conflict is”, the anon says. I’ve been writing a story for 8 years, 198 chapters and counting... and I’ve had a ton of different types of conflicts for Sokka and Azula to deal with. If your problem is “I don’t like this conflict”, FINE. But... hey. There have been THOUSANDS of other sources of conflict across the story, so many I don’t think I can even promise I’d ever take my time to count them all... there’s whole ARCS with conflicts regarding world politics and the war’s consequences and both Azula and Sokka completely changing their worldviews as they realize their realities are soooo much more complicated than they ever knew...!

Ergo. There ARE other conflicts. There are SO MANY of them that there’s no point in even listing it all out.

And yet you are obsessed with the one conflict you didn’t like, outright acting like THIS IS THE ONLY CONFLICT THERE EVER WAS, as proven by that preposterous and mindless “when will Azula ever hurt Sokka” ask. The one development you were pissed at, because it tickled your loins the wrong way. Oh yes, I’m a capable writer, I could’ve done things differently...!

BUT I DIDN’T!

And aren’t you thrilled that I didn’t? You would be a complete nobody in this fandom if this hadn’t happened, because otherwise what would you POSSIBLY have to complain about?! To harass someone about?! You’d be SO BORED! You’d be so unknown, nobody would even be aware of your existence...!

Though.

Wait.

You’re an anon.

You’re unreachable and nobody really knows who you are.

... So never mind, you actually still are a complete nobody in this fandom and your only attempt to even take part in it is to be a negative, irritating presence that literally makes people facepalm, laugh and ridicule you to the extent I and many others have laughed at you.

And yes, that post I reblogged was 100% worth reblogging. Why? Because it hits the nail on the head:

I DIDN’T WRITE 28 SO YOU’D BE HAPPY WITH SOKKA.

I DIDN’T WRITE THAT CHAPTER TO MAKE PEOPLE THINK “OH WOW WHAT A WHOLESOME SITUATION”.

I WROTE IT BECAUSE IT WAS MEANT TO DETONATE CONFLICT AND SPEED UP CHARACTER GROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT, WHICH IT DID.

And the thing is? Maybe, in the future, I’ll write other stories, just as I wrote the Saturdays’ stories, and Sokka won’t have either meaningful or worth mentioning encounters with anyone else in them. Maybe I’ll write original fiction, and there won’t be any twists like what happened in 28! 

But you will never get over this.

You will never care about any other content beyond this.

And that’s your failing, not mine.

If you would rather obsess over what makes you angry, that’s on YOU. But I’m damn sure I wrote a pretty reasonable conflict, character-wise, that was not only consistent with characterization but with the slightly darker take of the Avatarverse I’ve been working with. Not only that, but I NEVER skipped the consequences of their actions. I literally had them facing those consequences for whole arcs. Sokka assumed he’d never have a chance to be with Azula and made his peace with it, WITHOUT EVER PRETENDING HIS DEVELOPING FEELINGS FOR AZULA WERE ANYTHING THAT ENTITLED HIM TO HER LOVE IN RETURN. But oh, that’s too complex for you to understand, isn’t it? The fact that Sokka actually loves Azula for her, and not for himself, that he devotes himself to her in every imaginable way, that he fights people who dare disrespect her, that he would stop at NOTHING, even coming close to killing someone, to keep her safe despite he’s completely against killing people? That all means NOTHING to you.

And again? THAT’S YOUR PROBLEM. THAT’S YOUR FAILING. THAT YOU’RE SO OBSESSED WITH 28 AND CAN’T MOVE PAST IT IS NOT MY FAULT, IT’S YOURS.

Because I damn right moved past it. I’ve moved so far past it I literally don’t ever THINK about that damn situation until your stupid asks start arriving. Heck, maybe if you didn’t ASK so much about it, I’d stop bringing it up in recent chapters of the story :’) how do you feel about that particular kernel of unexpected information? Maybe you’re impacting the story in a whole shocking manner by inception-ing 28 into my head all the time and that’s why I can’t seem to stop throwing in lines referencing it for you to go completely BONKERS over. How about that? :’)

Say... how exactly do you think this fic is special? Literally all I know is you think I’m a capable writer who can create something perfectly catered for you, and yet ALL the feedback I’ve ever gotten from you is “REWRITE 28 AND EVERYTHING ABOUT SOKKA HAVING ANYTHING WITH OTHER GIRLS I DON’T UNDERSTAND ANY OF THIS I’M GENUINELY CURIOUS THIS IS LEGITIMATE CRITICISM SIGNING OFF BYE”. Your compliments are completely devoid of meaning because they’re literally just a handful of “you’re a good writer” and you don’t even say WHY you think I’m good. You don’t ever come here to tell me how much you enjoyed a certain scene, or how happy you are with a certain development... No.

Because when Sokka and Azula got married? What did I get?

“HOW CAN YOU LET SOKKA AND AZULA GET MARRIED NOW WHEN HE SLEPT WITH SOMEONE ELSE IN CHAPTER 28?!”

I wish I had screenshots for those, but you and I both know the truth, you irksome anon, and the truth is you did exactly that. And with every new development in Shu Jing, I got yet more reviews and ask(s), persistently whining about how UNFAIR it is that now Azula apparently is locked in marriage with this unfaithful man who has been unfaithful to her a grand total number of ZERO TIMES ever since their relationship began! How DARES he even think about marrying her?! Scourge of earth, let’s murder him in cold blood because DEATH IS BETTER THAN CHEATING!!!

If you think highly of Gladiator for ANY REASON, you’ve kept those reasons well and safely tucked away in the depths of your broken heart or shared them with anyone but me. Look at all these asks, damn you, and tell me at what point in time did you convey ANYTHING beyond “why don’t you write what I want you to write?”, huh? Because hell, I don’t see it in any of them. Literally nowhere. No backwards (: emojis are compliments or evidence of how much this story allegedly means to you. All I know is that you hate 28 and everything about it.

And you see...

I don’t give a flying fuck.��

I don’t.

You can hate 28 all you want.

You can hate June.

You can hate Sokka.

It is, INDEED, a free world.

But you have no right, NONE WHATSOEVER, to commit to this level of harassment as you have, for A WHOLE YEAR, and pretend the problem is that I, Seyary, the “evil super-sensitive author who writes Sokka sleeping with other people and doesn’t even break a sweat but then crumbles to pieces when “negative” feedback arrives”, can’t handle your comments properly.

I’ve said it before, damn you: NO ONE NEEDS TO REITERATE THEIR OPINIONS A MILLION TIMES. NO ONE. NOT YOU, NOT THE PEOPLE DEMANDING FOR THE PLOT TO KICK INTO HIGH GEAR, NOT THE ONES WHO THINK THIS SHIP IS GARBAGE, NOT ANYONE.

NO ONE HAS ANY RIGHT OR REASON TO COME BACK PERSISTENTLY THORUGHOUT A YEAR TO HARASS SOMEONE NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES THEY’RE TOLD TO STOP IT.

Point being: HATE WHAT YOU WILL! But keep it the fuck off my blog. And if you CAN’T? Get used to these responses. Because you’re going to get them, constantly. I guarantee it.

I know your damn opinion already. I know it by heart and I damn wish I didn’t. You are perfectly free to go read all the other stories where I’ve had Sokka staying faithful to Azula, with Azula being his first, or with Azula being much more experienced and sleeping around while Sokka stays mostly chaste... but you don’t. You come back, every time, to my miserable inbox that must cry every time you show up in it, to make these demands and pretend you have any power over what I should be writing.

Again, no, I have no idea why this story matters to you at all. And at this point? I’d rather NOT know. Because I’m 100% sure the only thing that matters most to you is chapter 28. So you know, go ahead, wank to it again and cry yourself to sleep. It’s kind of fascinating to have written something that has such a visceral emotional impact on a complete and total stranger. Makes it clear I’ve made a lot of progress as a writer if I can fuck up someone’s life to this extent with what I’ve written.

Yeah. Sure. You really think I’ll buy it? You really think this is goodbye? Oh, no, Anon. You can’t stay away. You’ve been told to, you’ve been asked to, but you can’t.

So no, I’m not wishing you good luck back. And I’m certainly not wishing you any fun with my fic, because it’s more than clear that the only source of entertainment it provided you was chapter 28, seeing as it’s the only impactful thing I apparently ever wrote. And someone who’s that obsessed with one of the chapters I most disliked writing despite I knew the plot would benefit from it in the long run simply can’t deserve to have fun. So... good suffering over Gladiator, if anything? Go ahead and continue to wrack your brain while trying to unravel why, oh, why would ANYONE ever write what I wrote and still call themselves a Sokkla shipper?! 

I dunno, maybe go on and write something similar yourself. Could be you’ll finally figure out what your problem is if you take to writing the cheating storylines you’re so very much obsessed with. Only, heh, I can guarantee I’m not touching anything you write, out of principle more than anything. I plain and simple don’t want anything to do with you... but as I don’t intend to close my inbox again, it seems I have no choice, do I?

Good fucking luck sticking to this alleged goodbye... but we both know you’ll be coming back very soon, won’t you? No worries, Anon, I’ll be waiting this time. Let’s see if you can break your 20-ask-streak record next time, shall we? :’)

It’s December 13th, at 2:32 PM, in my location. Let’s see how long it takes you to come back, shall we?

EDIT: I neglected to check constantly so it definitely arrived earlier than this, but officially received a response at least 2 hours after this post went live.

Didn’t I call it? Yep, absolutely called it.

#I need a name for this anon #though I guess stalker-harasser anon would work? #yep #stalker-harasser anon #there we go #honestly it feels so utterly backwards to still talk about this to this day #and yet #it never ends #:') #here we go have this dumpster fire of a post #I'm legit going to time this shit #and report right back to you all #once the stalker-harasser comes back #it's the only genuinely hilarious part of this whole thing after all

[loki-hargreeves]

Good Omens Imagine - You Summon a Demon

Warnings: demon summoning, this is honestly just a crack fic, vulgar language, a moody demon Word Count: 2K Summary: Out of boredom, you decide to summon a demon, not believing that it would actually work. You end up summoning Crowley in your apartment. A very worried angel comes looking for him as well. That’s how you meet Crowley and Aziraphale. Author’s Note: This has been on my mind for a while now. I don’t actually know how to summon a demon so please excuse how I wrote it. It’s not meant to be taken seriously. Please enjoy <3

THIRD POV

It was a silly idea, truly. Y/N and her friend had been out at the nearest bar and after a few drinks, they ended up discussing paranormal stuff. Somehow the conversation morphed into the two of them planning on playing with the Ouija board Y/N had somewhere in her apartment, possibly hidden in her closet or underneath her bed to gather dust. In their tipsy minds, it sounded like a perfect plan.

As Y/N returned home alone, she remembered that. She decided to find the board and get it ready for tomorrow. But as she found it hiding underneath her bed, she got an idea.

What if she played alone? It’s not like anything would actually happen, but it could be fun nevertheless. Surely, she would laugh at herself about it afterwards. So that’s what she did. Y/N set up the board on the floor, lit up a few candles to set the mood. She turned off all the lights and covered the mirrors in her bedroom. In order to play, she quickly read the instructions. Just like that, she was ready to get started.

As much as she was convinced that it was fake, it still made her nervous. There was always that small chance that it would work, right?

“Okay, I’m calling in good spirits. No negative entities are welcome here,” Y/N started as the online instructions had instructed her. “If anyone’s actually there, I would like to play with you.” Gosh, that sounded so wrong, she thought.

She sat on the floor with her fingers on the pointer. After a few moments of silence later, nothing happened which relieved her. She sank her shoulders and smiled, feeling much more comfortable now that it hadn’t moved. “This is so stupid, it’s not like this board could actually summon a demon,” The woman laughed by herself, giving her words zero thoughts whatsoever. 

If only she had known the power of her words.

As if on cue, something happened. The pointer began to shake underneath her fingers which startled her out of her skin. Y/N let out a scream as she got up from the floor, watching in horror as the Ouija board shook wildly. That was not supposed to happen! “Holy fuck, shit…fuck!” Y/N whimpered in horror. Her eyes were glued to the board. Once it began to levitate, she almost passed out.

Was she dreaming?

Or was she drunk? Y/N hadn’t had that much to drink either.

Her heart was pounding so hard from fear that she felt it all the way up in her throat. She wanted to run away, but her entire body was frozen in shock. Her fight or flight response seemed to betray her.

A bright light came seemingly out of nowhere. It was so bright in fact that Y/N had to close her teary eyes. A few moments later, the light seemed to vanish, and she heard that the board dropped back on the floor. Terrorized by what she saw, she still decided to look at the board. What she saw next was definitely not a Ouija board.

There was a man, a tall man in fact, standing right in front of her. He had ginger hair, an all-black outfit and round sunglasses. Although the lenses were dark, she noticed that he had yellow eyes. Yellow! The man, or whatever it was, seemed annoyed. “Aw fuck! Couldn’t this have happened a little later? I was just in the middle of something!” The stranger groaned in a…British accent?

“What the fuck are you?” Y/N cried in fear, wanting to keep a distance between her and the man. 

“There’s no need to be so rude, damn,” the ginger man, creature, whatever replied to her. Shivers ran down Y/N’s spine. In her mind, she was convinced that she had just summoned death itself into her own bedroom. She wanted to scream and cry, to run as far away as she could, but she could only stand there as her world began to spin wildly. Her vision began to brighten until she saw white. A split second later, her body failed her as she lost consciousness.

The demon, Crowley, wanted to leave. But he had been summoned and now there was an unconscious woman on the floor inf front of him. As pissed off as he was, he decided to wake her up. Surely, the candles would burn down her house if he just left her like that. “Get up, will you?” Crowley sighed and squat down on the floor right next to her. He poked her body with his long fingers, noticing the details of her appearance. He wondered why on earth she had summoned a demon and why it just had to be him! Crowley had been at Aziraphale’s bookshop as he was summoned. Surely, the angel was worried as hell over his disappearance.

When his poking didn’t bring her back, Crowley cursed under his breath. He wanted to leave, truly, but he couldn’t. He had been summoned. He had to end this ritual she had started, and he couldn’t do that when she was in an entirely different world than him.

                          Y/N furrowed her eyebrows together as her headache grew worse, so bad in fact that it woke her up. Carefully, she rubbed her temples and moaned in pain. Did she really get such a terrible hangover over a couple drinks? She opened her eyes and noticed she was in bed, although she couldn’t remember ever getting in it. Then she heard two men talking. Quickly, she was fully awake, and she remembered what happened.

The man!

Y/N got out of bed and followed the voices. Although she was terrified, she was curious. She walked out of her bedroom and looked into her living room. There were two men there, talking until they noticed Y/N. One of them was the same man that appeared out of thin air. The other one looked much kinder. He had light locks of hair, big blue eyes and beige clothes. For a moment, it was perfectly quiet in her apartment. Little did Y/N know she had a demon and an angel in her living room. She was convinced at this point that this was a fever dream.

“Someone’s finally awake! Great. Now just end what you started so we can leave,” The ginger one broke the silence. He sounded angry which was indeed horrifying. Y/N didn’t know them or what they were capable of.

It made the other man sigh, “Crowley, can’t you see she’s terrified?”

What kind of a name was Crowley? Why was the other one so considerate? Nothing made sense to Y/N in that moment.  

The same man continued, “Hello, I’m Aziraphale and this is my friend Crowley. I know you’re scared, but I promise that you’re just fine,” Aziraphale tried to ease her mind a little bit as Crowley rolled his eyes in the background and crossed his arms like a grumpy child.

“How did you…where did you come from?” Y/N managed to say something despite her worries.

“You summoned me, remember? Aziraphale just followed me,” Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale couldn’t just ignore it when Crowley vanished into thin air right in front of his nose. Of course, he followed the demon! A little curiosity went a long way. “This doesn’t usually happen. You see, in order to actually summon a demon…”

“A demon?!” Y/N breathed out in shock and her eyes widened. It sounded absurd, but it would explain what she saw.

“He’s not a bad demon! You know, he used to be an angel…” Aziraphale tried to speak, but he was cut off again.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley hissed, angry that the angel had to mention it to this stranger woman.

What the hell was going on? Had Y/N lost it? She was beginning to believe that.

“As I was trying to say,” Aziraphale raised his gentle voice ever so slightly, “summoning a demon requires a lot of spiritual power. You didn’t summon him for no reason. Now would you like to introduce yourself, dear?”

Something about Aziraphale was so calming. Yes, the situation was absolutely wild and unbelievable. Y/N was scared because there were two men in her home claiming to be demons. But this man had a presence which helped her relax. It was so overpowering, so magical. “I’m Y/N,” She said surprisingly calmly. The closer Aziraphale was, she more relaxed she became.

“Alright, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you. I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this little mishap and then we can all go on about our days,” Aziraphale smiled so cheerfully, as if this situation wasn’t terrifying at all.

Crowley sat on the arm of Y/N’s couch and he crossed his long legs, “Why did you even summon a demon if you’re so scared?”

Someone wasn’t happy to be summoned. Y/N almost felt sorry for ever touching that Ouija board. “I didn’t mean to! I just…well, I didn’t think it would work, okay?” She defended herself honestly. “Also, how am I supposed to believe you’re a demon...an angel, whatever. This is crazy!”

“Oh, you want proof?” Crowley smirked, as if she dared him to do something. He suddenly stood up straight again, getting ready to give her a little fright.

On second thoughts, she didn’t want proof. She was terrified enough and even the sheer possibility that they were speaking the truth was absurd. It would confirm to her, a human, that demons and angels existed. That kind of information would surely mess with her head. “No!” Y/N took it back.

“Oh, such a bummer!” Crowley muttered. He was already getting excited over the thought of scaring her by showing her his true form. It’s not like it mattered anymore. She had seen him appear out of thin air so what’s another supernatural experience more on top of that?

Aziraphale felt his stress levels rise as he stood between the two of them. He couldn’t believe they ended up in that situation. But somehow, he was convinced they were supposed to find Y/N. There was a very high energy radiating from her which almost told the angel that she could be useful. As risky as it was, he wanted to be friends with the mortal. Perhaps she could have something to do with the doomsday?

“Can you please just end this and then finish whatever you have to with Aziraphale? I’m tired of this,” Crowley began to get impatient.

“How do I ‘end this’?” Y/N wondered. She truly had no idea.

Crowley hung his head low as he tried to stay calm. Was she for real? “Did you read any instructions whatsoever before you decided to ruin my day?”

Aziraphale almost giggled at the situation. Although it was serious, it was a little bit amusing. But he managed to bite his lips together to stay quiet.

“I read something online,” She admitted. Y/N was oddly calm now. So far, they hadn’t made any indications that they would harm her. Besides, when she passed out, one of them had moved her to her bed. If they wanted to hurt her, surely, they would’ve done that already. So, she concluded that she didn’t have to be as terrified as she was.

“Okay then do whatever you read. I hate being trapped in here,” Crowley admitted. Wow. He couldn’t have been any harsher, now could he?

“Okay, I end this session. Whatever. Is that it?” Y/N mumbled a little awkwardly. Both Crowley and Aziraphale looked at her quietly. Nothing seemed to happen, at least nothing visible to her eyes. Did it work? Y/N didn’t even know what was supposed to happen!

That’s when Crowley cracked a smile, “See? That wasn’t so hard!” It was as if some magical bonds had let go of him and made him ten times less moody. Good for him, Y/N thought.

“Now, how about we discuss how you got him here in the first place?” Aziraphale suggested excitedly. He was naturally curious, so this was all fun and games for the angel. As long as he stayed, Aziraphale stayed. They had a conversation to finish and it didn’t matter if they did that at the bookshop or this Y/N’s apartment.

_____________________________________________

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed this. Your feedback would be highly appreciated  💚

#Good Omens #Good Omens fanfiction #Crowley #Aziraphale #Crowley x Reader #Aziraphale x Reader #Crowley x reader x Aziraphale #Good omens reader insert #good omens imagine #crack fic #platonic good omens

[lilyharvord]

The Chain (Part 1)

I’ve got two words for you all: Time Travel. Main concept: Two love struck idiots get sent back to a pretty UGH time period in their lives (that required me to reread all the books again) and have to hide the fact that they know everything. Stupidity ensues. Enjoy everyone. @redqueenetwork (this is what I mentioned to ya’ll in the chat, it’s finally here!!!) If you want a tag let me know. I don’t even know who is in the fandom anymore. 

“Don’t back her into the corner, whatever you do. We still don’t know what she’s capable of.” I hiss into my receiver as I sprint down another tight alleyway with Ella close on my tail. My hair sticks to my face as raindrops roll down my nose, and thunder rolls overhead. I swipe my hand across my forehead to push the annoying strands out of my face as we go. Behind me, Ella puffs out an annoyed sigh.

“She helped blow up a building Mare, I think we have a pretty decent idea of what she can do.” She admonishes as we round the corner, following Kilorn’s quickly relayed instructions from a moment ago. Ella and I had originally gone after the accomplice but after he hoped a fence and vanished into thin air, we had realized our mistake. He was a fucking teleporter, and therefore the perfect goose for our wild goose chase. We should have guessed something like this would happen. We needed the girl more than anything now. Sometimes I really hated being called into things like this. 

“Ella has a point.” 

“Agree with her one more time, Cal. I dare you.” I grumble into the receiver, pissed he is even chiming in. “Shouldn’t you be more focused on following our suspect and getting her to a place where we can make an arrest?”


“Trying.” Is his reply, followed by a burst of static from Kilorn probably messing with his receiver again. I reach up and bat at the piece in my ear, grinding my jaw against the sound. I could always just short the thing, but that wouldn’t really help with my frustration. It was my fault we lost the teleporter. I’d let him get too far ahead of me instead of just trying to incapacitate him. The last thing I wanted to do was cook him by mistake though. We wouldn’t get any information from a dead body. We needed that information if we wanted these bombings, and other things like them to stop though. 

We rounded the corner and I almost slammed into Kilorn’s back. He manages to dance out of my way. HIs expression is drawn tight, as he puts his arm out to stop Ella. With a quick gesture to the alley beyond the corner he says, “Cal is trying to talk her down.”

I push his arm out of my way and say, “No one engages Ardents alone, it’s a rule.” 

“She’s a kid Mare, they tend to respond to him better.” He says with a shrug, making me shake my head. If there is one thing Cal is still incredibly good at, it’s being a royal pain in my ass. He shouldn’t face anyone alone. Tyton had learned that the hard way when a young Ardent had put him in intensive care for three days. The last thing I need is Cal getting his leg broken because a kid hears what he has to say and doesn’t like it. My mother will never forgive him if he so much as has a bruise going into our wedding planning. Not that that was happening anytime soon, not now with the information I have tucked away to share tonight. I step around my best friend, who only passively tries to stop me. He knows that’s futile and steps back to stand with Ella as I slide around the corner.

My skin barks in protest as a wave of heat rolls over my skin. I hold my hand up to cover my eyes from the flames that circle Cal and the girl who has her back pressed up against the wall. She glares at him, her palms pressed to the brick and stone. I reach a hand out for the flames, knowing Cal will sense the shift in the flames distribution. Sure enough, the flames die in a small me-sized hole, giving me a chance to slip through them. They kiss the edges of my jacket and burn away the rain there.  

As soon as I enter the makeshift ring, the girl’s eyes fly to me over Cal’s shoulder. I know a cornered animal when I see one. She reminds me of myself too, which screams trouble. She’ll do anything to get out of that corner. Talking her down might not be an option, but we have a duty to her to at least try. Forcing my hands to remain at my sides I say, “We want to help.” 

“The last thing I need is your help.” She spit with a sneer and a raised chin. Definitely red, I realize in the light of the fire. She’s either an Ardent or a Red. I’m praying for a Red, they are far easier to apprehend and deal with during interrogation. 

The girl takes a step off the wall and holds a hand up in threat. Immediately my own hands light up with sparks, and Cal takes a step back to give me a clearer shot. The flames around us die as he channels that fire to a more useful source. Hopefully Ella senses the shift in the air and joins us to apprehend this kid. She can’t be older than sixteen, but that just makes her that much more dangerous. Younger Ardents were untapped fonts of power. 

The shadows from the early morning cut into the alley, and my lightning bathes us all in a deep purples glow. The dark shadows under the girl’s eyes are like bruises in this light. Her ragged breathing turns her into a woman possessed though. I try to dim my electricity, to prevent her from acting too brashly. She doesn’t take the hint, and instead takes another step closer to us. The air around us condenses until my ears pop painfully. 

I cry out at the sensation, almost dropping to a knee, and press my hands to my ears. Next to me, Cal pushes himself in front of me, using his own body to shield mine. I wish he would stop doing that, but no amount of arguing is going to change instinct, I’ve figured that out. Four years is a long time to spend with someone. You knew the intricacies of everything. In fact, if this still goes to plan, I can name exactly what he will want for breakfast after, down to how many cups of coffee he will need to stay awake for the rest of the day. 

A wicked wind snaps at me, ripping strands of hair out of my braid and extinguishing Cal’s flames completely. His hand on my shoulder is both a question and an order. If I’m incapable of standing, I need to get out of his way. If I’m capable, then I need to stand and help him. His voice carries even with the hurricane building around us, and he speaks to her like she hasn’t already made herself a danger to us. “Giselle, at least listen.” 

I have no idea how he got her name, but I file it away for later as I look up. She laughs at his attempt to negotiate, and brings her other hand away from her body, palm side up. The wind whips her auburn hair into a frenzy, but she does nothing to tame it. She should do what’s best for herself and listen. If she blatantly attacks us, her punishment will be more severe than blowing up an abandoned building. 

I grab onto Cal’s sleeve, as the wind tears at me as well. If I could just get a well-placed shot off, then I could disable her. Bringing my hand up, fingers spread, I take careful aim for the space right below her heart. Her eyes fly in my direction, and her lips fall into a tight line. “Don’t make me do it.” 

“Whatever you plan, you won’t be as fast as me,” I assure her, trying to rise to my feet completely. She shakes her head, her eyes growing just a hint wider as she states, “I can’t stop it now.” 

My stomach plummets, and my blood runs cold. What has she done? Is there another bomb? Is she about to set another one off somewhere else in the city? Somewhere that might actually be populated? 

“Whatever it is, we can stop it, if you just stand down.” Cal argues, keeping a tight hand on my arm, while his other arm tries to shield his eyes from the debris in the alley that the wind kicks up. Giselle shakes her head one more time, before looking down at her hands. Her entire body begins shaking, and with a smirk she says, “I’d tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not even sure where you’ll land.” 

My brows fly up into my hairline, and I grab Cal to pull him out of the way as she holds her hands out again. A body blow sends us flying backwards though, and through a wall. 

Immediately, my body goes into free-fall, and instinct kicks in as I try to flip myself over. There’s nothing but a wash of color around me though, and I end up tumbling in circles, simply trying to keep myself in one position. 

My hands seek purchase, and I manage to grasp Cal’s jacket again. His hand latches onto mine and I try to pull myself closer to him. I’m gasping for air though, unable to breathe. It feels like I’m being squished through a pipe the size of my pinkie, like how it used to feel when Shade teleported me. I wish I had opened my eyes during those times, maybe I would have seen the same wash of colors. Those trips always took a heartbeat though; this is taking seconds. I had never seen an Ardent that could teleport people and not themselves. Were Ardents evolving again? Julian said it was a possibility, but it should have taken hundreds of years, just like it had taken that long for us to appear in the first place. 

“Don’t let go,” I managed to gasp to Cal, as he tries to wrap an arm around my hips. I grip the front of his jacket with two hands, terrified of what will happen if I lose him in this tunnel. His answer is to squeeze me tightly to him. 

I press my face into his shoulder trying to inhale the scent he always carries with him. He smells more like the lake in Monfort now, probably because he keeps wearing this jacket when he walks around the lake with Kilorn. He should know better. It reeks of moist lake water. 

I glance over his shoulder only for something to catch my shoulder. I try to scream an alarm as my fingers release Cal, and I go spinning off to the side. My vision is limited but I still see him go limp from whatever hit he took. I scramble to grab at him, my fingers managing to catch his sleeve before we both collide with the side of the tunnel. 

It is like passing through a window, with multicolored glass shards explode around us. I spiral into darkness then, losing my weak grip on Cal completely. My chest heaves for air, and I try to force myself to be as loose as possible in case I end up hitting the ground. It’s a pointless exercise, any hit will kill me at this point. The pressure around me changes again, making me ears pop once more. Only a heartbeat later, I slam into something else, and finally fall unconscious.

#red queen #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #broken throne #post broken throne #over the hill and through the woods to the worst time of their lives they go #whhhhheeeeeee!!!! #another fic???? #jesus #I've got like ten fic series now #marecal #please enjoy everyone #part two will be up shortly #my fanfics #my writing #The Chain #thats the fic title #please listen to fleetwood mac #please listen to the song #it's important #there are some kinks in the fic that I need to fix #but bear with me #we're gonna get through this

[akechicrimes]

Prompt 37? Futaba and Akechi platonic/Futago siblings?

37. “Follow me. It’s okay, just hold my hand.”

after akira leaves tokyo, futaba does just fine without her key item, except for when she doesnt.

(one of them AUs were goro survives the engine room and rejoins the phantom thieves. no i will not explain. persona 5 canon AND persona 5 royal do not interact. for reference in this universe futaba and akechi are half siblings but only akechi knows that)

*

“Next time you see me, I’ll be a whole new person,” Futaba tells Akira excitedly on his second-to-last day in Tokyo. “I’m going back to school, I’m out and about by myself—oh! Oh! Did I tell you I said yes to Kosei? I told Kosei I wanted to go to Shujin and they offered me scholarship! And I went to the subway station by myself yesterday!”

They’re crammed into Akira’s Leblanc attic, sitting around a cake that literally none of them were capable of baking themselves, so they’d bought the thing from a bakery and decorated it with little black and red hearts. Ryuji is passing around his gross soda, while Ann is recounting some story that doesn’t matter with incredible enthusiasm. Makoto looks like she’s determined to enjoy herself and will hear no argument.

The whole thing is incredibly morbid, if you ask Futaba. It feels less like they’re waiting for Akira to leave Tokyo and more like they’re attending Akira’s funeral. Akechi in particular looks like he’s regretting attending, which honestly tickles Futaba more than it should, that the most dishonest Phantom Thief seems to be the only one looking as honestly put-off by the entire affair as everyone else is determined not to be.

That’s everyone else’s problem. Futaba might not be happy Akira has to leave, but she’s proud. She’s sad that Akira has to leave, but also she promised Akira that by the time that he had to leave, she’d be able to get around on her own, without clinging to him for support. And she is able. She kept her promise.

Tomorrow might be the day that Akira has to go, but today is the day that Futaba is Officially Recovered.

Akira does that annoying thing he does where he puts his hand on her head and messes up all her hair, like he’s a human cat showing affection by pissing everyone off. Futaba yelps. “Look at you. You don’t need me at all.”

“I told you that I’d be ready to say goodbye by the time you had to go back to your hometown,” says Futaba. “I haven’t broken my promises yet, have I?”

There’s a burst of laughter from Haru over something Yusuke said, who looks rather surprised to discover that he said anything funny. Both Makoto and Akechi snicker at him, and then stop immediately to glare at each other the second they realize they’ve accidentally wound up sharing an opinion.

Akira ignores them. “Well, you can still text me if you need me. Or call.”

“I’m trying to tell you I’m getting better and I don’t need you,” Futaba grumbles. “Also, what kind of psychopath do you think I am to call someone on the phone?”

“That’s what phones are for.”

“Calling people is scary.”

“I thought you were getting better?” Akira teases.

“I am!” she says, pointing a finger at him. “I am! Just you watch, Akira. I’m getting better every day.”

*

Six months after joining Kosei, Futaba locks herself in her room and does not reemerge for seven days straight.

*

She tells Sojiro that she’s sick. Sojiro tells the school that Futaba told him that she’s sick. She definitely fakes a hell of a good cough, and the school lets Yusuke send her her all the homework that she was supposed to be doing in the first place, but Futaba already knows it’s only a matter of time before Sojiro rats on her, and she won’t even blame him because it’ll be for her own good.

In the meantime, she has stashes of crackers and peanut butter from back when she was a full-time hermit. She hates the taste of peanut butter within three days. Her bed is a relief, soft like a home she never left, up until it isn’t anymore. It’s too soft. No matter how she lies on it, no matter how soft it is, a mattress just isn’t comfortable when you’ve been lying on it for seventy-four hours. It’s hot. Smothering. She feels like she’s going to drown in the blankets and they’ll have to fish her moldy, sweaty corpse out of the bottomless quicksand pit of her too-soft mattress.

The thing about being a shut-in is that you don’t actually like your room very much. It’s not a relief, or an oasis, or even a place you enjoy. You’re just terrified of everywhere else more.

She plays a lot of video games that she doesn’t even like. She watches a lot of Twitch streamers she doesn’t even like. She doesn’t do her homework. She ignores Sojiro. She pretends she’s alright to everyone who texts. She wakes up and goes to sleep and thinks about going outside and goes to sleep and wakes up and wonders if the whole last year and her cautious baby steps back into the world outside was all just a hazy dream.

*

There aren’t a lot of Thieves left in Tokyo, weirdly. Haru and Makoto both graduated, off doing business and law junk that honestly makes Futaba’s brains want to crawl out her ears, but all the numbers check out and Haru’s not in the red yet, and Futaba’s looked at enough people’s dirty laundry to appreciate Haru’s clean ledger. Akira’s back in his dinky hicktown, where there’s barely anything electronic connected to Wifi worth breaking into for surveillance, which is really boring.

Ann’s been doing so many modeling gigs that she might as well not be attending Shujin anymore. She’s practically surrounded by electronics, and all of them are connected to the internet. On any given day, Futaba can snoop through the internet trail of electronic file cabinets full of images of her face, emails about her face, paychecks for her face. Futaba sends Ann more than one email about creepy old dudes making gross comments about her, along with a bunch of other illegal shit they’ve done, plus their offshore accounts full of cash if Ann wants Futaba to sic a lawyer on them.

Ann looks like she’s having fun. Ann looks different on the other side of the computer screen, like she’s less real. Like she’s not someone Futaba really knows. Like Ann’s not someone Futaba’s literally cried on at one point in her life.

Ryuji is definitely attending Shujin, but between physical therapy, catching up on a whole year of track, athletic scholarship hunting, and studying for college admissions tests, Ryuji seems to have been swallowed whole by Shujin, really. Out of boredom, one day, Futaba went down that rabbit hole of researching what it takes to get recruited for track in college, and holy shit–apparently Ryuji’s coach was supposed to be helping him with that whole process, but of course Ryuji barely has a proper coach ever since Kamoshida left Shujin’s track program in pieces. The amount of networking he’s doing is insane, especially for one teenaged boy who barely remembers his homework every night.

Sometimes, when Ryuji’s forgotten to check his email in a while and there’s a message from a coach sitting in his inbox, Futaba will send him a text to make him check it. And then it’s all, What were you doing looking at my emails, Futaba and Which of my other passwords do you know, Futaba, as if Ryuji doesn’t just use the same password over and over and has literally nobody but himself to blame.

So it’s really just Futaba, Yusuke, and–weirdly–Akechi, who’s off doing his gap year and said he was going to go abroad, but then he never did. Not to be a huge snoop, but Futaba went digging through his junk for about five seconds and then she never did it again, because she felt really weird about finding out that the guy that killed her mom is looking into social work, volunteerism, and reforming the justice system.

Like. The man who killed the Thieves’ leader is now literally out there saving orphans. It’s wild.

She might’ve been the one to tell Akechi that he can start over again and do better, but she reserves the right to at least feel weird about it.

She does not call Akira. She talks to Yusuke at school, but she refuses to ask him to accompany her on the subway. She should be recovered by now, shouldn’t she? She was supposed to have gotten over all that when Akira left Tokyo. She’s doing fine. She’s just looking out for her friends. Her, living vicariously through her friends, who’re growing up and growing away, flourishing into young adults? Never.

*

Everything is the same.

*

Didn’t she help kill a god last year?

Didn’t she work so hard to get out of her room, to make friends, to reconnect with Kana-chan?

Didn’t she work so hard to change herself?

Didn’t she help change the world?

*

Everything is the same.

*

Tuesday, 1:43 PM

YUSUKE: Futaba?

FUTABA: yo inari

FUTABA: u got more homework for me or what

YUSUKE: Ah, no.

YUSUKE: I think your teacher finds it suspicious that I’m sending you homework when I’m not in your grade, as it is.

FUTABA: oh no

FUTABA: what a shame that we didn’t have an entire year of experience with getting away with wildly illegal magic brain crimes without raising any suspicion

FUTABA: truly emailing me like four pieces of paper a day is far too difficult

YUSUKE: Well, I can’t get your homework from your teacher, but I can give you more homework if you’d like.

FUTABA: ok bucko that wasn’t a challenge

YUSUKE: There’s a math problem set that’s been incredibly dull to get through when I have more important pieces I could be working on…

FUTABA: inari im sorry to say but

FUTABA: me literally doing your homework for you is about a thousand times more illegal than you giving me my homework when ur not in my grade

YUSUKE: Oh, is it?

FUTABA: wh

FUTABA: are y

FUTABA: what do you mean OH IS IT

FUTABA: did you not KNOW ur not allowed to have other ppl do ur hw????

FUTABA: inari have u been making other people do ur hw for u so u can have more time to do art?????????

FUTABA: no shut up i dont want to know

FUTABA: i will not be ur accomplice

FUTABA: i see ur little speech bubble thingamajig yusuke i said stop typing forever and ever

YUSUKE: I can’t invite you to the art gallery tomorrow if I can’t type.

YUSUKE: It also seems impractical for you to outlaw me from texting forever.

FUTABA: i literally did not say that

YUSUKE: You said, and I quote,

YUSUKE: “Yusuke, I said stop typing forever and ever.”

FUTABA: ok i know it looks like i said that but please im begging u it’s literally just an exaggeration

YUSUKE: As Makoto would say, it’s hardly an enforceable law.

FUTABA: u literally texted my sick and crusty ass just to give me a hard time

YUSUKE: Are you about recovered from your cold?

FUTABA: and now u have the nerve to ask me to go to ur art show thing

YUSUKE: I didn’t say that.

FUTABA: oh really

FUTABA: what were u gonna ask me about then

YUSUKE: The art show, naturally.

YUSUKE: But you could have done me the courtesy of letting me ask.

FUTABA: all that on the day of my daughter’s wedding and now u want me to do u a solid

FUTABA: well i have news for u

FUTABA: the answer

FUTABA: is yeah

FUTABA: sure why not

YUSUKE: Oh, excellent.

YUSUKE: I thought that you might decline on account of your illness.

FUTABA: i’m not a punk bitch

FUTABA: i’m going

FUTABA: u were only working all those paintings for like two months i wanna see their oily faces in person

YUSUKE: Just because they were made with oil paints does not mean that they are oily.

FUTABA: cant wait to see my oily boys

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, I have to set up the event beforehand, so I will not be able to accompany you on the way here.

YUSUKE: Will you be alright by yourself?

FUTABA: uh

FUTABA: hmm

FUTABA: how oily are these boys in case i need to call a rain check

YUSUKE: Hmm.

YUSUKE: Perhaps someone else can go with you.

YUSUKE: Let me see if I can find someone.

FUTABA: what like one of ur art friends

FUTABA: i’m not going with anyone i dont know sry

YUSUKE: I’ll keep it in mind.

Tuesday, 1:59 PM

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, Ann and Ryuji were not available. Both of them will be coming late to the art show.

YUSUKE: Fortunately, Goro is.

FUTABA: whomst

YUSUKE: Goro Akechi?

YUSUKE: Crow, in case you know multiple Goro Akechis.

FUTABA: no like why u callin him goro

YUSUKE: I asked him if I could and he said yes.

YUSUKE: There’s not many people left in Tokyo who were part of the Thieves.

YUSUKE: I’m not exactly popular at school myself, so I thought it prudent to hold onto the connections I already had.

FUTABA: hhhhhhhhhhhhh

FUTABA: but why him……………………………………….

YUSUKE: Has he done something wrong?

YUSUKE: Well.

YUSUKE: Besides the obvious.

YUSUKE: Last I heard, you were quite vocally supportive of Goro making a change for the better,but have you prehaps reconsidered?

FUTABA: i mean he’s always been nice to me

FUTABA: like even before he was on the team as crow

FUTABA: and then later after he like lost his shit and tried to kill us

FUTABA: he was also like weirdly nice

FUTABA: even if he was dressed as a tokusatsu villain

FUTABA: but

FUTABA: i

FUTABA: ok this is gonna sound really weird but like

FUTABA: you know how i said that the person to take me to the art show has to be someone that i know

YUSUKE: Yes.

FUTABA: even though akechi was one of the thieves at the end

FUTABA: i feel like i dont really know him

FUTABA: he like had that whole breakdown where he spilled all his kylo ren sadstuck junk and then he peeled his dumb ass up off the floor and then we beat up his dad in a dark alley

FUTABA: and then i guess akira likes him a bunch and hangs out with him and i guess probably talked to him about all that stuff that happened

FUTABA: and also i think ann talks to him

FUTABA: and also haru i think for some reason……………………..

FUTABA: but like i feel like. we as a group. never really uhhhhhhh

FUTABA: got to know him very well i guess

FUTABA: because he spent like the whole year being a fake ass bitch

FUTABA: and then by the time he wasnt, the thieves were busy literally fighting god, and it was all business business business

FUTABA: ughghfhg i guess this is just a really long way of saying that like yeah ok i guess i do know him but i dont think i really do

FUTABA: even when he was off the shits in the engine room it was like

FUTABA: somehow that was not……………………………….. really him

FUTABA: idk maybe this is just my Thoughts but like

FUTABA: idk some people are like “your true self is who you are at your worst” and

FUTABA: yeah maybe you are some PART of urself when youre at your worst but like

FUTABA: also not???

FUTABA: that can’t be it

FUTABA: that’s not ALL of you

FUTABA: so all i ever saw was him when he was being a fake ass barbie prince and then when he was like actively losing his shit

FUTABA: and both of those were like. two types of fake ass barbie prince

FUTABA: except obviously the one where he started screamin about murder and trying to kill joker was like, fake ass serial killer barbie prince

FUTABA: anyway i dont buy it for a second that seeing akechi at his worst means that i know the first thing about his “”“”“”“”“true self”“”“”“”“”“”“

FUTABA: like i know that i technically met him but also at the same time i dont think ive ever really actually met this dude

FUTABA: uh tldr what’s the truth crowboy

FUTABA: second tldr do you got anyone else i can go to the art show with because im not unpackin all that junk in the trunk while also trying to fend off a panic attack in the subway

YUSUKE: Well, to speak to "what’s the truth, crowboy,” I’d say he’s actually really funny.

FUTABA: WHAT

YUSUKE: Yes, actually.

FUTABA: YOU TRYNA TELL ME YOU SHARE A SENSE OF HUMOR W AKECHI

YUSUKE: As everyone knows, I don’t have a sense of humor.

YUSUKE: But if I did, that might not be inaccurate to say.

YUSUKE: Either way, we could ask Boss if he’ll take you to school.

FUTABA: no

FUTABA: im not makin him shut down leblanc for the day just cause i cant get my shit together

FUTABA: and i go to school by myself all the time now i dont need to be walked there by my dad like a four yr old

FUTABA: r u sure u dont have anyone else who can take me

YUSUKE: You said it had to be someone you know.

YUSUKE: I can take you.

YUSUKE: But I’ll be getting to Kosei early to prepare.

FUTABA: how early is early

YUSUKE: Four in the morning.

FUTABA: PLEASE INARI

YUSUKE: The people you know is a quite limited pool, Futaba.

FUTABA: shut the hell ur face i dont need u tellin me to make kosei friends too

FUTABA: i get my butt to school every day i’m already a hero

FUTABA: ok alright

FUTABA: crow-san it is

FUTABA: hhh

FUTABA: no shut up stop typing i’m fine

FUTABA: i already saw his dumb ass get inflicted with Horny from Yaldy God Himself i ain’t afraid of no crows

FUTABA: actually now that i remember that that was pretty funny mwehehehehehehe

FUTABA: OKAY send me the who what when where why

YUSUKE: There’s a PDF flier. I’ll send it to you.

YUSUKE: But I will have to type the email to send it to you.

FUTABA: oh my GOD inari

FUTABA: i swear to god ur not actually this dense and youre just pretending u dont know what an exaggeration is just to drive me up the wall

YUSUKE: Oh, that is a possibility, isn’t it?

FUTABA: WH

YUSUKE: Ah, last period is starting. I’ll have to talk to you later.

FUTABA: WHAT

FUTABA: NO WAIT

FUTABA: HELLO????

FUTABA: YUSUKE NO COME BACK

Tuesday, 2:53 PM

FUTABA: YUSUKE HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING AKECHI DO UR HW FOR U SO YOU CAN DO MORE ART??

FUTABA: IS THAT WHY UR ON A FIRST NAME BASIS W HIM

FUTABA: ANSWER ME STRINGBEAN

*

In Futaba’s opinion, there’s an infinite amount of more embarrassing reasons to pull yourself out of your depression pit than “I needed to yell at my friend for being a snotty bastard,“ and there’s worse escorts to have than the weird guy who went from being a professional murderer to their weird awkward friend. Firstly, if there’s anything that can motivate Futaba Sakura, it’s the primal urge to dunk on her friends for spite and memes. Secondly, there’s no chance in hell Futaba’s going to have a breakdown in front of Akechi.

She can do this. She got herself out of this grave once; she can do it again. Even if Akira isn’t here. She’s getting better. She promised him.

On the eighth day of her almost-return to hermithood, Akechi texts her:

AKECHI: I’m here.

AKECHI: Are you ready to go?

Futaba is wearing only an old shirt, no bra, sweats, and vaguely greasy hair from all the showers she’s skipped.

FUTABA: i’m SO ready

FUTABA: the readiest

FUTABA: ultra mega super ready

FUTABA: featherman ranger code name Ready

AKECHI: Oh.

AKECHI: Alright.

Hell yes alright. Time for Futaba to save her own life from her gravesite of a room.

With… Goro Akechi. Wow, life is weird, huh?

She drags on her Kosei uniform like a skin discarded long ago. It feels stiff. Maybe because it feels wrong to wear school clothes like a functioning human; maybe because she just hasn’t washed it in a week. The very idea of explaining herself to Sojiro stresses her out, so she doesn’t do it. The idea of not explaining herself to Sojiro, when he deserves an explanation and also would probably have a heart attack if he realized that she’d disappeared from her room without his knowing, also stresses her out, so she still doesn’t explain herself to Sojiro.

I told Akira I’m better now. I can do this. I did this for more than six months. I was out of my room in the real world, I went to the school festival, I changed my own heart…

She creeps down the stairs like a thief in her own house and pokes her head out the door. Goro Akechi is fiddling with his phone in the sun outside her house, looking like he, too, has only just managed to pull on his Human Suit and look like a guy who didn’t make shadows beg for mercy for fun, so it looks like this whole expedition is going to be a lot of fun.

"Futaba-chan?” says Akechi, only just noticing her lurking in her own doorway. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. How are you?”

Futaba opens her mouth. No noise comes out.

Akechi’s eyebrows slowly begin to knit together.

“I’m good,” she says squeakily. Clears her throat. Holy shit, she’s not afraid of Akechi after all that junk they went through in the Metaverse. She saw him as a rat. She saw him visibly want to break his father’s face when Shido tried to apologize to him on live TV. Once, Makoto and Akechi got into an unironic, passionate, hour-long argument about whether or not it’s beneficial to color code your notes.

“I’m alright!” Futaba announces louder, maybe a little loudly, considering the way he looks only more concerned. “L-Let’s hurry up and get this sidequest over with!”

She pulls her hoodie over her head and jams her hands into the pockets and makes herself as small as possible and inches out of the doorway. “If you… say so,” says Akechi, and eventually matches her incredibly slow pace as she shuffles her way towards the main street.

When the noise of Yongen-Jaya’s street hits her, her heart rate (already high as hell) spikes even higher like the first day she’d come out of her room, but the old coping mechanisms come back like second nature: Breathe slower, avoid eye contact, remember her mission, stick to the sides of the streets. Breathe slower. She’s still got it. It’s still hard, but she’s got a whole arsenal of ways to deal. She can do this. She will kick Yusuke’s ass for being a dick, if only out of sheer spite.

If Akira were here, I could hide behind him and…

No, shut up, shut up. All she has is her hoodie and Goro Akechi. Akira’s not here. She can do this by herself.

Akechi makes precisely two attempts at small talk (“How has Kosei been?” “Have you seen the pieces Yusuke submitted to the art show before?”) before he realizes that Futaba isn’t going to respond by virtue of barely holding onto her shit by her fingernails. He shuts up and sticks close by. Futaba makes her way down the streets towards the subway like walking on a tightrope. The subway station isn’t busy, but she puts every step in front of her like she’s going to fall. Getting on the subway might as well be a highwire. Futaba and Akechi wait for the train in mutual silence to the sound of other commuters murmuring amongst themselves, like a toothless echo of Mementos’s depths.

When they get on the train, people around her are quiet, thank god, but all of a sudden she’s convinced that she smells because she hasn’t taken a shower in literal days, and she tries to pack herself into her seat as tightly as possible. The guy in front of her is scrolling through something at a ferocious pace and his thumbnail keeps hitting the screen with this incessant clack, clack, clack noise. The subway voice announces their next station as the doors begin to close, and a girl suddenly sits bolt upright, having realized that this is her station after all, and bangs Futaba’s knees hard as she passes. Futaba wants to curl her legs to her chest, but she’s wearing Kosei’s uniform skirt and it’d just make everyone stare at her if she did that on the subway. She curls her fingers into the skirt hem. She stares down at her knees and lets her hair drape around her like a curtain. She can do this. She can do this. Breathe slower. Even slower. I did this for more than six months, I told Akira I’m better now, I changed my own heart…

Akechi pulls out his phone. Futaba’s phone buzzes.

AKECHI: Are you alright?

FUTABA: i said i was ready dude

Akechi types and retypes an answer, which technically Futaba could just look over his arm and read, but instead Futaba flips through apps on her phone and pulls up a shitty mobile dungeon crawler. She dies four times before Akechi puts his phone away without sending anything.

They pass multiple stations like that. Futaba sure as hell hopes that Akechi’s watching which station they’re on, because she isn’t. After the millionth time she dies, Futaba just closes the app altogether. Concentration’s shot. Can’t focus on anything. Heartbeat’s too loud. Breathing’s too loud. The guy next to her is breathing too loud. Everything is too loud.

New text:

AKECHI: Yusuke said you’d recovered from your cold, but you still look a little unwell.

Futaba doesn’t respond to that. She doesn’t need Negative Nancy over here telling her she’s gonna crack. Because she isn’t gonna. The subway starts to slow, and the voice announces the station for Yusuke’s school. She’s literally almost there, she’s right there, she might die in three seconds because her heart is going to pound of her chest but at least she’s going to make it, she promised Akira that she was alright—

The subway doors open. Passengers stand to get off. Akechi stands up. Futaba drops like a rock.

“I can’t,” Futaba’s voice says. She sounds like she’s crying. “I can’t, I can’t do it, I—”

“Futaba—”

“I’m can’t do it, I—”

She buries her face in her knees on the dirty subway floor. Oh, she really is crying. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…”

Around her, people’s feet stop moving. They’re staring at her. She’s crying on the subway and everyone is staring at her. “Shh,” says Akechi, like Futaba doesn’t know she’s being a loud and irritating pest, but then he takes off his winter coat and covers her with it. Suddenly everything goes dark. It’s a huge coat, too; it wraps around her whole torso with enough room to spare to cover her entire head. Inside, it’s like she’s back in her room, only listening to the sounds of real life somewhere on the other side of a computer monitor, where it can’t hurt her. It’s so surprising she hiccups to a stop. Two hands pull her up by the shoulders and guide her to stand. “Up. Let’s go.”

“Is she okay?” says a voice.

Futaba’s entire body seizes with fear. She ducks into her own knees, trying to disappear.

“Hey, little girl, are you alright?”

“She’ll be fine,” says Akechi’s friendly, super fake ass barbie prince voice. “My sister just had a hard day. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“A hard day?” Now the stranger’s voice is accusatory.

“For your information, our dog was recently brutally run over in front of her eyes.”

“Young man, are you serious right now?”

“Oh, yes. There was blood everywhere. Its intestines squelched horribly under the tires less than six feet away from her,” Akechi goes on. Futaba chokes, and then hiccups in what she realizes is almost a laugh. “Please excuse her. Thank you.” And before the literal complete stranger can follow up on that awful statement, Akechi takes her hand and pulls her up.

Futaba stumbles to her feet. If she has to take the coat off right now, she will actually die.

“It’s okay. Just hold my hand and follow me.”

Blindly, she lets him lead her out of the subway, weaving through people with only minimal contact with other people’s shoulders. There’s a whole awkward period where Akechi has to walk her up the stairs out of the subway station while she can’t see anything, but eventually the noise and bustle of other people around her seems to die away, and the air grows cooler in the way it does in the shadows between city buildings. Then they stop walking altogether. When Akechi lets go of her hand, she almost tries to grab it back before she catches herself.

“Okay. There’s nobody else around, now. It’s safe.”

Futaba doesn’t come out of the jacket. In the dark, her eyes dart back and forth, trying to see even as she blinds herself.

“Sorry for grabbing you so suddenly like that,” Akechi’s voice goes on after it becomes obvious she’s not going to come out.

Futaba wipes snottily at her own face. Oh, this is so gross, she’s got snot and tears on top of five days worth of grime and body juice because she hadn’t taken a shower. She’s disgusting. She really actually wants to die right now. She can’t show her face like this.

“Er,” says Akechi. “Do you want…. water, or…?”

Futaba folds up right there on the city pavement, probably dragging Akechi’s nice coat all over a dirty alleyway. She tucks her face into her knees, where she feels safest, and pulls the coat flaps even tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’m sorry for not being okay,” she mumbles.

There’s a short silence. “You really don’t have to be.”

“I do,” Futaba says. She feels like she’s nine years old again, a petulant kid who needs to hold people’s hands and be escorted around Tokyo. “This is—it’s stupid, and I can’t believe I-I’m still doing this, a-and even a-after everything that h-happened last year, I’m still just a… I’m still…”

“It’s fine,” says Akechi. Even he sounds overwhelmed, and at the first sound of weakness, she pulls the coat off her head and glares at him furiously, red-faced and covered in tears and snot and gross depression juice crust and all.

“I’m not supposed to be this way anymore!” she says miserably. “I’m supposed to be better! Moved on! Doing literally a-anything else but crying over t-taking a subway! It’s stupid and nobody else is like this and I just want to be over this already and I just want to be better already and—!“

She covers her face with her hands again. God, even when she says that, it sounds pathetic.

After a moment or two, she hears Akechi moving again. She peeks at him. He’s crouching in almost the exact same pose as her, looking like he’s resigning himself to neither getting his coat back, nor moving from this spot any time soon, nor getting to Yusuke’s art show on time, but also looking archly and entirely unperturbed about it. Actually, it looks like he’s writing a work email on his phone.

Futaba was right about being in an alleyway, but it’s so cold because they’re shielded by a trio of vending machines selling canned coffee and wrapped sandwiches. "Our dog was recently run over?” she says.

“People can mind their own damn business,” says Akechi in his Pleasant Boy Voice, without looking up from his email.

“He was just trying to help.”

“Oh, yes, let’s help the crying girl by crowding her and suffocating her in a crush of public transit.”

Futaba snorts. “That was really mean of you.”

“Oh, absolutely,” says Akechi.

Futaba sucks a truly disgusting gob of snot into her nose. “Ugh. I wish I could’ve seen the guy’s face when you told him that.”

“It was like I’d spat on his shoes. I should’ve kept going. Or had a camera.”

“Futaba giggles wetly into her forearms. "Like one of those—those prank videos online… Get Yusuke to film it.”

“Yusuke, as the cameraman? I’m not trying to make a documentary.” Akechi flips to a different screen on his phone. “I already texted Yusuke about our poor dead dog, by the way, so don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly Futaba feels like literal garbage again. “Why are you always so nice to me?” she mumbles.

Akechi makes a weird face, like he’s trying to do his old Pleasant Boy shtick while having swallowed a lemon whole. “You say that like me being nice is somehow unusual.”

“Uh, yeah. Because it is. You literally were just being a huge asshole to a guy you’d never met over a fictional dog.”

Akechi has this increasingly disgruntled look on his face like he kind of wants to punt Futaba down some stairs, which, frankly, is the best sort of reward, in Futaba’s opinion. “I’m working on it,” he says grumpily.

“How’s that been?” says Futaba.

“Which part?”

Futaba has one whole moment of self reflection on this idea as maybe not a good course of action before she barrels on anyway: “The part where you’re turning your life around. Starting over. Trying again.”

“It sucks dick,” says Akechi.

“Oh, right on,” says Futaba, and then before she can stop herself: “Wait, I thought you liked dick?”

Akechi makes a noise like a strangled cat.

Futaba cackles. “Dude, incognito mode when you’re browsing for porn does not save you from people like me.”

“Have you been spying on me?”

“Uh, yes? Obviously?”

“You know you could get arrested for that sort of breach in privacy.”

“Oh, boo hoo, so sorry I know all about your weird orphan-saving night job and your smutty Featherman doujinshi collection. You’re not gonna narc on me.” Futaba stops. “Are you?”

“Stop looking at my internet history.”

“No. You better not narc on me.”

“Then stop looking at my internet history.”

“You had to google how to change a SIM card last week, crow-boy; you couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

“I will narc on you.”

“No you won’t. You’re the one trying to not be an asshole.”

Akechi makes a face like a cat being slowly submerged in cold water. Futaba laughs in his face.

“If you’re quite done,” says Akechi grouchily.

“No, never. You’re made for being made fun of,” says Futaba. “I’m gonna be making fun of you for years and years, crow-boy; you’re never going to get rid of me.”

“Great.”

“Gonna be creeping on your weird orphan-saving night job until the day you die.”

“Wonderful,” says Akechi without inflection whatsoever.

“Mwehehehehehehehehehe.”

“If you’re quite done.”

“I will take a well-deserved break from my endless duty to troll you both on and offline,” says Futaba. “Because I really really really wanna go to the art show.”

Akechi has the nerve to look relieved that he no longer has to squat in a dirty alleyway listening to a high school freshman bully him. “Then let’s go.”

Futaba hugs her knees tight. “But I wanna keep your coat.”

“Aren’t you wearing your own coat?” says Akechi, trying to look like he isn’t shivering. “Aren’t you getting hot?”

“I’m keeping it.”

“It’s my coat.”

“I’m keeping it.”

“Fine, then. Keep it. It’s dry clean only.”

“Oh, ew. No, take it back, gross, gross,” and Futaba peels the snotty, tear-stained, dirty winter coat off and dumps it back in Akechi’s arms, who looks at it with the expression of someone long-suffering and without hope of escape.

“And,” says Futaba, “I wanna see it if you tell anyone else that our dog got run over.”

Akechi smirks. “You’ll have to film it, then.”

“Oh my god, like I wouldn’t.”

Futaba scrubs her face one last time. She still feels like she’s covered in a grimy layer of slime, but maybe she can wash her face at Kosei. When she gets there. Because she’s gonna get there.

“Uh, one more thing,” says Futaba.

“Not like you’ve bullied me into doing literally everything else you’ve wanted,” says Akechi.

“You can’t laugh at me.”

“Good thing I don’t have a sense of humor,” says Akechi, which horrifyingly confirms to Futaba that Akechi and Yusuke, of all people, really do share a sense of humor.

Futaba hesitates. “Please, um… please don’t tell Akira about this.”

“Why would I tell Akira?“

"Nice. Good answer.” She smooths her hair down, trying to make herself presentable, or just have something to do with her hands. “I… told him I was gonna be okay without him and all that, so… I don’t wanna let him down, you know?”

Slowly, almost shyly, Akechi smiles. “Oh, yes. I know.”

“Our secret. Secret-keepers.”

“Secret-keepers. Are you ready?”

Futaba takes another deep breath. Pushes herself up, brushes herself off, and sighs. “Absolutely not. This is gonna suck so much dick,” says Futaba. “Let’s go anyway.”

#mine #slams hands on table FUTAGO SIBLINGS #futaba's dubious mental health cw #Anonymous

[alarawriting]

52 Project #16: Norris and the Plague Doctors

Part of this story appeared previously last October as the entry for the Inktober prompt “Catch”. Cover art by Alexander Carpe (https://www.deviantart.com/sollidnitrogen).

Mom stirred slightly, moaning. “Come on,” Norris said, shaking her. “Come on, Mom, get up! There’s deaders on their way over here! You gotta get up!”

“Go,” Mom slurred. “Norris… run…”

“No, Mom! You gotta get up!”

Some part of Norris’ mind knew that what he was doing wasn’t going to work, and was incredibly dangerous besides. Mom had gotten bit by a deader last night. They’d cauterized the wound as soon as Norris had blown its head off with the shotgun, but cauterizing deader bites only worked half the time. Mom was cold, and clammy, and speaking slowly, and she wouldn’t get up. He knew, deep down, that she was changing, and therefore she was lost.

But he wouldn’t let himself recognize that part. Mom was all he had. “Mom, come on, let’s get you somewhere safe where you can get better,” he said. “We got some orange juice, we got some vitamins. I think we still got some canned chicken soup, I can heat it up for you.” Deaders didn’t like fire. It was dangerous to overuse fire because it told the deaders where you were, and the moment the fire went out, they’d move in, but if he could just get Mom to a place where they had a lockable door they could put at their back and a position to shoot from, he could start a fire and cook something for her. Campbell’s condensed soup wasn’t the best, you needed to add water to it, but he still had a few water bottles, and high salt diets were supposed to retard the spread of the zombie germs.

“Can’t. You… you… gotta… go.”

He tried to lift her, but he was an undernourished 10 year old and she was a full-grown woman. He couldn’t get her up, and she wasn’t helping. “Mom! Come on, we gotta get out of here! Wake up!”

Someone’s drone buzzed overhead, but Norris knew better than to think anyone was coming to the rescue. The drones buzzed around all the time. Norris didn’t know if they were from the government or what, but they never meant help was coming.

The deaders down the street were the slow-moving kind, not zoomers, but if Mom wouldn’t get up and move, that wouldn’t make a difference. He could smell their rot on the slight breeze, could hear their groans and grunts. “Mom!”

A black van – full-size, cargo van, not a minivan like the kind Mom used to drive – came down the alley between Norris and his mom’s hiding place, and the deaders. The passenger side window in the front seat rolled down, and Norris saw a black-gloved hand throw something round toward the deaders. Three seconds later there was an explosion. Most of the group of deaders were ripped into pieces. The remaining ones kept shuffling toward the van. Another two grenades later, and they were all gone.

The van backed into an alcove with small dumpsters. The side door slid open and out jumped two… people? Norris wasn’t sure. They had bizarre masks that looked like a cross between a gas mask and a bird’s face, white with goggles and extremely long beak-like protrusions that covered their nose and mouth. They wore broad-brimmed black hats, and black trenchcoats that covered their bodies, and black gloves, and both of them carried long poles with pincers at the end.

“Looks like we’ve got a live one over here,” one of them said to the other in a distorted voice that sounded almost like a staticky radio.

“Yeah.” They approached Norris. “Move aside, kid.”

Norris tried to grab the shotgun, but before he could get it into position, one of the two weird people swung the pole at him, grabbed the shotgun with the pincers, and tossed it down the street.

“What are you doing?” Norris yelled. “Get away from my mom!” The other one had used their pole to grab Mom by the upper arm.

“She’s not your mom anymore, kid. She’s a zombie. She just hasn’t turned all the way yet.”

The one who’d thrown his gun swung their pole back around to take Mom’s other arm, and the two of them together pulled Mom to her feet. Her head lolled, her brown skin sheened with sweat and grayish.

Norris knew that no one who looked like that ever got better, but he charged at one of the two weird people anyway. “Let my mom go!”

“Kid. She’s dead. There’s nothing you can do for her.”

“No! She can get better! We cauterized the wound! She’s just in shock because we had to burn it, that’s all! She’ll be fine!”

The other one, the one who hadn’t spoken to him, said gently, “We’re doctors, young man. We’re going to study your mom to try to find a way to help her, and all the zombies. We can keep her alive, without turning, but we have to get her to our facility now.”

“Then take me with you!” Norris shouted. “Mom and I, we’re the only things we each have in the world. Mom would never want to be separated from me.”

“Can’t do, kid,” the first one said. “No outsiders at the facility, only patients and doctors.”

“Look, you want your mom to get treatment, right? We’ll take care of her, but if you keep getting in the way, she’ll turn, and then there’ll be no saving her.”

“Norris…” Mom mumbled. “Go…”

“Is that your name? Norris?” the kinder one said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, Norris, we don’t have anyone at our facilities who can take care of children, or anywhere for a kid to go, so I’m afraid you can’t come with us. I’m sure that if we’re able to cure your mom, she’ll come back and find you, but you’ve got to be a big boy and take care of yourself. I can see that you’re very capable.”

Fuck that patronizing crap. Norris glared at the weird doctors, knowing he couldn’t do anything to stop them from taking his mom – short of running over and getting the shotgun and shooting them, and if they really were doctors who could cure the zombie plague, and save Mom, that was the last thing he’d want to do. But fuck them.

He stood out of their way, letting them drag Mom to their van with the poles around her arms. It looked cruel and demeaning, like the way you’d treat a wild animal, but he had to admit, deaders were dangerous enough that you’d have to treat someone who was turning like that if you didn’t know them well enough to know how strong they were. Mom wouldn’t bite anyone. Mom was tough. She could keep herself under control.

The fact that no other deaders could and that Mom herself had warned Norris that anyone who turned would definitely be a threat and there were no exceptions was another thing Norris knew but was deliberately pretending he didn’t.

He waited until the doctors got Mom up toward the van, and they were pulling her in. Then he bolted toward them, and jumped over Mom, squeezing past the one who was up in the van already.

“Shit!” the one he’d squeezed past yelled, but it was too late. He was in.

Inside it was like an ambulance, except that the bed was absolutely covered with straps, including ones that were obviously positioned to hold down a person’s wrists, ankles and neck, not just the kind that kept a person from falling out of the ambulance bed. Norris clambered over the bed and sat down on the bench seat on the other side. It seemed to be designed to fold up so that the door it was attached to could slide open, but it couldn’t fold up if he was sitting in it, now could it?

“Norris!” the second one, the one who was kinder but also really patronizing, shouted. “You can’t be in here!”

“Like hell I can’t,” Norris said.

If language like that from a 10-year-old shocked them, he couldn’t tell through their masks.

“I’ve already said—”

“Yeah, you said that I’m a stupid kid who’d be a big burden at your secret hospital or whatever, but I can help. My mom was a real doctor once—” not like you weirdos, he thought, but decided it was impolitic to say so—“and she taught me some stuff. I can maybe help bring you instruments. Or clean stuff! I can keep things really clean! My mom taught me all about keeping a sterile environment—”

“There is absolutely no place for you at our base—”

“She’s my goddamn Mom!” Norris shouted, terrifyingly aware of how close he was to tears. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Only babies cry. They won’t take you seriously if you cry. “First off she’s the only person I have left in the whole world and I’m the only person she has, and if you cure her but you lose me she will be major league pissed at you, and second off, you know you’re leaving me to die if you leave me here, right? You think I’m big and strong enough to fight off deaders? I don’t know anyone in this city who’ll help me out. If you’re doctors and you wanna help people, why you wanna get a kid killed?”

“He has a point,” the second doctor said.

“No, he – what the hell, Sarah? We can’t take him with us!”

They hadn’t stopped pulling Mom in and getting her strapped down to the bed. Mom moaned again. “Norris…”

“Yeah, mom, I’m here.”

She looked up at the doctors. “Heard… you think… cure?”

“Maybe,” the guy in the front passenger seat, who had turned around to watch the whole thing, said. He was wearing the same weird costume as the others. (Or she. None of their voices sounded like normal human voices, all like scratchy distorted robots, and with the masks and cloaks it wasn’t possible to tell what gender they were, but if one of them was named Sarah then probably some were girls.) “Purely experimental stages. We can put you under and retard the spread of the infection, but we can’t guarantee that we can reverse it or undo any brain damage it causes.”

“So the sooner we can get you under, the better your odds are, doctor,” the first one, the one who kept calling Norris “kid”, said. They were calling her “doctor.” Good. Doctors respected other doctors. They wouldn’t just treat her like a piece of meat turning into a deader. “Your kid needs to stop interfering.”

“Just… take him. He’s… too stubborn… own… goo….” Mom trailed off, staring at nothing.

“She’s going further into shock. We need to get her under now,” the first one said.

The second one – Sarah – said, “Ignore the kid. If he wants to ride along with his mother, let him. It’s not going to hurt anything.”

“Secrecy—”

“He’s a kid. He can’t even see out the windows from that position. He hasn’t got a GPS in his head to figure out where the base is even if he rides with us the whole way.”

“What if she turns and bites him?”

“Then we’ll have a fresh specimen of a healthy child who’s just been infected, without any ethical issues,” Sarah snapped. “And infected mothers who turn will generally go for any available prey who isn’t their child first before going after their kids.”

“Only in 63% of observed cases.”

As they argued, they finished strapping Mom down. She was lying on a metal pan that was about six feet long and wide enough for the average person, and most of the straps fastened her to the pan, while other straps held the pan down on the bed. They put a tube in her mouth where the back part was plastic, flexible and narrow, and the front part was wide and made of metal, and then strapping it to the back of her head so she couldn’t shake it loose. Sarah removed the lid of a small brown medication bottle and poured the entire contents into the tube.

“What’s that do?” Norris asked.

“Kid, quit pushing your luck,” the gruff one said.

“It’s a sedative,” Sarah answered.

“How come you’re giving it to her by mouth and not as a shot?”

“Because deaders have really, really bad circulation if they have it at all, but their digestive system works and things introduced by mouth spread faster to the rest of the body than if introduced intravenously or through injection into the muscle, and Raoul is correct that you need to keep quiet or our colleagues in the front may just decide to stop the van and throw you out.”

After that Norris was quiet.

Mom’s eyes closed and her head lolled, though not very far since it was strapped in place. The doctors wrapped her in something bandage-like, as if she was a mummy, freeing each limb one at a time so they could wrap it and then strapping it down again, and then sprayed some sort of aerosol onto the bandages, the same way. Finally they slid a tub of icy liquid out from under the bed, unstrapped the pan Mom was laying on, and laid the pan down in the icy water. The tube in Mom’s mouth was covered with a plastic lid with a hose attached to the top, and they hooked the hose to a loud machine.

Norris wanted so badly to ask what they were doing, but they’d warned him and he knew that only one of the weird doctors was willing to let him stay; if he bothered them, they’d overrule her and throw him out. He’d ask when they got to their base. He was sure they’d try to kick him out again before they went into it, but he wasn’t going to let them. As long as they had his mom, he was sticking to them like glue.

***

Doctor Sarah was right; from the bench in the back, Norris couldn’t see out the windows. Also, he’d lived his entire life in the city,  so it wasn’t exactly like he was going to be able to tell where they were going, anyway. There was a sunroof on the van, and he could see through that, but the only thing to see there was sky. He could tell from the sun that they were going east-ish and then kind of north.

He focused on his mom instead. They’d put her in a tub of ice water with a tube in her mouth, and then they’d put a lid on the tub, where there was a hole for the hose attached to the tube. The loud noise was probably an air thing, then. Things that pumped air, like the compressor at the shop Dad used to work at, or the pump for the air mattress for when Norris had had guests for a sleepover, made loud noises. So they were pumping air into her. That was good. Deaders still breathed, but they didn’t need to; the thing they were infected with could break down their bodies to get energy, so you couldn’t drown or suffocate a deader. They’d just move more slowly if they didn’t have air.

If the doctors were putting air in Mom’s lungs, then she hadn’t turned yet.

There were four doctors. At least, Norris had to assume that anyone wearing that weird costume was a doctor. Three of them were dressed in black; the driver’s costume was brown. Doctor Raoul and Doctor Sarah had white beaks, the guy in the passenger seat had a black one, and the driver’s beak was also brown. Norris could tell that the guy in brown was wearing leather, so he guessed that maybe the black outfits were also leather.

“So… you guys really like leather, huh?” he said.

Raoul snorted. “I’m not touching that one with this pole,” he said.

“Maybe if we had one that was ten feet?” Sarah said, tilting her head slightly in a way that made Norris think she was telling a joke. He laughed a little.

“How old are you, Norris?” she asked.

“I’m ten. I was gonna be eleven in September. I mean, I guess I still am, if I live that long.” That was a depressing thought. “What’s up with the bird masks?”

“What do they teach them in school?” Raoul groused.

The guy in the passenger seat turned around and said, “Oh, as if you knew about plague doctors when you were ten.”

“Do you know anything about what causes deaders?” Doctor Sarah asked.

“Um… yeah. If they bite you. Then you get infected by the stuff inside them, and you turn into one of them.”

“That’s right, of course, but it’s not the only way.” She leaned forward slightly. “Have you learned about fungi in school yet?”

“Um, like mushrooms?”

“Sarah, what the fuck. He’s ten. And we’re not keeping him around, so why are you bothering?” Raoul asked.

“Why not?” She turned back to Norris. “Yes, like mushrooms, and yeast. The substance inside the deaders that makes them what they are is a fungus. And it essentially takes over their entire bodies, over time; it infiltrates the brain first, and the mouth. They don’t actually need to eat people, but they have a compulsion to bite.”

“Why do they want to bite people if they don’t need to eat them?”

“The short answer is, because the fungus wants to spread. If the deaders bite people, it can infect those people with the fungus. But here’s the thing. Fungus normally spreads by producing spores… and you can breathe spores in. So far we haven’t seen any cases of a zombie who was infected by breathing spores, but the model says it’s likely to happen, eventually.”

Norris’s eyes went wide. “Shit. You saying we could just breathe and get turned into a deader?”

She nodded. “It’d probably happen slower, because it’s not direct to the bloodstream, but it’ll happen.”

“Shit.”

“Our masks are designed to protect us against that. Also against the other diseases deaders carry; they have no immune system, effectively, so they generally carry practically ever human disease possible.”

“But why do your masks look like birds?”

Sarah laughed. “Because it looks cool, mostly. We needed a shape we could put a filter in, that would protect our faces from being bitten by deaders. We needed it to be able to accommodate goggles without fogging up. We needed to be able to make it ourselves, since manufacturing is more or less dead in this country. And none of us are expert leatherworkers or tailors, since, you know, we’re doctors. We needed something with a pattern we could get off the Internet, and maybe a video of how to do it. Turns out this shape – the plague doctor mask – is more popular than any other shape that meets our other criteria.”

“Do you even know what a plague doctor was?” Raoul asked snippily.

“Um… you are?”

Sarah laughed again. “We are now,” she said.

“In the Middle Ages, 30% of the entire population of Europe died of the Black Plague. The doctors who treated the plague dressed like this. They thought the plague was transmitted by bad smells, so they made masks like this so they could fill them with herbs to block the smell of sick bodies.” Raoul sounded less like a teacher and more like someone who thought you should already know this and that you were stupid because you didn’t. He was almost angry-sounding.

Norris wanted to say something defensive, but he knew that if he got mad at Doctor Raoul, and showed it, they would probably kick him out of the van.

“Give the kid some slack,” the guy in the front passenger seat said. “If he’s ten… I doubt I knew about the Black Death, let alone plague doctors, by the time I was ten.”

“Yeah, well, the school system’s always been shit,” Raoul said.

“So deaders can’t bite through leather?” Norris asked.

Doctor Sarah nodded. “They can, if they’re given enough time to chew on it, but their teeth aren’t any different from normal human teeth; it’s their bite strength that’s greater, since they don’t feel pain and they’re diverting a lot of physical resources to their bite. But human teeth are not ideal for piercing thick leather; we’re more likely to end up with their bite breaking our bones than them getting through the leather and infecting us.” She gestured at herself. “This outfit is really, really annoying right now in the summer, but we can make new ones, we can repair these, and we can disinfect them pretty easily.”

The one in the driver’s seat, who hadn’t spoken yet, picked up something like a microphone and put it near his mouth. “Van 11 to gatehouse. Receiving? Over.” He sounded kind of old, though it was hard to tell with the staticky voice.

A radio crackled. “Gatehouse receiving, Van 11. Situation? Over.”

“Coming in hot, gatehouse, we have fresh goods on ice. Over.”

“Fresh goods on ice, acknowledged. Any medical needs? Over.”

“Maybe crayons and a coloring book. Over.” He laughed.

“Uh, Van 11, not sure we received that. Did you say crayons and a coloring book? Over.”

“Blake got—”

The other doctor in the front seat interrupted him. “We picked up a kid with the fresh goods. Seems healthy.”

“What, really?” the radio asked. “Uh, over.”

“Oh for gods’ sake,” Doctor Sarah said, unstrapping her seat belt and making her way to the front. “This is Doctor Blake. The fresh goods is a mother; her ten year old son refused to let us leave with his mother without him. And no, he doesn’t need crayons and a coloring book. Over.” The snippiness in her voice on the last word actually came through despite the weird distortion effect they all had going on, and reminded him of Ms. Watkins, his teacher from third grade.

“Gatehouse to Van 11, and we mean this with great respect, but what the fuck? Over.”

“I’ll take responsibility for him,” Doctor Sarah said. “Over.”

At that point, the van turned. Norris looked out the windshield, and saw a metal gate like the kind on a storage unit, opening slowly. Next to it there was a stone house with a walkway going through it, next to the road. The van stopped. “Stopping for checkpoint,” the driver said. “Over.”

“Norris, get away from the doors,” Doctor Sarah said.

Three more plague doctors – two with long poles, like the ones Sarah and Raoul had used, and one with a gun – came out of the gatehouse. The driver and the passenger rolled down their windows and handed cards that they pulled out of the inside of their trenchcoats to one of the plague doctors outside. The other two disappeared to the side, and then the doors to the back of the van opened. Sarah and Raoul were pulling out their cards as the doors were opening, and they handed them to the plague doctor with the pole, while the one with the gun stood to the back.

“How come he’s got a gun?” Norris whispered.

Sarah spoke at normal volume; maybe the thing that was messing up her voice didn’t let her whisper. “If we had a loose deader in here or an adult who wasn’t a plague doctor who might be holding us hostage.”

“Is that the kid?” the plague doctor who’d checked the ID cards asked.

“This is Norris,” Sarah said. “His mom is the fresh goods we picked up. He’ll be staying with us for a while until we can find somewhere safe to place him.”

“Why do you keep calling my mom fresh goods?” Norris asked, trying not to sound as angry about it as he was.

“It’s code for a person who’s about to turn deader,” Sarah said.

“Blake, we’ve got nowhere to keep a kid,” the one checking the IDs said.

“Bullshit, we’ve got a ton of rooms and more than enough food.”

“Ok, but we don’t have anyone free to babysit him.”

“That’s the thing. A kid clever enough to slip past us and get into the van while we were moving his mom probably doesn’t need a babysitter. And he had a good point; if we left him behind, the deaders would likely get him. So he’s staying with us until I figure out where he can go.”

The one checking the IDs shrugged. “Your call.”

They closed up the van and drove slowly through the gate. There was a winding path up a hill, with forest on either side. Norris still couldn’t see out the side windows, but when he went up to the front to peer through the grate that protected the driver and passenger from whatever was going on in the back, neither Sarah nor Raoul stopped him, so he was able to watch through the windshield. They drove up a hill, around a bend, over a speedbump. There was a building on the left and a parking lot. The van went past that, around another bend, and then came an orange brick building. It looked like it had four or five floors. The windows on the upper floors were small and narrow. Some of the ones on the first floor were much wider, but covered with bars. There were weird brick bays all around the front of the first floor, some of which had barred windows inside.

“Is this a school?” Norris asked.

“A hospital, actually,” Sarah said.

Norris was used to hospitals having huge glass doors and windows everywhere. “It doesn’t look like a hospital,” he said.

“Great, so the kid’s going to critique our choice of bases,” Raoul groused.

“It used to be a hospital for the mentally ill. We picked it because it was built with security in mind, which, as I’m guessing you’ve noticed, most hospitals are not.”

They drove around the building and pulled in at the back. Two other plague doctors came out and headed to the back of the van, where Sarah and Raoul manhandled the tub with Mom in it out from under the bed. The two additional plague doctors took two handles near the front, Sarah and Raoul took two near the back, and they all marched forward toward the doors to the building. Norris followed them. No one stopped him.

Inside, the building was a warren. Norris had no idea how many corridors they went down or how many times they turned down a different one. Eventually they reached a large and very cold room full of what looked like large chest freezers.

“Are you going to freeze her?” Norris asked, panicked.

“No, that would destroy her cells. We keep them at about 2 Celsius to reduce all life processes to almost nothing, but lower than that and we risk ice crystals forming and tearing her cells apart.”

“Is that going to hurt her?”

Sarah shook her head. “Firstly, we sedated her when we took her, and secondly, zombies don’t feel pain. She was still barely conscious when we picked her up, but by the time we got her into the tank, her consciousness had shut down.”

The doctors opened the tub and used their poles with grabbing claws at the end to lift the metal pan that she was strapped to out. She didn’t struggle or thrash; her skin, normally a deep warm brown, had turned ashen, almost greyish, and she lay limp on the pan. One of them stepped on a lever, and the freezer-like thing opened, revealing that it, too, was full of water.

“Won’t she get waterlogged?”

“No, it’s saline solution. Did your mom ever teach you about osmosis?”

“Yeah.” Norris nodded, as Sarah and the other three lowered Mom into the tank, still with the tube in her mouth. “It’s when water gets out of your cells and goes to where there’s more salt, right? So if you spend too long in the bathtub, your fingers get waterlogged because there’s more salt inside you than in the tub, and if you go to the beach and you’re in the water too long your skin gets all dry, right?”

“Right. So if we match the salinity—the amount of salt in the water—then the water doesn’t leave her cells or enter them.”

“Blake, could you maybe quit being a fifth grade science teacher and help us here?” one of the two plague doctors who’d met them at the door said.

“She’s been doing that since we picked up the kid,” Raoul groused.

“Raoul. He is ten and his mother is in that tank we are closing,” Sarah said. “I took this job to help people, not to be an asshole to kids.”

“You took this job to try to save people from zombies, not to be a kid’s nanny.”

“I am rolling my eyes so hard at both of you,” the fourth, who hadn’t spoken yet, said. “The fresh goods is on ice. Delgado’s coming down to take samples. Let’s get out of here. Unless you really love wearing all the gear.”

“Fuck no,” Raoul said. “I want about six showers.”

“Norris, you come with me,” Sarah said.

Norris looked around the room. “Are all those freezer tanks full of deaders?”

“Not all of them, yet. We’ve got capacity for several more in here.” Sarah walked out the door, making Norris scramble to follow her. “We’ve also got a couple of other freezer rooms, but those deaders are a lot farther along. Several of them are actually dead.”

“I thought deaders were all dead?”

The corridors continued to be a maze as they went deeper into the building… or maybe they were going back out, Norris had no idea. “Oh, no. Most are still alive, but as the infection spreads within them, we can’t think of them anymore as the same organism; too much of their human body has been replaced. Eventually as the heart and brain are completely overwhelmed, we can safely say the person is actually dead – if we could kill the infection at that point, the victim would also die, because the infection has taken over too many of their bodily functions for their body to continue without it.”

They took an elevator up. As soon as they got out on the next floor, Sarah took off her hat, and then her beak mask. Norris’ eyes went wide with surprise. “I didn’t know you were black too!”

She grinned at him. Now that he could see her face, she was a middle-aged black woman with skin darker than his or Mom’s. Her hair was buzzed very short, a soft carpet of fuzz on her head. It made him think of a gym teacher. The lines on her face could have made her look stern, but her smile was broad and friendly, full of healthy teeth. “You really can’t tell with the mask and the voice distorter, can you?” It wasn’t a question. “I was a little bit leery of the decision to wear these things, but they give us an authority and an intimidation factor you just can’t get if folks can see your face.”

“I couldn’t even tell you were a girl until your friend called you Sarah,” Norris admitted.

“That’s part of what it’s for,” she said. “I can’t afford to have idiots questioning my authority when I’m trying to save them from zombies.”

“Where are we going?”

“Oh. I thought I said. We’re going to the cafeteria. I’m starving and I can tell you haven’t been eating particularly well.”

“That sounds great!” He remembered school cafeteria food, back when he went to school. It hadn’t been great, but it had been a lot better than what he got now.

***

In fact, the cafeteria food was substantially better than what he used to get at school. There were mashed potatoes, breaded chicken strips, burgers, fries, soups, baked sweet potatoes, steamed broccoli, some kind of bean or pea in a pod, and something that looked like beef and broccoli. And also a salad bar. No soda and only one dessert, some kind of spongy apple cake, though. They had iced water, iced tea, hot tea, coffee, grape juice, orange juice, and milk. “How come you guys still get good food? I thought all the grocery stores had to close?”

“There’s local farms out in the county.” Sarah loaded her plate up with salad. “They don’t dare ship food into the city, but they know who we are and what we do, and they trade with us in exchange for medicines.”

“Medicines to cure being a zombie?” Norris asked excitedly, loading his plate with comfort foods. It’d been so long since he’d had anything that wasn’t in a can. The mashed potatoes were a little bit lumpy, meaning they were fresh, not from powder.

Sarah smiled wryly. “No, we don’t have that yet. Medicines for their blood pressure, and diabetes, and high cholesterol, and depression. Things like that. We’ll also do checkups. Most of us are scientists more than we are doctors, but we all had to get medical degrees to do the kind of science we do.”

Norris took one dish with two chicken strips out from under the heater, and then glanced at Sarah. Two chicken strips really didn’t seem enough. “Is it okay to take two chicken strip dishes?”

“It’s okay today,” Sarah said. “But only if you also take a salad and eat it.”

“I took the broccoli,” Norris objected. “I got a vegetable.”

“Get salad too. You can put whatever you want on it.”

So Norris got salad, with croutons and cheese and little pieces of hard-boiled egg and sunflower seeds. “Mom and I wanted to get out there,” he said wistfully as he loaded his plate. “We heard there’s no deaders out in the countryside. Like, you gotta leave the county and head up north or cross the bridge and go to the Eastern Shore or something.”

“Oh, there are deaders everywhere.” Sarah poured dressing on her salad. “Places of high population density are a lot worse, of course, but there’s deaders living in the woods. They hide and grab prey that go too near. Some small towns got completely taken over; they’re ghost towns now, since deaders have to stay on the move to get more prey. Farm country’s mostly fairly safe; they’ve all got guns and flat open land and they can see a deader a mile away. But you and your mom wouldn’t have been safe up there. They shoot outsiders; they just don’t wait for them to get close enough to tell that they’re deaders. We get close because they see the masks and the hats, so they know what we are.”

They sat down at a table and dug in. The chicken strips were actually amazing. They were made of real breast meat and they were juicy and tasted like chicken, not like processed chicken-flavored cardboard. The milk was really great, too. Mom hadn’t been able to drink milk without getting sick, but Dad had been able to drink gallons of the stuff, and so far Norris hadn’t lost his milk-drinking ability yet like most of his classmates had even before school had closed forever. “This milk tastes really good.”

“It’s probably a lot fresher than you’re used to.” She speared an olive and a piece of nondescript pale meat. “Enjoying the chicken strips?”

“Yeah!”

“We have a lot less fresh meat here than you were probably used to before all this happened, so the next time you get chicken strips, I want you to put a lot fewer on your plate. There’s canned chicken in the salad, and you can get protein from eggs and mushrooms and soybeans.”

He made a face. “You telling me all I get to eat around here is salad?”

“You can have as much potato as you want,” Sarah said with a smile. “And yes, you can have meat, but it’s rationed. I let you have my ration today because you’re much too skinny. In the future, you can take two of those strips. Or you can have a burger. They’re pretty substantial but the meat’s mixed with some soy and mushrooms to make it go farther.”

Norris sighed. “I guess.” It was better than the canned condensed soups he’d been eating. Mom and he had saved rainwater in discarded water bottles to drink and put in their soups. They’d had to scavenge the soups from empty grocery stores.

“A lot of the salad stuff, we actually grow here on the campus. Some of us managed to rescue our families and bring them here, and they don’t work as doctors – they do support work, like growing tomatoes, peppers, soybeans and salad greens.” She took another bite of salad and wiped the glob of dressing off her lips with her napkin. “Does that sound like something you’d like to do?”

“Uh, no.”

“I could place you with one of the families here as your foster family and you could help out. Grow food, fix things…”

“Nuh-uh. I want to help you guys.” Norris stopped inhaling his mashed potatoes for a moment and looked up at Sarah. “I grew up in the city. All I know about gardening is my mom killing houseplants. And the one year my dad tried to have a potted tomato on the front porch, and some jerks stole it. But I know a lot about science and stuff! I could help you!”

Gently but with just a touch of exasperation in her voice, Sarah said, “Norris, you’re ten. You’ve had at best a fifth grade education and given what happened to the world and when the schools shut down, more likely fourth.”

“That’s not true! My mom homeschooled me while we were trying to survive and running from deaders. I told you guys she was a doctor, right? She was a pediatrician, and she taught me a lot about medicine and science. I can name all the bones in the human body!”

“So can I,” Sarah said dryly. “Let’s imagine you’re a genius and your mother was an amazing teacher; you still aren’t at the level of people who went to medical school for years, or graduate school and medical school like many of us. There’s really nothing you can do to help with the research.”

“I could help you rescue people, though,” Norris said desperately.

“That’s really not a good idea.”

“Come on! You’re like, I dunno, knights from the Middle Ages and you want me to go be a peasant.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We’re not knights, Norris. We’re plague doctors. We poke the afflicted with our sticks, and drag them off, and sometimes we deliver a mercy blow. We aren’t here to rescue anyone. When we saw with our drone that your mother was turning, that’s why we went in to get her; if she’d just broken her leg we would have left the two of you to die, because we’re trying to rescue the entire human race, not use up our resources saving one or two people here or there.”

Norris deflated slightly. “Okay. But I still want to help! I can shoot a gun, I can bandage people—”

She sighed. “Norris—”

“Could I at least learn how to make your masks and costumes and stuff? That’s just leatherworking, right? I bet it would make your lives easier if you didn’t have to do that yourselves!”

“Well, nowadays we don’t. The person who makes the costumes is married to a doctor.”

“Okay, but if there’s only one person, I could help them.”

“Fine. I’ll take you to the quartermaster and she can decide if she wants to take on an apprentice.”

***

The quartermaster was also wearing all leather, but her hands and her head were free. She was a heavy white woman with brown hair. “Sarah Blake! I’ve been hearing all about you picking up a little stray, there.”

“This is Norris,” Sarah said. “Norris, this is Jessie. She makes our armor and our masks.”

“Hi,” Norris said.

“Well, hello! Have you brought him to be fitted for armor?”

“We might as well,” Sarah said. “I don’t think I told you this, Norris, but within the compound, it’s a rule that we always have to be wearing our leather armor, and we have to have masks and gloves at the ready.”

Jessie nodded. “You ought to see mine. I went with a harlequin theme, since I’m not a doctor.” She picked up a mask off the table she’d been sitting at. It was a creepy smiling face, all white except for two red spots on the cheeks. “Nice, huh?”

“Kinda… a little creepy, honestly,” Norris said.

Jessie laughed. “Of course it is! Turns out, deaders have very little ability to react to actual threats, like guns or spears. But they can react to things that hit us in more primitive parts of our brain. The plague doctor masks scare them. So does the harlequin. Only the fresher ones are capable of feeling fear at all, so it’s not like I can drive all the deaders off with a mask, but they’ll back off for a bit.”

“Why do we have to wear that stuff inside?”

“Well, what would happen if a deader got loose?” Jessie asked, but it was one of those questions grownups asked to see if you knew.

“I guess… you wanna have the armor on so you can stop a deader and it can’t bite you?”

“Bingo!” She stood up. “Let’s take your measurements.”

“Jessie, Norris has asked if he can apprentice with you to help you with the leatherworking. Could you use a kid to help out?”

“I learn real fast,” Norris put in. “My mom taught me a lot of stuff. I know how to sew to fix clothes, if that’s anything like this.”

“It’s… not unlike it,” Jessie said in a considerating tone. “Yeah, ok. I heard from Vin the situation with his mom and all, so if he wants to learn how to help me, I’m cool with that. We’ll see if it works out.”

“Can you get him set up with a room?”

“Sure. I’ll put him in the kids’ ward, all the beds are too small so the only people living up there are short women and we’ve got plenty of space. You cool with that, Norris?”

“I guess.”

He didn’t really want to be left behind; Sarah had been kind and understanding and he didn’t know how this woman was going to treat him. But he didn’t think he was going to be given a choice.

***

As it turned out, Jessie was actually quite nice. She showed him all of her tools, and explained what they did. She took his measurements and began the process of making him leather armor, explaining what she was doing as she did it. She had him practice punching holes with an awl. “You be careful with that. The guy who invented Braille? He went blind in the first place because he poked himself in the eye with an awl, and it got infected, and the infection got into the other eye too.”

“I read a book about that,” Norris said, nodding.

When she was done for the day, she took him to the cafeteria for dinner. There was spaghetti with tomato sauce, which advertised itself as vegan and spicy, and a stir-fry with what looked like chicken, both of which had peppers and mushrooms and onions in them, and there was a baked fish dish covered with cheese. No rice. He would have expected rice with a stir-fry. Instead there were mashed potatoes again, that you could have with the stir-fry or the baked fish. There was salad, but he wasn’t required to take any, so he didn’t. There were a lot of vegetables in the spaghetti sauce, in his opinion. Dessert was carrot cake.

Jessie told him about the foods that could be obtained locally and the ones that couldn’t. “You’re not getting chocolate or vanilla anytime soon,” she said. “They didn’t think to add it to the stockpiles, and they only grow in tropical regions. Same with coffee, but they did stockpile that. Once we run out, though, there won’t be anything but tea. And it’s not very easy to grow tea in this climate.”

Norris made a face. “I don’t really like either one.”

“Well, hopefully the world will be back to normal by the time you’re an adult and need the caffeine to stay awake,” she said. “We don’t have sugar; that does grow in the United States, but not around here, and the longer the distance we have to go, the more dangerous it is for the farmers to ship their products. There’s a lot of corn, so we use corn syrup, and there’s no shortage of bees, so we use honey.”

“Do you really think the world will ever be back to normal?”

“Oh, yeah!” Jessie grinned broadly. “They’re working on a cure. You know it’s a fungus, right?”

“Yeah, like a mushroom?”

“More like a yeast – uh. You wouldn’t know about that. More like athlete’s foot, but it gets inside your brain, and your body, and eventually it takes you over completely. Well, there’s some reason why it’s really hard to make a vaccine against a fungus, I don’t know why. I’m not a doctor. But you can make a fungicide. Problem is that most fungicides we have can’t go inside the body, and they haven’t yet found something that can kill the fungus without killing the person, and you can’t cure it by just grabbing deader after deader and filling them up with fungicide; you might as well just shoot them if the fungicide kills them. But eventually they’ll have a cure that works, and if you can treat people right after they get bit with the fungicide, they won’t turn deader.” She leaned forward. “That’s the whole thing, you know? That’s why we’re doing this.”

“I want to help out,” Norris said.

“Yup. So that’s why you’re going to help me with the costumes!”

***

Norris’s bedroom was in an area where only two other people had bedrooms; each room had its own private bathroom, and there was a refrigerator and a microwave in a common area, where you could store food from the cafeteria and then heat it up. It was more freedom than Norris had ever had, and more loneliness. He had no parents here, and Jessie and Sarah weren’t staying up here with him. The two women who lived up here were doctors and didn’t interact with him much. He could stay up as late as he wanted; there were books here he could read, in the common room. But there was no one to spend time with.

He managed to distract himself from the loneliness well enough, though, because there was a computer, and it was connected to the Internet.

Norris had thought the Internet was gone. Apparently not. Sarah told him that of the data centers run by the big companies that had existed before the zombies came, and at the universities and on the military basis, many of them were still up and running, because they’d been designed to be difficult to break into, and the people inside them had the Internet and could contact military people who also had Internet if the deaders boxed them in and they needed food. Power was still running for the same reason – most of the countryside didn’t have any, aside maybe from generators they ran off propane tanks that they were eventually going to run out of, but there was a nuclear reactor in their state, and some hydro, and the governor had had a whole lot of wind towers put up by the National Guard and energy contractors in a big hurry when this whole thing had started. So there was some power, and it was being routed to places where the people could defend themselves well enough to stay in one place and use the power… like here.

So Norris had a computer, and he had the Internet. There was no social media anymore. No one was posting new videos to Youtube, but all the old ones were still there. Wikipedia was up. Google was up.  There was no Netflix, no Hulu, no Disney Prime, but there were a lot of how-to articles, and Google had removed restrictions on Google Books so all of the books were available online now, because it wasn’t like anyone could buy them.

At first, he went looking for the cartoons he used to watch, but he couldn’t really enjoy them anymore; after surviving on the streets during a zombie apocalypse, they felt unreal, unrelatable. He watched videos about leatherworking to try to learn more about what Jessie was teaching him, but it was easier to learn from Jessie, who was an expert he could ask questions of rather than a recording. So he decided he was going to learn medicine, and he was going to learn enough about it that Sarah and the others would let him join them.

There were some field medic videos that had gone up before most people had lost Internet access, when the zombies had first showed up. There were, however, not a lot of videos about actually being a doctor, because that was a thing doctors used to go to school for years about. Also, when he tried to read medical books that doctors learned from in medical school, he understood only about every third word. Obviously he needed to start earlier and simpler than that.

So he studied biology and chemistry and math. The things his mom had taught him had been more like the field medic stuff, probably not useful for finding out how to cure zombies. She’d homeschooled him while they’d been running from zombies; when he took an online test to find out how much math and science he knew, it said he was at a seventh grade level, which was great because Sarah had been right, the last time Norris had been in real school it had been the fourth grade. Mom and Dad had always taught him stuff about math and science and he’d always been ahead of his class in those subjects, but it was nice to see how much ahead he was.

Seventh grade, however, was not college, and apparently doctors had to go to college first and learn biology and chemistry there, after learning it in high school and maybe also middle school, and only then did they get to go to medical school to learn to be doctors. That was a ridiculous amount of stuff to learn, but Norris had the Internet and a lot of free time; Jessie had him work with her as her apprentice about five or six hours a day, the same amount as school had been, but then he didn’t have anyone to talk to. No online games to play, no friends to chat with. No parents. No homework to do. No chores. No zombies to run away from. So he had time.

He found web sites where they talked about the state curriculum and what he was supposed to learn in which grade. Social studies was dumb, he didn’t need to spend time learning that. Reading was important in that he needed to learn new words, but he didn’t need to learn how to analyze a text, whatever that meant. He needed to know how to learn science from books, so he needed reading for that, but he didn’t need to read books about the struggles of other black kids who didn’t happen to be living through a zombie apocalypse, which was pretty much entirely what the state curriculum suggested he ought to be reading for English class. Well, and some books about weird science fiction worlds where nobody could see color or animals took over farms or stuff like that, and some stuff about Asian kids and Native American kids. But none of it was important anymore because none of it helped with zombies.

His mom was in a cold tank downstairs. He checked in on her every so often. Raoul continued to be an asshole, Sarah continued to be nice, and the other doctors continued to mostly ignore him. They took samples from Mom sometimes but they weren’t going to pull her out to experiment with treatments until they had a thing they knew wouldn’t kill people… or mice. They killed a lot of mice, trying out treatments to see if maybe they wouldn’t kill mice, because if they didn’t kill mice then they could test them on monkeys (they did not actually have any monkeys; this was going to involve a long and dangerous trip to Atlanta that they told Norris he absolutely could not go on once they did it) and if the monkeys lived they could try humans.

His mom was in a cold tank downstairs, and all he wanted to do, all he wanted to do, was to do whatever it took to get her out and get her cured. If that meant do nothing with his free time but learn math and science from videos and books on the Internet, on the crappy old desktop in his room that was apparently put together from spare parts and would never have played a decent game but was good enough for what he needed it for, so be it.

***

Norris had been with the doctors for two months by the time he made his first full costume. Jessie had made him a suit of leather armor because you needed to have that here, and a mask – he’d gotten one that looked like Spider-Man but colored like Venom because it was black with white lines – but she’d had him working on making one of his own for himself.

His costume was lumpy and it pinched in some places and it was too loose in others, but he’d made it himself and it would protect him from being bitten by a deader. He went to the lab where the doctors he knew were working. “Hey, Sarah, check out my armor! I made it myself!”

Sarah looked up from her microscope and smiled. “Nice. You’re getting good at this.”

“So how are things going?” He leaned on the wall in an elaborate pose of being cool.

“Pretty good, actually,” she said. “We’re going out to collect some more specimens in a couple of days; we want some fresh deaders who we can do some brain scans on.”

“That sounds scary. The brain scans, I mean.”

“Not really. We fasten them down with plenty of rope. We can’t use metal because the MRI machine would just pull it off, but the nylon rope we use is practically unbreakable.”

“Can I help?”

Sarah sighed. “Norris, we’ve been over this.”

“I’ve been studying biology and chemistry online! There’s a computer someone left in my room! I could be like your nurse and help you out.”

“We have actual nurses,” Sarah pointed out. “Who are adults, and went to nursing school. What’s wrong with helping out with the leatherworking? Are you having problems with Jessie?”

“No, no! Jessie’s great. She’s fine. But you guys don’t get a lot of new recruits; she says my armor was the first all-new piece she’s made in months, and mostly she’s just repairing what you guys use. I wanna do something that’s more help.”

“I just don’t think—”

“I could wash your petri dishes, and organize your slides,” Norris said desperately. “I bet you’ve got a lot of dishwashing you need to do. I’m great at washing dishes.” He glanced at the lab sink. There were, in fact, a good number of petri dishes, flasks, and other glassware sitting next to the sink waiting to be washed.

“You are, huh?” Sarah lifted her eyebrows, but she was smiling. “Well, tell you what. Why don’t you wash up those dishes and show us what you can do, okay?”

So over the next few days, Norris washed dishes. He fed mice and cleaned their bedding, which was a euphemism for changing the shredded newspaper in their cages that was covered with pee and poop. He swept. He cleaned off counters with a bleach solution. And he talked to the doctors, asking them about what they used to do before the zombies, did they have families, what did they enjoy doing in their spare time. Sarah used to work as a researcher for the CDC, the Center for Disease Control, but the government had cut CDC funding in less than half, a year before the zombies, so she had moved back to Baltimore, where she’d grown up. Aaron Weiss, the older fellow who’d been driving the van when Norris had arrived, used to be a researcher at Johns Hopkins. He had a wife and two adult kids, who lived on the campus but not in the main building, and they raised goats and made soap, and grew tomatoes. Vinay Narayan had come to the United States when he was a baby, and his parents had saved all the money they made from the restaurant they ran to send him to medical school, but they’d been very disappointed when he decided to go into medical research rather than a practice, because medical research didn’t pay as well as being a practicing physician. Aileen Walsh had been a practicing doctor, but had joined the plague doctors because her husband had been bitten. Raoul Alvarez continued to be an asshole and wouldn’t tell Norris anything.

There were many more doctors than this group of five, but they all worked in their own labs. Dr. Weiss was sort of the leader of this lab, kind of, but they all had ideas and argued with each other and made suggestions. No one just listened to Dr. Weiss unless they thought he was right.

When he was done cleaning up, most days, Sarah and Aaron praised his work and Vinay praised his work ethic. Aileen was usually concentrating on something and probably didn’t even notice him. Raoul, of course, had nothing good to say, but Norris didn’t expect differently.

The night before the doctors were going out to collect specimens, Norris went to the cafeteria and got dinner. And then he went to the garage and concealed himself behind a van that was in a state of partial repair, with its axles up on concrete blocks instead of having wheels.

Norris tried to stay awake, figuring that if he was awake when they came in, it would make it a lot easier for him to sneak into whatever van they took. It was a lost cause, though. He worked too hard during the day to be able to stay up late anymore. At some point, his eyes closed and his head nodded.

***

Norris had always been a “gifted” child, singled out in school as one of the smart kids. It had enabled him to get away with shit that none of his friends could have. His parents trained him to clearly enunciate and speak standard English around white people and anyone in authority, and he got a reputation as the kid who would stand up and challenge the teacher for bullying students, using excessive punishments, or acting racist… and would win, a lot of the time. His dad was a college professor and his mom was a doctor, and they made sure that the school authorities knew them as Professor and Doctor Wilkins, not Mr. and Mrs. They were both active in the PTA, they bought from school fundraisers, they chaperoned and drove for school field trips, they donated a lot of school supplies. It got them considerable credit with the school, as did Norris’ high scores on standardized tests.

In truth, Norris had never been all that good at language arts – he’d learned to read early but he couldn’t care less about diagramming a sentence or figuring out analogies. His parents had drilled him on that stuff back when school was a thing, to make sure he could get high scores on the tests, because high scores on the tests, for a black kid, meant being treated by the school as valuable and therefore if the school gave him shit for standing up for his rights, the threat of pulling him out and putting him in private school was one the school had taken seriously. In math and science, his subjects of interest, he had been a genuine prodigy. Dad had taught him set theory at the kitchen table when he was 4, and the basics of algebra when he was 7. Mom had watched science documentaries with him since he was 5, about black holes and bacteria and animal behavior and the physics of bridge building.

When the zombies had come, they’d all gone on the run, all three of them. They’d moved into a nearby store that had the rolling metal covers to put over the windows, because the store owner had been attacked by zombies in the very early days and no one else had come to claim the place. It had been a convenience store, so there was food, but the food had eventually run out. Mom and Dad had gone out to scavenge more food and watch each other’s backs against zombies. They hadn’t been careful enough about humans. On one of their trips out, some white guy shot Dad and then claimed he thought he was a zombie. Mom didn’t say what had happened after that, but Norris strongly suspected she’d shot the guy.

After that, Mom and Norris would go out together. Norris already knew a little about how to shoot, because Dad used to take him to a range to teach him. Dad had been big on knowing how to use weapons to defend yourself and having legal guns. He’d drilled Mom and Norris in how to shoot, because it was the best way to take out deaders. They didn’t always die when you hit them in the head, but if you hit them with enough shots in the torso, you could destroy enough of their bodies that they’d fall down and be unable to walk, and if you could make leg shots you could cripple them even faster. Crippled zombies would still crawl or slither, so they weren’t helpless, but you could cover them with lighter fluid and set them on fire if they were crawling. He and Mom used to carry water guns full of lighter fluid, and matches.

On the concrete floor of the garage, he slept badly, waking up several times. Memories of Mom and Dad standing up for him, of the things they’d taught him, haunted him as he tried to sleep. Most nights he worked until he was exhausted, and then he collapsed into bed and let everything go black, and he slept so deeply that when the alarm went off in the morning he never remembered any dreams. He kept the grief at bay by keeping busy, like he’d kept the grief about Dad at bay by focusing on helping Mom to keep them both alive. But he was much too uncomfortable to sleep deeply right now, and he couldn’t stop memories from spooling through his head.

Several times during the night, tears pricked his eyes, and he sniffled, but he managed to keep from breaking into full-on sobs. Men didn’t cry, and if he had no mom and dad then he had to be a man, right? He had to be tough and strong if he wanted to survive… and if he wanted to help the doctors save Mom, despite their resistance.

All his life, Norris had gotten anything he was passionate about wanting. He hadn’t gotten every video game he’d ever wanted, he’d never gotten the puppy he’d asked for, but any time he’d wanted something really, really badly, and had shown he was willing to work hard for it, his mom and dad had moved heaven and earth to make it happen. Including going to teachers or the principal and demanding he be allowed to do that thing – like join the other three kids who were doing independent math study, when he was in fourth grade, because it wasn’t fair that he was excluded when he had the best grades in the class, and the fact that they’d been in a different teacher’s classroom than him last year and had been assigned then, and his new teacher hadn’t wanted to “rock the boat” by adding any more kids to independent study, should be irrelevant. His whole life had taught him that if you work hard, you do everything right and present yourself as well-dressed and clean and you talk mostly like a white kid with an advanced vocabulary rather than how you’d talk to your friends, you make yourself important and invaluable through your hard work, and then you make demands, you get what you want. He’d tried all that. Now it was time to be really, really pushy.

Despite being hungry – he hadn’t had breakfast – and exhausted because he’d slept so badly, he perked up as soon as one of the doctors came in and unlocked the van they were taking today. While they went around the side to check the tires and make sure there was gas and stuff like that, Norris climbed in through the back doors that had been left open, and hid under the specimen table, where normally they kept the box of ice water. When they came in with the box of ice water, he scooted out from under the table and made himself very small, between the specimen table and the barrier closing off the front seats from the back. Once the box was in, he crawled back under the table. If he lay very flat and he kept his head turned sideways, he could just barely fit between the lid of the box and the bottom of the table.

The doctors on today’s mission were Sarah, Raoul, Aaron driving, and Aileen in the front seat rather than Vinay, who’d been there on the mission where Norris came in. They weren’t looking for a stowaway, so they left the back wide open with no doctor anywhere around it, multiple times, as they got the stuff they wanted to load. It wasn’t hard for Norris to stay clear of them. He was wearing the leather armor Jessie had made for him, not the one he’d made himself, because it was better made and fit better, but his mask was balled up and stuffed in a pocket. That was lumpy and uncomfortable, but Norris was relying on his black leather and black hair and dark brown skin to make him nearly invisible under here. His mask was black but painted with reflective white stripes in the pattern of a Spider-Man mask; it was designed to make him easier to see in the dark, so he couldn’t wear it right now. Deaders went by smell more than sight; their sight usually started failing them as the fungus invaded more and more of their brain. The idea was to make him easier for humans to see, and right now, he didn’t want humans to see him.

The van started. He could feel the engine rumbling through the box of water he was lying on. The speed bump actively hurt, making him hit his head on the bottom of the bed he was lying under. He managed not to yell. They needed to be a lot farther away from their base before they found him. Norris drifted off, despite his discomfort, lulled by the rumbling of the engine and the fact that he’d had so little sleep the night before.

***

“Shit!”

Norris woke with a start and banged his head on the bottom of the bed again. There was a white beaked mask peering under the bed, staring at him.

“Goddamn it, Sarah, your little fanboy’s stowed away!” Norris couldn’t see the doctor’s face under the mask, and the voice modulator made it hard to tell his tone, but it wasn’t hard for Norris to tell it was Raoul, and he was pissed.

The van pulled to a stop. “Get out from under there,” Sarah snapped at Norris. Yeah, she was pissed too.

Norris scrambled out. “Why were you even looking under there?” he asked.

“Kid, this is no time to ask smart-ass questions,” Raoul said.

“What’s going on?” Aaron yelled from the front. “The kid’s in the van?”

“Not for very much longer,” Raoul said, pulling open the side door. The smell of deaders – earth and rot – wafted into the van.

Norris backed away from him. “Oh, that’s just great,” he said. “You’re mad I stowed away so you’re going to kill me?”

“What the fuck. No one’s going to kill you.” He couldn’t see Raoul’s eyes under the goggles of the plague doctor mask, but the way Raoul moved his head, dismissively, he was pretty sure Raoul was rolling his eyes. “But you’re getting out of the van. Now.”

“What did you think was going to happen here?” Sarah asked. “You thought we’d get to our destination and then you’d pop out and we’d be grateful for your help once there were actual deaders to deal with so we wouldn’t be angry that you’d disobeyed?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Norris said. “I figured you’d be angry, but I thought I could be helpful anyway.”

“Well, you can’t be. You’re in the way and I want you out of this van, now,” Raoul said.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna kill me?” Norris looked Raoul straight in the goggles. “Because what do you think’s gonna happen if you throw me out of this van in a city full of deaders, without any gun or supplies or anything? You took my mom, who do you think’s gonna help me survive?”

“We didn’t take your mom, you little shit! She was turning! She would have bitten you if we hadn’t grabbed her when we did, because you’re the dumbass who kept acting like she was going to be just fine, like she had a bad cold or something and not that her brain was being taken over by a fungus!”

Fuck you, Norris thought, but didn’t say. Mom and Dad had taught him what swearing actually meant, when a kid did it, instead of just telling him those were bad words he should never use. Swearing was for when he needed to present as tough or adult, or when the situation was very serious and he needed to shock someone into listening to him. When he was trying to present as the child he was, or express that he needed help, or he was talking to authorities with direct power over him, he should never swear. He might not have exactly followed the rules when they’d first taken Mom, but they hadn’t had authority over him then, and now they did.

“Ok, fine. My mom was turning anyway. I’ve been trying as hard as I can to do anything I can to help you guys, because you’re the only hope my mom has. That’s why I came here, because I thought maybe I could help.”

“How is this helping? All you’re doing is getting in the way,” Sarah said.

Norris rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t my idea to stop the van and make a whole big thing of this,” he said. “That’s on you.”

In the front passenger seat, Aileen laughed. “He’s got you there.”

“The hell with this. Get out of the van!”

“No,” Norris said, again looking Raoul in the eye, or where his eyes presumably were, anyway. “If you want to kill me so bad, you’re gonna have to pick me up kicking and screaming and throw me out to the deaders yourself.”

“No one is going to leave you to the deaders—” Sarah started.

“Do you guys even have noses?” Belatedly Norris remembered that they actually didn’t; the beaks of their masks had filters in them to keep potential spores out, and a lot of the doctors put things like lavender sachets in the beak so they didn’t have to smell the deaders. “Look, I don’t have a bundle of herbs shoved up in front of my nose. I can smell the deaders. That’s how you stay alive when you live on the street and try to stay one step ahead of them; you gotta use all your senses, not just your eyes and ears.”

“We don’t need to use smell to find them,” Aileen said. “We have drones and cameras.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t using them right now, so I guess I’m the only one who’s noticed that there’s probably a whole lot of deaders moving in on this van and you should probably close the door and start driving!”

“He’s not actually wrong,” Aaron called. “Shut the door, folks, I’m going to get back on the road. We’ve got a mass of deaders coming in behind us.”

Raoul sighed. “Yeah, all right. Whatever the fuck.” He pulled the door shut. “But as soon as we get to someplace where it’s safe to ditch you, you’re out of here, kid.”

“Nowhere’s safe except for your base,” Norris said. “And I think it’s pretty rude to threaten to throw someone out just because they wanted to help. I haven’t slowed you down; you stopping the van to have a whole long thing about are you gonna throw me out or not is what slowed you down.”

“We can’t take the filters out of our masks,” Sarah said. “But you should be wearing your mask, Norris. It has a filter in it.”

“If the deaders are close enough that we can see them, then I could wear my mask because I wouldn’t need to smell them.” He patted the pocket his mask was stuffed in. “I brought it with me in case it comes in handy.”

The van suddenly lurched to a halt with an explosive sound. Norris, Raoul, and Sarah, all of whom were standing in the back, were thrown into the grate that separated the back from the front seats. Aaron yelled “Shit!”

“What just happened?” Aileen shouted.

“We blew a tire. More than one, I think. I need to get out and take a look.”

“You can’t get out and take a look if there are deaders in the area!” Sarah said, getting to her feet. “Raoul, Norris, you two okay?”

“Just peachy. I get thrown around the inside of a van all day long. For fun,” Raoul growled. “Fuck that hurts. I think I hit my head.” The hats the doctors wore, which were fastened to their masks with snaps and under their neck with straps, were of stiff enough leather to provide some cranial protection, but they weren’t nearly as good as a bicycle or football helmet.

“I’m okay,” Norris said. “Green bones!”

Sarah’s masked gaze fell on him for several seconds. “Oh, wait. You mean ‘greenstick’ bones, don’t you?”

“Yeah, that. Like my bones are flexible ‘cause they still have a lot of cartilage in them, because I’m not grown up yet?”

“Greenstick,” Sarah said.

“Deploying the drone,” Aileen said.

“That is a much better idea than Aaron going out to look,” Sarah said fervently.

The drone was mounted on the top of the van. Aileen had the controller out and the screen she was using to monitor its camera – it looked something like a Nintendo Switch. “Oh, wow, this is bad,” she said.

“What do you see?”

“Caltrops,” Aileen said. “More specifically, there’s strips of wood across the road that are black, and hard to see, but there are nails sticking out of them.”

“Damn. Who would do that?” Aaron said. “Don’t people have enough problems with the deaders that they’ve got to make problems for other people?”

“What if it was the deaders?” Sarah asked.

“Huh. We’ve seen deaders use rocks as tools, but not anything as sophisticated as caltrops,” Aaron said. “Shit. Are they getting smarter?”

“I think we have other things to worry about,” Raoul said. He was looking out the back window. “That’s a lot of deaders.”

“Grenades?” Sarah said, and then corrected herself as she peered out the window. “No, the range is too close. We can’t drive out of here.”

“We need to get out of the van with the guns while we can. If they get too close, they’ll mob us,” Aaron said.

“It’s a little late for that,” Aileen said, sighing. “I’ve got deaders moving in on the sides as well. Someone’s gonna have to go up on the roof.”

“Shit. I hate this,” Raoul said. “All right, goddammit it.”

He reached up and opened the sunroof, wobbling visibly. “Fuck, I hate this.”

“What are you doing?” Norris asked.

“I don’t have time to explain shit to you,” Raoul said. “I’ve got deaders to shoot.”

“He’s going up on the roof,” Sarah said. “It’s dangerous; if the recoil knocks him off the roof, he’ll fall in with the deaders.”

In the background, Norris could hear Aaron on the CB radio, calling for backup. “How quick is whoever Dr. Aaron’s calling going to get out here?” he asked Sarah.

“Probably not fast enough to keep deaders from finding a way in if we don’t shoot a bunch of them.”

Raoul had knelt on the floor to open the weapons trunk, which was bolted to the floor. He pulled out a rifle, but when he stood up he stumbled and nearly fell. “Shit,” he mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked.

“Just a little dizzy. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.” Sarah walked over to him. “You’re wobbling on your feet, after you hit your head. You cannot go up on the roof.” She sighed. “I’m going to have to do it.”

“Fuck no. I can manage.”

“If you get dizzy and fall down while you’re on top of the van, you will fall into a mob of deaders. That’s not acceptable. Aaron and Aileen can’t get onto the roof from where they are, so it’s got to be me.”

Norris didn’t think a middle-aged woman with bad knees was a much better choice than a man with a concussion. “Let me do it instead,” Norris said.

Raoul was plainly glaring at him, though Norris couldn’t actually see his eyes. “How the fuck is that going to help?”

“I know how to shoot,” Norris said. “My mom and dad made sure I knew how.”

“You couldn’t handle the recoil, kid.”

“I can if someone down here is holding one of my feet or something,” Norris said. “I’m short. My center of gravity’s lower. And I’m lighter than any of you guys, so you can hold onto me and keep me anchored.”

“You’re ten.”

“I actually turned eleven a week ago.”

“Can you even handle the recoil? At all?”

“You gotta show me your guns before I can tell you that. But I’ve shot a bunch of different kinds of guns.”

“Take your pick, Mr. Expert Marksman,” Raoul sneered.

Norris looked over the guns. Handguns – no. The ones that were powerful enough to be sure of taking down a deader had too much recoil for him. Shotgun – no. It was a very short-range weapon, and you could either fill it with buckshot, which usually wouldn’t even annoy the zombies, or slugs, in which case the fact that it was really hard to aim it made it a problem. The issue with deaders was that they didn’t feel pain, they didn’t seem to really need to breathe and they didn’t seem to really need blood circulation all that much, so guns usually needed to hit zombies in the head to stop them. Or, technically, the kneecaps; they couldn’t keep coming after you if you destroyed the structural integrity of their legs, but that was a lot harder of a shot than a head shot, most of the time.

He chose the 9 mm rifle. “From the roof of the van, I ought to be able to hit heads better than anything else, and if I use a rifle, I can brace it to get a better shot and get less recoil,” he said.

“How long have you been shooting guns?” Raoul asked. It was the first thing he’d said to Norris that Norris could remember that didn’t sound sarcastic or sneering.

“Two years. My dad thought that it was really important that I understand guns and know how to shoot them because if you’re black, you don’t want to call the cops if you get in trouble; they’re just as likely to kill you as help you. He wasn’t expecting a zombie apocalypse, but I’ve done a lot more shooting since the deaders came than I used to do at the range.” He looked down at his feet. “If we hadn’t lost most of our weapons because deaders got into our camp at night and we had to run, Mom probably wouldn’t have got bitten, but we were down to a shotgun and Mom had a .22 and then we ran out of ammo for it and that was when she got bit.”

“Now see, I always used to tell my brother not to carry a gun because the cops are even more likely to shoot you if you have one,” Sarah said. “Did your parents tell you about Philando Castile?”

“They’re coming up the hood,” Aaron reported. “I’m electrifying the body before you guys climb up there. No one touch the walls of the van.”

There was a zapping sound. Norris could see, through the windshield, deaders twitching and jerking before they finally fell off the van.

“Ok, clear. All the ones that were touching the van are stunned.” Electricity didn’t typically kill deaders, but their muscles ran on electricity just the same as humans did, so it could stun and paralyze them. “Whoever’s going up on the roof, you need to go up now.”

“I’m going!” Norris said. “Hey, Sarah, can you help me up? I can’t reach the sun roof.”

“I’ll do it,” Raoul said. “Come on, kid.”

Norris gave Raoul a suspicious look, but accepted the boost up to the roof. He crouched on the roof. Deaders reached for him, but the van was eight feet tall; none of them could reach. They might start climbing on each other’s bodies or trying to climb up the hood again, though.

He sat himself down on the edge of the sunroof gap and dangled one foot down, The positioning was a little awkward, but it would let someone spot him. “Okay, hand me up my rifle.”

“It’s not ‘your’ rifle, kid, it’s ours,” Raoul groused, but handed the rifle up. Norris took a few moments to get himself situated, put the rifle up against his shoulder, sighted through the scope, picked out a deader who looked like what if his social studies teacher was a lot heavier and her face was rotting off, and fired. The recoil knocked him back slightly, but he was braced for it and Raoul was holding onto his ankle, so he couldn’t fly off the van.

“Got one,” he crowed proudly. “Straight in the head.”

“Yeah yeah, stop congratulating yourself and get as many of the others as you can. They might not all be that easy.”

“It’s hard to miss their heads from up here,” Norris replied.

“We can roll forward,” he heard Aaron saying. “With two flats I don’t wanna go faster than 15 mph, maybe 20 max, but that’s a lot faster than deaders can move.”

“What about the other two tires?” Aileen was asking, but Norris didn’t hear the response because he was shooting another deader, and the gun was loud.

His accuracy rate was about 80% -- it was a good rifle, not too heavy, and the deaders were a lot closer than he would normally use a rifle against. The misses generally hit a deader, because they were packed in so closely he couldn’t miss, but if it wasn’t a head shot the deader would keep trying to get into the van or to climb up and drag him down.

Deaders tended to congregate near where there were gunshots. They were too stupid to recognize danger to themselves, but they could recognize that the sound of a gun meant a human, and it was humans they were driven to bite. Norris’ activities had caused the deaders to bunch around the back and sides; he’d shot the two that were still trying to climb up the hood. So Aileen opened her passenger side door, ducked down, grabbed the piece of wood with nails in it that had popped the right tire, and got back in before any of the deaders toward the back managed to reach her. The one that got closest, Norris shot.

When the magazine was empty, Raoul told him to come back in; they were going to try to move, now that he’d thinned the deaders out considerably.

Aaron drove forward very slowly, front rims turned sharply so the van eased out of the way of the board with nails that had popped the left tire. Some of the deaders hung on to the door handles. One managed to get onto the front passenger door handle, and was hanging there. Aileen rolled down the window, just a crack, and while the deader was trying to get its fingers in, she pulled up a pistol, placed the barrel in the window crack, and fired point-blank at the deader. Its head exploded, probably due to the extreme short range; Norris hadn’t gotten any of his targets’ heads to explode.

“Backup’s on the way,” Aaron said. “They’ve got two spare tires for us, and a lot more guns than we brought. Gonna be another ten minutes or so.”

“I could go up and shoot some more,” Norris offered. “We’re not moving fast enough for me to fall off if someone’s holding my leg.”

“Think you’ve done enough, kid,” Raoul said gruffly, but not meanly like he’d been doing most of the time Norris had known him.

“Everyone get onto the rubber mats if you’re not in a seat, and don’t touch the walls,” Aaron said. “I’m electrifying again.”

The zap knocked all the remaining deaders off the door handles, and the van rolled slowly away from the cluster. “So here’s our problem,” Sarah said to Norris. “We can’t complete the mission without changing the tires, but we can’t stop long enough to change the tires with all those deaders out there. We can roll on the rims faster than they can walk, but you know that with all those gunshots, every deader in range to hear is going to be coming our way, so even if we outrun the ones behind us, we’ll encounter new parties of them before long.”

“So what’re we gonna do?” Norris asked.

“Roll on the rims and wait for backup,” Aaron said. “If we get into a big cluster of them, electrify, shoot from the roof, all the stuff we’ve been doing.”

“We try to avoid killing them,” Sarah said. “If we can. The oldest ones, the ones that are rotting, are obviously too far gone to save, but the ones that recently turned… if we can catch them and put them on ice, we might be able to save them. Protecting ourselves is more important, of course, but if we can avoid a confrontation, we will.”

“Not much we can do with two flat tires, though,” Aaron said. “Except hope we don’t run into another cluster before backup arrives.”

They did, in fact, run into another cluster before backup arrived, but only by a minute or so. They electrified the outside, and then a van full of plague doctors showed up. Doctors in their leather costumes and masks poured out of the van. One of them pulled off his mask. “Hey! Uglies! Over here!”

As the cluster of deaders moved toward him and the other new doctors, he hastily put his mask back on. As soon as most of the mass of deaders was far enough away from Norris’ van that friendly fire wasn’t much of a risk, the new doctors lit up the mass with assault rifles. Norris watched from the back window of the van, the one on the door.

“Cool,” he said. “Hey, how come we don’t have any AR-15s?”

“You wouldn’t be allowed to use them anyway,” Sarah said.

“Why did that one guy take off his mask?”

“Deaders operate by smell and sight, mostly. And sound, but there are so many imitation human sounds out there – tv, movies, music – that what gets them to really focus in is smell and sight. We don’t look human to them; they’re, well, too stupid to figure out that we’re human beings in costumes. It’s one of the reasons we wear these outfits.” He could hear a grin in her voice even through the distortion. “And they can’t smell us through the leather and the scented herb sachets. So if we need to lure them somewhere… one of us has to expose their face, so they can smell a human and see a human head.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Yes. But in this case, not very; he was surrounded by other doctors with guns.”

“I’m gonna help polish them off,” Raoul said. “You guys gonna take care of the tires?”

“Yeah.” Sarah got a piece of equipment Norris didn’t recognize out of the weapons trunk. “I’ll bring the tire jack up front and we’ll get the van up and take the flats off. Norris, you can’t be in the car when we do that. Put on your mask.”

“Okay.” Norris pulled it out of his pocket and put it on. He’d modeled it kind of after Miles Morales, but with Venom’s color scheme. Now all he could smell was leather. “Can deaders tell I’m human?”

“Your body shape is a lot closer to human than ours, so… maybe? It might slow them down figuring you out, but don’t bet on it saving you.”

Outside, Raoul was leaning against the back of the van, his own rifle in his hands. He fired, braced against the van, and shot down a straggling deader who seem to be confused about which direction it wanted to go. “I’ll give you this, kid. I didn’t expect you to be any good with that gun.”

“Uh, thanks?” The rifle fired again, and another deader dropped. “Do you want me to get the gun I was using and help out?”

“Naah, I’m good.” Raoul turned his head to the left and right. “Actually, do me a favor and tell me if there are any deaders approaching from the front or sides of the van. We’ve got to keep them away from the others while they’re changing the tires.”

“Sure.” Norris walked around the van. Aileen and Aaron were pumping the tire jack to lift the van. Sarah was unscrewing the things that held the tires on – Norris’ parents hadn’t taught him anything about fixing cars, so he had no idea what any of the car parts were named except the obvious ones, like tires and windshield. There were no deaders that way. There was, however, one wandering deader approaching from the right side of the van. It was one of the more decrepit ones. Norris told Raoul, who came around the side and shot it down.

“So, we cool now?”

“You know, this shit we’re doing, it’s not a game. It’s deadly serious. I didn’t want some kid getting in the way or getting hurt.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t been in your way.”

“You’re ten—”

“—Eleven—”

“—Point is, you’re a kid. Kids aren’t exactly famous for being great at staying out of the way.” Raoul glanced over at him. “You know a lot of shit for a kid.”

“My mom was a doctor and my dad was a college professor. They made sure I knew a lot of stuff.”

“I’m a doctor and I didn’t know any of this shit when I was your age.”

Norris shrugged. “I guess I’ve always tried really hard.” He grinned. “And I’m pretty smart, so I learn fast.”

“Haven’t seen you at the range, though. Back at the base.”

“Yeah, I’m not allowed to go by myself, and Sarah and Jessie are always busy.” He looked at Raoul sideways. “Maybe sometime if you’re going, I could tag along? I could get some practice, and maybe, pick up a few pointers from watching you? I bet you know a lot.”

“You always have an angle, don’t you, kid?”

“Yeah,” Norris admitted, “but you know it’s all about helping you guys, right?” He glanced around, looking for deaders. “My dad’s dead. All I’ve got is my mom, and you’re her only hope. I tried studying biology and stuff so I could get good enough to help you with the research.”

Raoul snorted. “I don’t care how smart you are, kid, we all graduated high school, and then four years of college, and then seven years of medical school and residency… you’re not gonna be able to duplicate that when you’re ten. Doogie Howser MD isn’t actually a thing.”

Norris had no idea what that meant, but he nodded sagely as if he did. “I know. But I figured it out. You guys aren’t doctors when you’re in the field. I can’t help you in the lab more than washing dishes and stuff for you. But when you go out to get specimens for your tests, you’re, like, I don’t know. A squad of action heroes or something like that.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard us described like that.” Raoul shook his head. “We’re not heroes, whatever you might think.”

“You are, though. I mean, yeah, you don’t go around rescuing people. But you capture deaders and study them to try to save all the deaders. That’s heroic. If you were spending your time rescuing people, you couldn’t be working on your research, and that’s more important. If you can cure the deaders, you can save everyone at once.” Norris looked up at Raoul. “So yeah, I got angles. I figure out how to work the system. But it’s all so I can help you, because I want you to save my mom.”

All the deaders were down. The doctors from the other van brought over the two spare tires, and one of them helped Aileen and Sarah get them on the van. Aaron was an old guy, and getting the car up on the jack had apparently winded him.

“Well. I guess you’re not actually useless.” Raoul looked away. “It’s not my call, but I’m not gonna keep arguing against you helping out if you want. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Zombies are going around eating people. I don’t think you grownups can do the whole ‘oh, you’re a kid, we’ll wrap you up in bubble wrap to keep you safe’ thing anymore. I’m fighting for my life and someone I love, same as you and everyone else.”

***

The tires having been changed, they moved on. The other group of doctors was out on their own mission; they headed off in a different direction as the team Norris was with drove south, deeper into the city, but still within the relatively wealthy north side.

“We’re looking for any factor that might cause a variation in response to the fungus,” Sarah said. “Race, socioeconomic status, ethnicity, age, gender… anything we can find. Also, there might be environmental factors that vary depending on where they lived. So we pick up fresh deaders – as fresh as possible, and if we can get them right before they turn, like your mom, that’s ideal – from every part of the city, and out in the suburbs, and occasionally we go out to the Eastern Shore or the mountains out west or north into the more rural counties – those areas have a lot fewer deaders in general because they’re a lot less populated, but deaders hide in the woods or the swamps, out there.”

“Do you drive into swamps, then?”

She laughed. “Hell no, this poor van couldn’t handle that. We use bait. One of us takes off our mask and ostentatiously walks around the van yelling or singing. Deaders hiding in underpopulated areas are a lot hungrier than the ones around here; city deaders will sometimes ignore potential prey because their biting urge is temporarily satiated, but rural deaders will come out any time there’s any evidence of a human anywhere near them. They fall for it every time.”

This was an area with big houses, lawns that were overgrown but probably had been well-kept once, and lots of trees. “You looking to grab some rich white people today?”

“I don’t care if they’re white, black, or green, but yes, we want to grab some people who had wealth before they became deaders. See if good nutrition and health care in their time as living humans made any difference to the spread of the fungus, for better or worse.”

“I don’t see anybody on the road.”

The whole region appeared – not necessarily dead, but certainly turtled up. Many houses had boarded-up first floor windows, a thing Norris did not generally see on houses as nice as these. Some of them had bars on the windows – so they’d either gotten that before, or they’d had the resources to get them quickly put in after the deader plague had started. There were fans running in some of the second or higher floor windows; did these guys actually have electricity? Norris’ family had lived in a big, beautiful brownstone down near the art college, but their neighborhood had been primarily black, with a lot of their neighbors being renters, and they’d lost electricity early on.

In most of the city, you could see deaders stumbling along on the street, or humans traveling together in groups, heavily armed, because the only way to get food in the city was generally to loot grocery stores or to pick up food packages from the government air drop. No matter what anyone had stockpiled when things started to get rough, it had run out or gone bad by now. These folks probably mostly had cars, up here; they could drive out to rural areas where things weren’t as dangerous and buy food from farmers, the way the plague doctors did, Norris figured. They never needed to leave their houses and walk down the street, carrying their weapons, glancing around nervously and constantly, using every sense they had to try to pick up on deaders before the deaders could converge on them. At least not before all the gas in and near the city ran out.

Part of him hated them for that. Another part reminded himself that a lot of these people, it probably wasn’t their fault that other parts of the city were so poor. He shouldn’t begrudge them the relative safety they had, he should just want that safety to be shared with the entire city.

If this was still going on when he was old enough to drive, Norris vowed, he would go out to the countryside and buy fresh food and drive it down into the city and hand it out for free to anyone who was still alive. Although, what were the odds that anyone could survive another five years of this? Maybe he needed to start learning to drive now. Who was gonna give him a ticket? The doctors’ vehicles ran on stuff they could make out of corn, not standard gasoline, so they had plenty of fuel he could use.

“If there are any around here, they’re hiding in bushes or behind trees or inside abandoned commercial buildings. They go slightly dormant when there are no people to prey on; they enter a kind of torpor state until they sense prey, and then they go into action.”

“That’s where the zoomers come from,” Raoul said. “Normally deaders can’t move quickly; their metabolism is kind of shit. But when they’ve been in torpor and they sense prey, those fuckers can move their asses.”

“So we’re going to use the drones to try to find them,” Sarah said. “In an area with a lot of deaders in torpor, we can’t risk luring them out; they move too fast to handle them if there’s a large number. Fortunately, most deaders are still somewhat warmer than their environment, even if they’re all colder than human, now that the fall temperatures are coming in, and the ones who are at straight environmental temperature are far gone enough that they can’t zoom anymore.”

“What does being warm – Oh! You’re using, like, infrared scopes?” Some of the video games Norris had played in his life had featured infrared scopes, where if you found a scope and equipped yourself with it, you could see enemies by their body heat. “Those are real?”

“Yup.”

Aaron parked the car, and Aileen released the drones. She was piloting and monitoring two of them; Aaron was working another, and both Sarah and Raoul had one they were working with. Norris spent a lot of time looking over Sarah’s shoulder as she used her drone to hunt for deaders.

“Looks like there aren’t a lot,” Sarah said. “I’m getting three hiding in the bistro across the street, and wow, one managed to get into a tree. I wonder how he’s getting down.”

“He can’t climb down?”

“He can, but he won’t, because he’s too stupid to think of it. He’ll probably jump, which will likely break a leg. Still, for him to have enough intelligence to think of climbing a tree in the first place means he’s probably fresh, and if he doesn’t smash his skull open when he gets out of the tree, he might be ideal.”

“Got a bunch milling around in a house,” Raoul reported. “I’m guessing one got in and turned a whole family. Looks like three adult size and three significantly shorter.”

“Too many to take,” Sarah said regretfully. “It’s too bad, we could use some more children, and if they haven’t gotten out of the house yet, they’re probably fresh.”

Norris knew what she meant, but “we could use some more children” still sounded creepy to him. “We can’t take six deaders?”

“Nope. We don’t even have capacity to put that many on ice. We’re out to collect three specimens, and then we’ll have to head back.”

“Not seeing any northbound,” Aileen reported. “Southbound, there are some roaming the street about a dozen blocks south, but there are police cars and net barricade blocking the street, so we can’t get down that way.”

Norris’ lip curled. “Yeah, figures. The rich people decided to block the poor people from being able to get up into their neighborhood.”

“That area was pretty gentrified. Not exactly poor. Not as wealthy as here, but they had money. And tourism dollars; their neighborhood was in several cult classic movies.” Aileen sighed. “There are men wearing police armor, with weapons, manning the barricades. I suggest we don’t go farther south.”

“The deaders could just go around, couldn’t they? I mean, they aren’t walling off the whole city…”

Sarah shook her head. “Again, they can but they won’t; deaders aren’t that smart.”

“I don’t know,” Aaron said. “One might have managed to think of setting down nails in boards as caltrops. One climbed a tree. I don’t know if they’re so fresh they still have a lot of their minds, or if the fungus is adapting to use more of the host’s intelligence capacity.” He put down his drone controller. “Someone just shot my drone. I’m out.”

“Hmm.” Sarah looked over her own controller and Raoul’s. “Tree guy, and maybe a couple from the bistro if they’re fresh?”

“Yeah. Who’s doing the luring today?”

Norris put his hand up like he was in school. “I will!”

“Norris, no. This is dangerous work,” Sarah said.

“Yeah, but whoever’s doing the luring isn’t gonna be able to help the others with the poles,” Norris pointed out. “You have to take time to put your mask back on, and if they’re zoomers, that’s dangerous. And what if we go lure them out of the bistro and the family from the other house comes out? If there’s a lot of them, it’d be a good idea if all of you doctors were ready to catch them or shoot them. That means none of you should do the luring, I should, because I can’t help with the poles.”

“How are you going to outrun adult zoomers?” Raoul asked.

Norris smirked. “How’d I do it before? I can run faster than any deader long as I got good sneakers, and Jessie just got me a new pair. These are sweet.” He showed them off. Velcro straps, no chance of shoelaces tripping him, with springy arches and a lot of bounce. Also they looked cool, black with green slashes and a little bit of silver highlighting. “Can’t keep it up; they’ll catch up with me if I’ve got to run a whole block, but for a short sprint even the zoomers can’t keep up.”

Aileen pointed out, “Children have a lot more available metabolic energy than adults, and even zoomers have a lower metabolic rate than any human. He’s probably right.”

“Yes, but what if he’s wrong? The risk is unacceptable,” Sarah said sternly.

To Norris’ surprise, Raoul spoke up. “The kid wants us to treat him like he’s adult, or close enough to be valuable to the team, anyway. He survived on the streets. Let him try with the Tree Guy; that one’s probably gonna break a bone on landing. We’ll get a sense of how fast the kid can move without him being at a lot of real risk.”

“Since when do you advocate for Norris?” Sarah asked, plainly surprised.

“Since he turned out to be a good shot.”

“That was all it took for him to earn your respect, huh?” Sarah sighed. “Okay. We can try it, but I want Aaron or Aileen on standby to shoot the deader if he does look like he’s going to overtake Norris?”

“I’m ready,” Aileen said. She opened her door. “Pass me a rifle.”

With the grate separating the seating compartment from the back of the van, the driver and passenger couldn’t get the longer guns from the back without opening their door and then the van side door to take the gun. Raoul handed Aileen a rifle, and she got back into the van and aimed it at the tree, while Sarah and Raoul got their grabbing poles ready. “Okay, Norris,” Sarah said. “See if you can get him out of the tree.”

Norris strolled up to the tree, mask off, whistling loudly. “Wow, what do you know, here I am, a human kid, just strolling around totally unprotected because I’m sure there are no deaders up here in this nice rich neighborhood! Boy, it would sure be a shame if it turned out I was wrong and a deader showed up!”

There was movement in the tree. Norris kept the tree in his peripheral vision as he walked around it, starting to whistle again.

Despite his attention to the tree, he was still surprised when the deader jumped down from a low branch, implying that the guy had climbed rather than jumping, and took off after him. It wasn’t enough of a moment of surprise to slow him down, though. He raced back toward the van. As the doctors had predicted, the zombie was a zoomer, one of the ones who could move at a run, and they were often faster than humans despite their low metabolism because they didn’t feel pain.

As Norris reached the van, Raoul fired a taser at the zombie. Tasers didn’t hurt them, but they could stun them and knock them down, since their muscles still used electricity. As the zombie stumbled, they swung their poles into position, locking around the zombie’s neck and waist rather than arms like they’d done with Norris’ mom. Norris wanted to know why not, but he figured it was a bad idea to distract them right now.

Aileen came out of the car, with her pole. It had a different attachment on it – they were still pincers, but they were much thicker. She grabbed the zombie just under his left shoulder and pulled the pincers shut. There was a cracking noise, and the zombie’s arm went limp.

She was breaking their limbs, Norris realized, as she did the other arm, and then both legs. The zombie thrashed its body and head, but without working limbs, it had no way to stop them from slamming it down on the table and holding it in place while Aileen strapped it down. They did the same as they’d done to Mom – putting the tube-gag in his mouth, strapping it down, and pouring a sedative in. The zombie did not stop wiggling and struggling. The doctors wrapped his arms with bandages and sprayed them down with the aerosol that hardened it, like they’d done to Mom. Then they pushed the air tube in, pulled out the ice tank,  lifted the metal tray the deader was strapped to, and dropped it in the tank. Finally they closed the lid, sealing the zombie in.

Norris shuddered. That was a lot more violent than what they’d done to his mom. He was fine with shooting zombies, but it seemed kind of awful to him to render someone helpless and then methodically break their limbs, even if they were deaders.

“We’ve got two coming out of the bistro,” Aaron reported. “One looks really fresh. The other one’s... not. Recommend you shoot the one that’s more dead and take the other.”

Raoul nodded. “Aileen, you’ve got the gun.”

“Okay.” Both of the zombies were zoomers, running at high speed toward the van, presumably following the sound of human voices. Aileen lined up the shot. One of the zoomers didn’t even look dead; his white skin was pasty and colorless, but some white people just looked like that. The other one’s fingers were visibly rotting and there were blooms of mold on her body. Aileen blew her head off with the rifle. The other zoomer kept coming.

Norris didn’t have to do anything. Raoul and Sarah swung the poles out as the zoomer approached, hitting him in the legs and the head, hard enough to knock him to the ground. Raoul tased him before he could get up, and then they did the same thing they’d done to the man in the tree. Grab him by the neck and waist, hold him up far enough away that he couldn’t reach them with his arms or legs, and then Aileen moving in with the stronger pincer and crushing his limbs.

“It’s... it seems wrong for you to do that,” he said tentatively, after they’d gotten the deader secured in an ice bath. “You want to cure them but you’re breaking their arms and legs?”

“We don’t want them infecting us," Sarah pointed out. “We don’t usually get the ones who haven’t quite turned yet, like your mom. This one was infected within the last week or so, but he’s still as dangerous as any deader – more than most of them, because his body’s intact and he might have some brainpower still.”

“Yeah, but if you cure them, they’ll still have two broken legs and two broken arms.”

“Better than being a deader, though.”

“There’s some motion in the house,” Aaron reported. “I think one of the kids just found the back door.”

“Oh, we can get a kid? That’s great!” Sarah said enthusiastically. “We’ve got so few of those.”

“You want me to lure him in?” Norris asked. “Or her?”

“Sure, but don’t forget. Without prey for a while, they become zoomers, and you don’t have a lot of advantages against another kid.”

“Sure I do. I’m not mostly dead,” Norris said. He pulled off his mask again and got onto the median, trying (and mostly failing) to rap about how much zombies should want to eat him. His rhymes sucked and his rhythm was off, but he doubted the zombie would care.

It appeared finally, coming around the side of the house. A little white girl, younger than him. Maybe seven or eight. She had curly blonde hair and was still dressed in a pink T-shirt that said “GIRLS RULE AT SCHOOL”, with bloodstains on the collar where she’d probably been bitten. For several seconds she just stared at him, as he stared at her. Then she started running toward him.

Norris hadn’t gone far from the van, so he didn’t have far to go to get to safety. The little zoomer ran right in at Sarah and Raoul, who swung their poles into place to grab her.

She dodged.

“Shit!” Raoul shouted, as the zoomer got past him and tried to jump into the van after Norris. “Fuck! Kid, get a gun!”

There really wasn’t time to do that. Norris only had time to get his mask back on before the kid zoomer slammed into him, knocking him back against the divider between the seats in the van and the back area.

“Get off!" Norris yelled. The girl was trying to bite him, while he was trying to hold her away from him. He was taller and had longer arms, but she had deader strength and was forcing his arms back. Her mouth was open and drooling.

Sarah hit her in the head with her pole. The girl went to the ground, hard. As she tried to get up, Sarah pinned her in place. “Aileen! Get the crusher over here, do her legs!”

“She’s a kid!” Norris said. “Can’t we just pin her down with your poles? She’s not that strong; if I could hold her off, you grownups should be able to.”

“Can’t take chances,” Sarah said. “But we can leave her arms intact if we hold her to the floor and break her legs so she can’t use them to squirm free.”

Aileen snapped the bones in the child’s shin. “There you go. She can’t run, but if we do manage to find a cure, those are greenstick fractures and they should knit back together relatively easily.” The zombie thrashed her thighs and knees, trying to move her legs, but the broken part just flopped. “Or maybe not, since she won’t hold them still.”

“I’ll tape them if you take my pole and Raoul adds his.”

“Any reason we’re being so careful with this deader?” Raoul asked.

“The kids are the most likely to come back without brain damage if we figure out how to kill the fungus. I’d rather the kid not have permanently damaged arms and legs.”

Sarah used medical tape to splint the zombie’s broken legs, and a hardening foam all over the splint to hold it together. Then she used the same tape to seal up the zombie’s fingers and thumb, putting them into a ball-like cast where the zombie had no ability to move her fingers or touch anyone with them. She tied the arms to the child zombie’s side with the medical tape, and then used the bandages to wrap the girl like a mummy before spraying the hardening aerosol. “Okay, let’s get her on ice.”

“Two more incoming,” Aaron reported. “Both fresh. Adult from the same house as the kid, and another adult, from the bistro.”

“We can’t take them,” Sarah said wistfully. “No room.”

“Can we drive off without killing them?” Norris asked. “If they’re fresh, maybe you’ll be able to save them?”

“That’s really unlikely,” Sarah said.

Raoul went out with the gun. “We’d have to cure them within a couple of weeks for them to stay fresh. We’re not within a couple of weeks of cracking this. So... no.” He fired the gun, twice. Both zombies toppled over, their heads masses of blood and flesh.

Sarah and Aileen finished boxing the little zombie. “We’re full up,” Aileen said. “Let’s head back.”

“You wanna get back in the front?” Aaron asked.

“No, I want to get going before any more deaders come out of any more houses and we have to shoot them.” Aileen shuddered slightly. “There’s two more kids in the house this one came from and I really hate having to shoot the kids.”

“That does suck,” Raoul admitted. “If they’re far gone it doesn’t matter, but if they’re fresh… I just keep thinking about how we could put them on ice until we’ve got a cure and maybe they’ll recover, but we don’t have the equipment to put so many on ice so we end up having to kill them.”

“Maybe you could come back with more ice boxes and see if you can get the rest of the kids in that house, after you drop these guys off?” Norris suggested.

Sarah shook her head. “We can’t burn fuel like that. We’re not here to rescue anyone, we’re here to collect the specimens we need. That’s all.”

***

Back at the base, there was no role for Norris to help in with unloading the deaders, taking samples from them, and getting them into their permanent cold boxes. So he went to the cafeteria, because he was starving. It was late afternoon and he’d never had breakfast. A few folks gave him a hairy eyeball for the amount of food he was taking, but no one said anything.

After that, he considered going back to his room and taking a nap… but no. He had to keep up the pressure. If he wanted to finagle his way into being able to go out with them and help them again, he needed to remind them that he’d been helpful, by showing up and offering to help now.

They were buzzing around the lab busily. “Hey,” Norris said, strolling in with his leather armor still on, like they did. “Anything I can do to help? Wash dishes or whatever?”

“Norris, we’ve just been talking about you!” Sarah said cheerily.

“Uh... is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Listen.” Sarah squatted on the floor so her eyes were level with his – and then immediately stood up again. “Ow. I keep forgetting my knees don’t want to let me do that anymore.”

“You don’t need to do it anyway, I can look up.”

“Okay. Listen. You were helpful today, even Raoul admits it. But that incident where the child deader attacked you? That was terrifying. I never want to see anything like that again.”

“Oh, come on!” Norris couldn’t control the outburst. “I did everything I could to help you! I got two deaders to come on over to the van, and I shot deaders when it would have been too dangerous for any of you guys, and--”

“Kid, shut up and let Dr. Blake talk,” Raoul said, and Norris shut up. “Dr. Blake” instead of “Sarah” meant things were serious.

“So,” Sarah said, “we’ve decided to formally allow you to apprentice with us, on the specimen capture squads, because a formal apprenticeship will allow us to train you.”

Aaron spoke up. “You’re going to work with Dr. Alvarez at the range to practice your marksmanship and learn a wider range of weaponry. Dr. Walsh will train you on the use of the drones. I’ll be assisting you on learning to drive. Dr. Narayan will train you on data entry so you can help us put our numbers in for analysis. And Dr. Blake will continue to be your primary liaison with the team, but will also be monitoring your overall progress with your education, with us and in terms of your academic progress.”

“Really?” Norris’ eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Sarah said, grinning. “We recognize that we’re not going to be able to stop you from trying to fight back against the zombie plague, whether we enable you or not, and we believe your chances of accomplishing something positive without getting yourself killed will be considerably better if we train you as our assistant.”

“There’s other teams,” Aileen Walsh said. “One of them came to help us with the tires. They’re not necessarily going to understand why we’re training a kid as young as you are or letting you help out on collection missions. They’re going to be overall too polite to say anything directly to you, but you might hear talk behind your back.”

“That’s okay,” Norris said. “I don’t pay any attention to that kind of thing.” The truth was he didn’t even hear that kind of thing most of the time; his mother had once been furious because she’d overheard children in the hallways at his school calling him weird and an Oreo, but he’d been with her and hadn’t heard a thing. He’d been too busy cataloguing Pokemon in his head.

“I want you to work out, too,” Raoul said. “Shooting’s one thing, but you need to build up upper body strength and stamina. You weren’t in any shape to fight off that deader and she was on you before you could have gotten a gun.”

“So you’re my gym teacher?” Norris said, grinning.

Raoul sighed. “Shoot me now. I’ve become a jock.”

“We’re going to work you hard,” Aaron said. “If you want to be helpful, and you want to come on the missions, we need you up to speed as soon as we can get you there, because we want you to be as safe on the missions as a boy your age could reasonably be.”

Norris thought of his long hours studying biology, chemistry and math, upstairs in his bedroom on the computer someone had left him there. “That’s exactly what I want,” he said. “I’ll go just as fast as you push me, so go ahead and push me hard.”

***

Later, he found his mother’s tank among the other near-suspended deaders. He couldn’t see her – the tanks were not transparent, and he knew better than to open the tank and risk his mom getting loose and getting shot.

“They let me join them, Mom,” he whispered to her. “I’m gonna help them find the cure for this, and we’re gonna save you. We’re gonna get you back to yourself. I promise.”

#52 project #plague doctors #zombies #baltimore #it never actually says baltimore but that's where it is

[adios-gatos]

i ended up making ocs for twisted wonderland mainly because im a slut for character design

these guys are based off the peter pan mermaids partly because i think they were fun and partly because @piraticusdorm has their own really interesting and well made designs!!

theyre just a gang of mermaids that are usually found hanging out with each other, mainly because they all grew up together and have their own reasons for not really wanting to get to close to new people. even tho theyre lowkey standoffish towards even their own dormitory sometimes, theyre still willing to throw down when people talk bad about piraticus. their group is known for often playing pranks and tricks on others as well as for the fact that conrad and tink are the rare few that can get them to back down

i havent thought of names for most of their unique magics yet

MERI BARBEAU - Year 2 student; Special Magic is hydro-thermokinesis where he can boil water on command with the right pitch - unfortunately for most he tends to unintentionally hit that right pitch when he gets angry, which is just really inconvenient when youre trying to drink something at the moment - the most irresponsible of the group and is just out there causing problems on purpose. he often pulls one of the others or some unsuspecting student into pranks he has planned out since the plans he makes usually wont work with just one person. though hes unlikely to talk to the random student(s) he lowkey kidnapped afterwards - thinks its fun to mess with the octavinelle dorm the most though the different reasonings he gives when asked about it is probably a lie - v blunt about most things otherwise since he doesnt really see the point of trying to dance around how he feels about topics. sometimes too blunt but since hes usually with the group theyre willing to cover his mouth to keep him from pissing people off and getting them in trouble

CASPIAN HAVELOCK - Year 3 student; Special Magic is hydrokinesis though hes been heard comparing water as a living thing thats hard to control - often just vibes in the back while watching the others do their things. hes always watching. listening. ready to pull up that one thing they did when they were 5 to embarrass them when theyre trying to seem cool to new students - theoretically stronger than kenn but also like. he isnt fond of being the one seen as responsible for their whole group so he ended up drifting into the ““right hand”” position when they were kids and its stayed that way from there on - v good at getting embarrassing photos of his friends that he often makes into their contact photos. other than that theyre just used to maybe tease them sometimes. even then theyre worried sometimes he’ll actually use it as blackmail - definitely lies the most out of the group to others. he lies to his friends too but theyve known him long enough to be able to catch on quickly when he is 

BELLUS DELMAR - Year 2 student; Special Magic is hydro-cryokinesis where with a certain tune, he can freeze water - described as enjoying the sound of his own voice, bellus is often talking to the others about everything and anything on his mind. in the moments where he’s occupied with something else, he often hums and sings to himself though he has to be careful to not accidentally sing his magic’s tune - that being said hes. pretty careless. it isnt uncommon for him to forget and accidentally include it in a improv song anyways and freeze a nearby water fountain. he also often overestimates his capabilities and limits though thankfully for him half of his friends are responsible enough for them and him - enjoys having his hair played with by people he trusts and often asks the others to rebraid his hair with maybe something like flowers braided in - wears his jacket tied around his waist because he likes the aesthetic of billowy white shirts and refuses to wear his jacket normally and ruin that - loves participating in pranks and all but on his own he just tends to do things like hide someones pencil in their bag and watch them spend 5 minutes trying to find it. how wild

KENN MARINO - Year 3 student; Special Magic is Siren Song where he can put others under his control via singing when he wants to. though the main thing holding him back from being powerful is that maintaining the control with just one person is already hard enough for him - unofficial leader of their little group and has been since they were all kids. hes pretty used to all the others habits and quirks and often reminds them not to do things that are just bad ideas. and then watches them do it while waiting with a told you so - even though he has to be consciously using his magic to use Siren Song, he still doesnt sing to others. he can be found near a lake on the school grounds the groups claimed singing to the others sometimes but he gets annoyed when strangers linger around listening - has a lot of jewelry that he likes to mix and match with his mood at the moment. the others lowkey steal it and depending on the piece he lets them get away with it. for a few days at most - big fan of riddles and word play when playing tricks on others. he doesnt outright lie in general but he Will use phrasing to cause harmless but annoying misunderstandings

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twst wonderland oc #twisted wonderland #digital art #artists on tumblr #now i gotta tag them all #6-2-2020 #meri barbeau #caspian havelock #bellus delmar #kenn marino

[doctorgerth]

Hello there! Would it be alright to ask for Kid, Law, and Zoro realizing that they have a crush, how they act, and then realizing that the crush became actual love?

Ahh, 3 of my fav boys! I loved this request, hope you like what I wrote! Because you didn’t specify whether you wanted scenarios or headcanons, I defaulted with HCs! If you want scenarios, feel free to send them in :) x

HCs Crush/Love Realization (Kid, Law, Zoro)

Kid

- he honestly doesn’t mind the crush phase- it’s usually a temporary thing, and honestly, most of the time it’s just sexual desire

- he’ll be playful, flirtatious, and a Grade A tease- but once he realizes he’s actually in love with this person?

- oh, fuck

- he will do everything in his power to deny that he’s in love

- who has time for that?? He’s trying to be King of the Pirates!

- but, he won’t deny the fact that he wants a Queen by his side once this happens

- and looking at this person…

- he can easily imagine having them right by his side, the both of them conquering the world together!

- these thoughts always cloud his mind when they’re around him, causing his heart to race at a million beats per minute

- that pale skin?? there’s no way in hell he can hide all the blushing!

- Kid is not a blusher, but they somehow always manage to make his face feel like it’s on fire??

- this always pisses him off

- he goes all tsundere for a while, making them wonder what they did wrong

- which results in Killer fussing him out a lot for being so insensitive

- (( this person has to have a lot of patience to deal with angry ketchup head’s antics ok ))

- he won’t necessarily go out of his way to be harsh, it just sorta happens?

- huffing while stomping away or telling the person to piss off is his usual go to when they try to come around him

- he’s definitely angry, how dare they make him feel so silly and weak?!

- but he knows the more he acts like this, the more he is pushing them away

- though he tries to tell himself that’s what he prefers, he can’t imagine any world without them that he would want to live in 

- it takes a while for him to truly accept it, and when he finally does…

- they’re just pretty much his at that point, forever

- there’s never an official “will you be mine?” scenario

- he just kinda assumes they get it at this point

- what, does he have to spell it out for them? no chance!

- he’s not a man of many words, but he will definitely let it be known who they belong to with his *ahem* actions

- once they are his, his shy/tsundere side is gone and he’s back to being normal Kid

- as for the end result, he doesn’t fall in love easy, so this person is pretty special and he knows it

- he is gonna love them unconditionally until the end of time, knowing he can accomplish anything and everything with his love by his side 

Law

- the crush phase takes the longest for Law, just because he’s really hesitant to enter the love phase

- though he acts like “crushing” is such an irrational feeling, so childish, he’s actually like a giddy school girl

- the new, exciting feelings are a bit of a rush to him, but he wouldn’t dare tell anyone that

- like Kid, he’s a bit teasing during the crush phase

- he likes to hit them with witty, playful, sarcastic comments and that irresistible smirk of his

- he will go out of his way to see them, but acts absolutely casual around them

- a major crush/flirt master

- now love? that’s an entirely different ball game

- is he even capable of such feelings??

- he has no time nor emotional energy to actually pursue someone romantically

- all he needs is his crew

- but, images of their sweet smile tend to cloud his brain at all hours of the night, making him question otherwise

- he can’t stop thinking about them, his mind and heart race every time they’re around, he can’t stop imagining what it’d be like to have them as his...

- then it hits him, he has miraculously fallen hard for this person

- he has zero fucking clue on what to do

- no medical textbook could ever prepare him for this

- and he can’t just crush on them for the rest of his life?? (though he wishes it were that simple)

- he realizes this feeling won’t go away until he knows they don’t feel the same way towards him

- does he just ask them? does he drop hints? oh god what if they already know??

- he is an awkward mess

- he spends so much time locked up in his office trying to think of how to tell them

- and his whole crew definitely knows when they’re captain is in love with someone, it’s such a rare occurrence!

- they’re all in on this wild match-making game, the sub is a lively disaster

- which makes Law want to just curl up and die in his office

- Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo all corner Law, telling him he needs to man up and say something to his crush

- the trio have been shambled to pieces so many times, but it’s all worth it to make Law happy; they know that this person is the one for the job!

- Law is very upfront with his feelings, he doesn’t like beating around the bush

- his confession isn’t the most romantic, but one can feel the sincerity in his words

- even after a successful confession, Law still remains aloof around his partner (just for a little while), because this sensation is still a little new to him

- but give him time, sweet boy is in the background learning and taking note of everything he can about them so he can dote on them properly when he’s feeling brave enough

- in the end, he is the most devoted partner, giving his all to keep his partner safe and happy!

Zoro

- no one is more clueless than Zoro

- he completely ignores the crush phase, thinking his liking towards them isn’t strange in the slightest

- he just enjoys being around them, is that so wrong??

- they’re just friends…

- friends who train together, drink together, nap together, are always together  

- yep, just really good friends!

- which goes to show, he’s not even the one to realize his own true feelings first

- let’s be real, the entire ship picks up on Zoro’s feelings, especially his rare ones like love, because it’s so obvious

- nonetheless, he’ll go to Chopper complaining about “heart problems”

- it’s been beating so fast lately? like it’s just gonna burst any second?

- after explaining what the source of his problem is, Chopper giddily tells him he’s not sick, he’s in love!  

- panic mode ensues

- he panics even more when he realizes Chopper is right!

- Zoro just straight up avoids this person, scared that once he opens his mouth, everything will be ruined

- he just has so many emotions and thoughts to sort through, hanging around them would only distract him

- but he can’t stop thinking about them!

- he’ll miss their scheduled naps and late night drinking during his time apart from them

- he gets antsy while he’s away

- he just has to see them, make sure they’re okay, it’s his job

- the Sunny is only so big, so he (luckily/unluckily?) does run into them every now and then

- it’s like the universe is just constantly pulling the two together and he doesn’t know what to do

- Zoro is not one to question fate, he usually follows his gut instincts, and his gut is screaming to confess to them

- the few days he takes to separate himself really proves to him just how much he needs them by his side; he realized just being around them is all he needs

- this realization gives him the confidence boost to confess, finally

- it’s a hella awkward confession, since Zoro is terrible with romantic words

- he’s like a mix between Kid and Law

- he’s definitely more blunt with his words, but he reassures them with an awkward (yet inviting!) hug or a rough kiss, scared his words aren’t good enough

- after a successful confession, Zoro likes to act tsundere around the crew once he and his lover are official

- but behind closed doors, and given some time, Zoro is a real softie

- when he falls, he falls hard

- and he gives himself to his partner whole-heartedly, no fears

- ok some fears, but none big enough to scare him away at least

- a very protective lover

- Zoro would never let anything happen to them!

#one piece #one piece request #one piece headcanons #headcanons #crush headcanons #love headcanons #crush/love realization #eustass kid #kid #trafalgar law #law #roronoa zoro #zoro #fluff #fluff headcanons #nightshine629

[redsdawn]

( jessica chastain. forty. cis female. she/her. ) in stratford, dawn wright  is more commonly known as red. they’ve been living in stratford for thirty years and currently work as a nurse. some say they are malapert  & rancorous but i’m more inclined to believe those that say they’re ballsy  & dependable. if you walk by their house, you can sometimes hear cloudbusting by kate bush playing from their window. ( the sting of comments better left unsaid, driving with the windows down, subjecting oneself to the unknown, and never knowing when to stop. ) 

hello, all! i’m dee, your local goblin whose hands are shaking as they type this! :-) i hope everyone’s having a good evening / morning / day. here’s to writing some good shit together! 

disclaimer: i have dawn’s stats here, which hopefully gives you all the need-to-know info at a glance. the second section has death & suicide mentions, so please steer clear of that if need be. 

if dawn is anything, it’s restless. she’s always felt like a bird about to take flight, or like she’s looming on the edge of some great cliff. it’s like some current flowing through her bones, or some itch that can’t be scratched. she yearns for more & hates that nothing is ever wholly enough for her. 

dawn grew up trailer trash & she still was trailer trash when she moved to stratford after the death of her mother. her dad, nathaniel, was a drunken tradesman who'd never known what to do with the life he’d been given. he was hardly a father when diane was around & even less so after her passing. despite their blood relation, however, he & dawn were more akin to roommates than anything else. nathaniel provided the “essentials” [ bits of clothes every couple of months, piss-poor cooking, a place to sleep ] and little else. he wasn’t warm or particularly kind--not like he was to the girlfriends that’d come in and out of their lives. he didn’t know how to speak to children or how to be the mentor that dawn needed. he’d tried, but it wasn’t like dawn knew how to be the daughter he’d wanted either. she wasn’t diane. she wasn’t warm, obedient, and kind. she was gritty & spoke back, even when it wasn’t smart to. 

growing up, dawn was hardly ever home. a majority of her adolescence was spent being a wild cat. as a kid, she’d get up to shenanigans with other kids from school or the neighborhood. she was a tomboy through-and-through, covered in various scars and bruises from climbing & doing things she shouldn’t have. she was an okay student, but her report cards always made a note to mention attention + behavioral issues.

as a teenager, she was even worse. it was then that she learned the careful craft of chasing cheap thrills. always slipping from crowd to crowd, dawn was a social butterfly. she’d slip her way into any group that would have her, reveling in any and all attention cast her way. 

dawn was poor-poor. like, having frequent sleepovers at friends houses, because you want an actual real meal levels of poor. 

above all, dawn’s childhood taught her how to be hungry & that feeling’s never left her.

it was a particularly persistent set of teachers that really pushed dawn to be more than what she was setting herself up for. her chemistry teacher really made a point to speak to her in frank terms + helped her fill out college application forms when that time of year came around. at the time, dawn had brushed it off, as she did with most things, but she’s always been grateful. it was nice to feel seen for once. she kept in touch & got their recommendation when admissions opened up for nursing school. 

going to college & being in a new environment really forced dawn to get it together. she couldn’t just be a little shithead anymore--she had actual responsibilities & appearances now. she mellowed out some afterward, doing everything that she thought people were supposed to do. she got her own place, paid her bills, & worked like she actually cared about what she was doing--which she did, for once. 

somewhere along the way, getting stuck in that grind & facing the fears that rose from losing her father started to really get to her. that restlessness had come back in full force, & dawn didn’t know how to handle it. she fell into a bit of a destructive rut that resembled that of her teenage years, and sought help only when her boss gave her an ultimatum. she’s better now, but not quite how she was. 

dawn is unflinching. it’s extremely hard to unsettle her. are your guts falling out? is someone throwing shit + breaking chairs? is there a literal fire happening? well, you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at dawn. she loves fixing things & finds it really easy to keep a cool head when shit hits the fan. she’s focused & nonjudgemental. she won’t question why you look like shit or why she has to stitch up a stab wound. 

dawn yearns to feel needed & is uncomfortable when she isn’t. that want is what fuels her friendliness. she wants to be in a group, she wants to be something to someone. she goes out of her way for others not out of an innate altruism, but as a result of her deliberate choice to be good. she wants people to feel that she cares for them, so they may in turn care for her, too. 

that being said, dawn’s decision-making isn’t immaculate. she has a blinding rage that’s a blight on her progress. it’s regressive & ugly & irresistible. dawn takes things too far sometimes & keeps pushing. she digs her fingers into wounds she knows are fresh & always keeps her knives close. she’s capable of a lot of good and love, but she’s also capable of a very white-hot rage. 

some random bits are that dawn is a karaoke queen. she’s a heavy-weight, but doesn’t like alcohol. she’s an excellent hugger. she has an excellent memory & remembers the little things that people tell her. terrible at accepting gifts. she takes life one day at a time. total chatterbox. thinks she has a great pokerface, but her eyes are a straight window to that which lies behind. she’s definitely not a very good driver. writes notes on her hands and wrists. 

some songs that make me think of her are

rock city

i bet on losing dogs

disorder

hounds of love

some wanted connection ideas !

a childhood memory -- maybe these two were a couple of ragtag misfits up to no good. maybe your muse’s parents felt bad for dawn, and would invite her over for dinner, regardless of how your muse felt about it. maybe they grew up in the same trailer park. maybe your muse’s mom dated her dad at one point. idk!! 

teenage escapades -- did they used to drive around without a care in the world, swearing they were gonna live forever? did they try to use their fake id’s to buy cheap liquor & then haul ass after the cashier wasn’t having it? did dawn manage to weasel her way into your muse’s life & fuck it up somehow? 

it’s a sibling thing -- are they related? no. does that stop them from acting like actual siblings? also no. dawn would do anything for this person, including, but not limited to, annoying them to death. silly, serious, and self-less. 

frenemies -- they say you should keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. either way, these two are relatively close. do they even remember why they sometimes-kind-of-but-not-really-but-also-kind-of hate each other? maybe, maybe not.

best buds -- everyone needs a best friend &, believe it or not, dawn has a lot of love to give. being her best friend includes unlimited venting sessions, on-call assistance, & free snacks. truly a once in a lifetime deal.

playing doctor -- listen, dawn doesn’t wear those scrubs because she thinks they’re sexy. she knows her shit & who else are you going to call at ass o’clock because you’re bleeding all over your carpet floor? besides, at least when you call her, you don’t get reamed with a 2k bill after.

we don’t talk about that -- sometimes, dawn is off being a lovey-dovey bitch, which is embarrassing, but when she’s not? well.. she wouldn’t be opposed to a rebound, or one night stands that maybe never should have happened to begin with. 

BUT REALLY I’M DOWN FOR ANYTHING AND THIS IS ALREADY SO DANG LONG SO IM GONNA END IT HERE AND SAY THAT ILY AND WANT TO DO ALL OF THE PLOTS WITH EVERYONE THANK U BYE SMOOCHES

#rideintro #this was so long i . pls forgive me #i have Thoughts sometimes i guess ! #also im not proof-reading this. if i sound illiterate then i sound illiterate & thts THAT!

[planetsam]

Malex prompt “he doesn’t care that I’m a Manes, he doesn’t care about my daddy issues. He’ll stick around, Michael.”

“I don’t care what he wants, tonight’s about getting it on. Third date rules.”

Tequila was never made to go up someone’s nose but Michael turns, just to be sure. The guy standing there is the guy Alex walked in with. He glances over at Maria who glares at him and at the guy. He’s not thrilled about being in the same boat as him, but he’ll take it. He sets down his glass and goes over. The guy looks back at him and sweeps his gaze up and down his body. Michael is immediately uncomfortable at being leered at.

“Hey hot stuff,” the guy says, “can I buy you a drink?”

“I saw you with a guy earlier,” Michael says, “what about him.”

“It’s nothing serious,” the guy says, “we’re not exclusive.”

“Does he know that?” Michael demands.

“Who are you? My mother?” The jackass says, getting to his feet.

Michael snorts a laugh and decks the guy as hard as he can.

As a rule Michael doesn’t use his powers in a bar fight. But hell if he doesn’t come close. Apparently Alex’s type is highly trained beefcake, but Michael has the rage of a broken heart on his side. Which is possibly the only thing that gets him through, though the tussle winds up outside. Finally he has the guy on his back, bleeding freely and with one less tooth than he started out with.

“Now you can go home to your mom,” he sneers, “and tell her what a jackass you are.”

He throws the guy down and he scrambles away. Michael wipes under his nose. He’s definitely bleeding from a couple places. Maria’s big issue was his lack of fighting for her or letting her in. Or being, you know, a semi decent boyfriend. Which granted he can see his shortcomings in. Still he’s not enough of a jackass to show up inside and ask for help after what he just pulled. Shaking his head, he thinks maybe he’s got something in his car. But when he turns around he finds the alley is blocked.

By Alex.

Shit.

“What the hell was that?” Alex demands.

He looks pissed off. Michael curses again in his head. Maybe he wanted to stop the dating Alex has been doing, but he imagined himself being more clever about it and not quite as bloody. Suave. This is every cliche he doesn’t want to believe. But overall it was worth it, he thinks, if it gets that asshole away from him. Except Alex looks pissed off. He’s good with Alex’s different varieties of upset and this one, this isn’t a good one. This is the ‘world ends with a whimper’ kind of mad that makes ice slide down his spine. Or blood down his nose.

“He was hitting on me,” Michael says.

“So?” Alex demands, “we aren’t exclusive.”

“That doesn’t matter. If he’s on a date with you—“

“Then it’s none of your business,” Alex says, steel in his voice. Michael stops, “who I date doesn’t affect you.”

“I thought we were friends!” Michael protests.

“When has that ever stopped you from dating who you want?” Alex demands.

That’s a valid point. Alex knows it��s a valid point. But the look on Michael’s face still feels like a gut punch. He tenses his stomach and refuses to let the wind get knocked out of him. He can deal with his date being an asshole. Really, he can deal with that part of this, which probably says nothing good about his self worth. But Michael coming to his rescue? That he can’t have happen. He can’t depend on him for that. Michael’s been his safety net for far too long, he needs it to stop. They both do, but right now he does and he’ll take responsibility for that.

“Why are you with that jackass anyway?” Michael questions.

“I’m not,” Alex says, finally coming forward with a wad of napkins he managed to grab in the commotion. Not wanting Michael to fly to his honor doesn’t mean he wants him bleeding in the alley, “we’re just having fun.”

“Yeah? Because he said tonight you were gonna have sex.”

Embarrassment floods his system. Being comfortably out of the closet as an adult is hard. Harder than he thought it would be. He’s up for the challenge, he knows that. But the idea of his date sharing details of their sex life with the entire Wild Pony makes his stomach twist. He shoves the embarrassment aside. That’s for him to deal with. Michael doesn’t need to know he was right to do what he did. Even a little bit. He watches Michael press the napkins to his nose and wonders if there will ever be a time where Michael doesn’t shed blood for him.

“That’s just how he is,” he says.

“Yeah, so, why are you having fun with him?” Michael repeats. Alex presses his lips together. “I’m your friend. You shouldn’t date assholes like that.”

“Probably just my type,” Alex says. Now it’s Michael’s turn to glare, “why am I with him? He doesn’t care.”

“He doesn’t care?” Michael repeats, “I could have told you that. That’s what I am trying to tell you!”

“I like that,” Alex says, “he doesn’t care. Nothing matters. He doesn’t care that I’m a Manes, he doesn’t care about my issues,” he shrugs, “either he’ll leave and it doesn’t matter or he’ll stick around, Michael.”

He immediately realizes his mistake the moment Michael moves towards him. Alex has never been afraid of Michael in his entire life. Even now knowing what he’s capable of, he doesn’t budge as Michael gets into his personal space. Even when the smell of him hits his nose. He refuses to budge. They haven’t been this physically close in months but he stands his ground and squeezes every centimeter out of the quarter inch he has on Michael.

“Take that back,” Michael says.

“Take what back?” Alex asks, confused but unwilling to let it show. He has more of a right to be pissed off right now than Michael does, “he doesn’t care? My issues—“

“He’ll stick around. Take it back. I stuck around for a decade waiting for you and it wasn’t enough.”

“Then it was right into someone else’s arms—““After ten years!” Michael cuts him off, “ten years of loving you. Even when you were gone. Even when you wanted to go.”

It’s almost a relief when Michael’s fingers close around the lapel of his jacket, even when he grabs his wrist. The physical touch is jarring, though he knows they’ve touched since. Their fingers have brushed, their hands have shaken, none of them have felt as livewire charged as this moment does. Michael’s got napkins in his nose and Alex still feels the knot of anger in his gut. Michael has no business running his tongue across the bottom swell of his lip as he tightens his fingers in his jacket.

“How ‘bout it, Alex, you still want to go?” He asks.

“Do you?” Alex demands.

“I’m still here aren’t I?” Michael snaps, close enough that Alex can smell the tequila on his breath.

Michael glances down and Alex follows his gaze to see that Michael’s still holding his jacket and he’s still got a grip on his wrist. He can practically hear a more naive version of himself telling him that they aren’t kids. What he wants doesn’t matter. How stupid had he been to think that way? Michael looks up at the same time.

Alex doesn’t know who moves first.

Michael tastes like tequila and bad ideas and he tries to inhale it as Michael drops his hold on his jacket to haul him closer. Alex finally, finally buries his fingers back in Michale’s curls, pulling him closer. Talking isn’t something he cares about suddenly. Nothing seems to matter but the way Michael nips at his bottom lip and invades every single one of his senses. The world may end with a whimper but it comes back to life with a bang as Michael brings everything back into focus. Finally he pulls back long enough to knock their foreheads together and Alex feels Michael swipe along his lip.

“Sorry,” Michael says, “I got blood on you.”

“No more bleeding for me,” Alex tells him, “can you at least do that?”

“I make no promises,” Michael says, “but not dating those assholes might help.”

Alex kisses him again, just to make it clear there’s only one asshole he plans to date in the near future.

#michael guerin #alex manes #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm fanfic #michael x alex #malex fanfic #prompts

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 3: Of Monsters and Men

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Taylor meets his new bodyguard, debates casual necromancy, and learns the truth behind his hallucinations. All while a fae makes him cream soda.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Taylor doesn’t remember waking up — one second he’s asleep and the next he just isn’t.

Despite the things he’s seen (not really seen, but thought he’s seen) he’s not a fan of these kinds of wakings. Would rather emerge slowly as if from a cocoon. With enough time between breaths and heartbeats to let the dreams that plagued him fade away into fuzzy oblivion — forgotten despite all efforts to bring them back to recent memory.

He prefers it because when he wakes all at once there’s no helping remembering his dreams.

And all of that — the cemetery, Vera’s gloves, Kristin’s tears, the moon and moldy flowers — definitely isn’t something he wants to linger on.

“Are you gonna freak out now? Because these walls ain’t soundproofed.”

The voice resists its accent; clips sounds the Louisiana slang wants to let hang. He’s never heard it before but doesn’t need to.

It does the trick. Reminds Taylor how easily the world of dreams can blend with reality.

He takes in his surroundings with eyes still shut. The scratchy pilling on the cushions underneath, the stale air that’s made his shirt stick sweaty to his body, the repetitive squeak of a portable fan that should have retired a lifetime ago.

If he keeps his eyes shut will it all go away? Can it really be that easy?

Of course it isn’t. He knows it, the stranger knows it… but still a guy can dream.

“I know you’re awake, kid,” the stranger continues, “sleepin’ people don’t breathe like that.”

Taylor’s nose scrunches. “Don’t watch me breathe.”

“Then don’t breathe weird.”

The fact I‘m not hyperventilating right now is a fucking miracle, Taylor wants to say back — doesn’t in favor of inhaling so hard his nostrils burn before letting it out in a whistle on his dry lips.

Instead he snaps his eyes open and stares at the bald patches of peeling paint on the popcorn ceiling.

Something shifts behind him; the squeak of leather on pleather.

“You’re handlin’ this awful well.”

No, he’s really not. “I’m not unfamiliar with waking up on strange couches.”

“Is that so?”

Taylor doesn’t like the way the voice drops into a suggestive purr. It’s enough to get him to sit up on his elbows and try to shake the fog from his head. The familiar words, “how much did I drink last night?” are on the tip of his tongue but without the pounding headache there to accompany them they just don’t feel right.

A hand appears out of the corner of his eye. He watches scarred knuckles on tanned skin flex silvery as a nondescript flask is placed on one of the coffee table’s few bare spots.

“Here — this’ll help. Trust me.”

Taylor takes it. Can smell the familiar simmering honey and spice of whiskey. But he isn’t even tempted — screws the cap back on and sets it pack with a little too much purpose.

The stranger gives a ‘huh’ of surprise. “You sure? It’s not top shelf, but —”

“I’m gonna say this once;” as he does Taylor sits up and digs his knuckles into his eyes to quell the dizzy rush, “don’t ever offer me alcohol again. Please.”

As bright and inconsistent colors flash before his sight there’s silence.

Then, “fair enough,” and takes back the flask.

He can’t immediately tell if the stranger is just prone to dramatics or if the positioning of the lamp-sans-shade is purposefully there to shroud his rescuer (or kidnapper) in all the shadows the apartment can offer.

But it’s definitely him: the guy from the dive bar. Where his memory ends his eyes pick up the slack and fill in the sharp face like a puzzle. Dark eyes — almost black — and evidence of a five o-clock shadow. A little bit of a greying sheen to the hairs at his temples. And a strange scar like an inverted triangle brushed flippantly from left temple to eyebrow to the top of his cheekbone.

So he’s the quintessential ‘rugged, grizzled, don’t-play-by-the-rules’ type. Which, in Taylor’s opinion, just makes the worn leather trench coat overkill.

And his very presence makes things very very complicated.

Makes his head incite a full-on civil war between the things he knows and the things he’s seen — not to speak of the independent faction trying to resist both.

The man grabs something small off of the stand beside him and a glass of water — takes one of Taylor’s hands off of his jeans and pushes it into his palm in a very non-negotiable style.

“At least take this. That headache looks real fierce. Won’t work as fast as the booze, though.”

Oh, he knows. But he’s glad for something to help no matter how little and washes down the aspirin tablet with the entire water glass.

Judging by the awkward silence that follows neither Taylor nor the man know how to actually… begin. Because there needs to be a beginning — maybe not right now but there was earlier and if he thinks about it too much, if he lets his imagination run wild and spiral, he’ll start to panic.

Last time he checked panic wouldn’t bring Kristin back from the dead.

Kristin. Oh god. He needs to find her body.

“Can I…?” He raises the glass. The stranger slaps his knees and hauls himself up with possibly too-much dramatic effort and takes it to refill. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

It’s a small apartment with only as many walls as needed. Ideally Taylor would prefer a room between him and the man to make his escape (which will be the exact opposite of stealthy) a little bit easier, but…

He waits until the leather-clad back is turned before slowly starting to stand. Not one step and the fucking floor creaks underfoot.

Shit. “Uh — can I get some ice?” Taylor asks; louder than necessary to cover it up.

The man (probably) rolls his eyes. “Want a straw while I’m at it? Maybe a little pink umbrella?”

“I’d prefer yellow.”

“I bet you would.”

Taylor waits, poised like a viper, and strikes when the ice maker on the fridge door begins to rumble to life. Dashes as fast as he can — though it isn’t until he moves more than an inch that he realizes just how sore everything is — to what looks like every closed front door he’s ever seen.

Aaaand it’s locked.

There’s a deep rich laughter behind him as Taylor yanks on the brass handle; twists the lock this way and that in his growing panic and previously undiscovered claustrophobia.

When he looks back the man is behind him, glass in hand — with ice, too.

“Stop laughing!” Taylor’s voice cracks — makes him wince.

With a shake of his head the man approaches. Taylor tenses for some sort of assault but instead watches dumbly while his personal space is invaded. Damn this guy is tall.

“Stop being so funny.”

“What kind of fucking sicko locks an apartment from the outside?!”

Bemusement falls into a slight frown. He flinches, feels the stranger reach around…

The door unlocks with a click.

“Dunno, but I’ll let you know when I meet one.”

Not a second into looking up and up into the man’s face does Taylor push him back. Keeps his back pressed against the door and blindly searches for the knob but forces distance between them.

It doesn’t take a psychic to know he’s wary. The stranger sighs and scratches the back of his head.

“Listen — I ain’t holdin’ you hostage, or anything. You’re free to go.” But before Taylor can even twist his wrist he adds; “Not that I’d really wanna run the risk of facing Casper’s Cannibal Cousin again but that’s just me. You seem like a strong, capable guy. Lemme know how it goes.”

Fuck.

Taylor gives him a wary eye. “Are we — I mean… am I actually safe here?”

“With the wards on this place you’d have a hard time being stung by a really pissed-off mosquito.”

“Not funny.”

“Who’s laughing?”

Somehow they end up back in the same positions they were a minute earlier; Taylor’s fingers wet and numb from the glass and the other, well, he couldn’t look more like a middle-aged drunk if he tried; especially now with the coat off and thrown over the back of his chair.

“Do you have a name?” Taylor tries — and fails — not to let it get to him when he gets only a nod. “Wanna share?”

“Just call me Ryder.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It’s not your name.”

“Yes it is.”

“It’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

A tense and silent stand-off follows. This is why he doesn’t spend much one-on-one time with cis-men, not that Taylor would say that out loud.

Finally ‘Ryder’ relents; “My first name’s Nik. Nobody calls me Nik — they just call me Ryder. That means you’ll call me Ryder, too.”

Well he won’t, but that’s beside the point. “And where are we? Are we still in New Orleans?”

The question catches Ryder by surprise.

“‘Course we are. Just a couple’a blocks over from Bourbon.”

“Oh, good.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He tries not to feel peeled back into layers by the scrutiny of Ryder’s gaze but with eyes like that it’s kind of impossible. Makes him freeze up — words forgotten.

“Is that really all you wanna ask?”

His face flushes hot. “No, of course not.”

“Then ask.”

“Ask what?”

“You know what.”

“No I don’t,” again his voice cracks — makes him focus on the wet spot the glass leaves on his jeans rather than the look on Ryder’s face, “like — I really don’t. Because… because my head is telling me to ask ‘what happened’ but when I think about it I automatically default back to the fact that nothing about it makes sense — nothing about it could have been real.”

Ryder takes too long to respond.

“Just because it doesn’t make sense doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, Taylor.”

And doesn’t that just fire off a spark in his brain. Makes him turn and slam the glass down and give Ryder the hardest, worst, and most rueful look he can.

“Fine — you want me to ask questions? We’ll start with — with that. How d’you know my name?”

The man shrugs. “Because I’m being paid to.”

“You’re being…” —oh the headache— “so you were stalking me in the bar?”

“No.”

“Uh, you just admitted it.”

“Uh, no I didn’t.” Taylor must’ve hit a nerve judging by the tick in Ryder’s scarred brow. “Strange as it may seem — and we really ain’t short on strange with all this — I wasn’t hired until after I left the Touristy Unicorn.”

That doesn’t help. “Hired for what?”

“For protection detail; bodyguard stuff. For you, kid.”

Does he look like his brain is short-circuiting, because that’s definitely how he feels. And in his silence Ryder takes the opportunity to keep talking without being harassed. “I wouldn’t’ve taken it on a normal day but, shit, you ain’t normal. Not even taking into account that you saw me in my booth —”

“— No shit I saw you. You were just sitting there.”

Ryder shakes his head. “Sure was but I was glamoured up to the nines. Nothing under a century or without some heavy magical aid should have been able to see me.”

Taylor disregards his crazy talk — he has proof. “My friend saw you first.”

“Who, the tipsy co-ed?” he barks a laugh, “Nah, she was more focused on the two mashing mouths to my side. Was too hard to enjoy my drink with the sound of sloppy spit-swappin’ for me to forget.

“She may have been seeing the world a little liquored-up but she definitely didn’t know I was there. But you? You looked right at me; saw right through my glamour and with no small amount of effort judgin’ by how sick you looked after.”

His headache. And wasn’t that what had started all of… of whatever this was? His headache and wanting to go home, getting lost with no signal, and then…

There’s no resisting the permafrost that blankets over his bones. When Taylor looks at Ryder he doesn’t see him; just sees the outline of him and that awful haunting thing in his mind’s eye.

Ryder continues; “You can turn the paranoia down a notch. I was content to mind my own business until I got a call on a damn payphone nearby.”

“A… payphone?”

“Well they don’t ring on their own. And in this town if someone in the know crosses by a phone ringin’ on its lonesome then that means its for them.” He sniffs; brushes something off like it’s no big deal and Taylor’s the fool for not just knowing. “Picked it up and there it was in my head: your face, your name, and the message. That’s how you know there’s something heavy hangin’ in the air… the kind of spellwork that can dig into your head without a trace.”

Magic. Spellwork. This is too fucking nuts.

Still, he has to ask. “What was the message?”

“‘Protect him.’”

How foreboding and creepy that is — well he’ll deal with that later. Because up until shit went down he didn’t need protecting. Had done a fair job of protecting himself all his life. But how can you protect yourself from things you don’t know about?

“What was it?” When there’s no quirky quip Taylor knows he’s starting to ask the right things. “What was that thing in the cemetery?”

“I…”

“Come on, Mister Answers. Where’d your answers go?”

“Hey, now you just —”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know!” Ryder growls through gritted teeth. It’s the first time his posturing slips — shoulders slumped and instinctively seeking comfort in the contents of the flask. “I don’t… I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit; the dead, undead, the undead-dead. But I’ve never seen anything even remotely close to whatever the hell that was.”

Some bodyguard, he wants to say — doesn’t. Strange as it is Taylor finds himself comforted by the fact that he’s not the only one completely ignorant.

Not that it lasts long. Because when his brain finally puts everything together — shadows and skeletal killers and spellwork and the fact that the thing he’s been thinking was a flagpole leaning against the wall has a bright crystal atop it and is most likely something ridiculous like a wizard’s staff — it shuts off.

At least he’s got his answers.

Ryder knocks back the rest of the flask and tucks it between the cushions in his chair. Leans forward elbows-on-knees and studies Taylor’s face.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you to ask me what happened before you keeled over,” he says finally, “but now I’m not so sure you wanna know.”

“I do,” he answers on autopilot.

“You sure?”

He’s sure.

The story Taylor expects goes something like…

“I drew a circle around the creature, sated from its kill. Using the blood of my ancestors and sacred herbs I’ve been cultivating for this exact moment, I conjured magical holy fire and banished the demon back to the depths of Hell.”

But that’s not what he gets.

“I thought I had a shot when you went into hiding — you know how damn hard it is to chase something chasin’ somethin’ else through that shit? — but lost it again. Finally found you at the entryway and used the thing’s distraction to get a few arrows lodged in its, uh, well I think it was its back.

“Thing is those were holy light arrows I used. Blessed by every priest in every religion you’ve heard of and some you ain’t. I’ve used those things to take down malformed conjurings, hundred year-old revenants, the works. But it was about as effective as throwing a rock at its head.”

“I’m guessing that’s a bad thing.”

“You’d be guessin’ correctly.”

Taylor runs his hands over his face. Shoves down the thickness that wants to consume his lungs and keep him there; solid, immobile.

“Okay, okay —” talking more to himself than Ryder, “— okay. This is good. Crazy, but good.”

The look he’s given really shouldn’t be a surprise. “Did I break ya?”

“No — I mean, maybe, but not with that — no you… actually you saved me. So I’m grateful for that. Thank you.”

Ryder snorts. “Finally…”

“But you didn’t save Kristin. So I’m going to push down every… every problem I have with everything you said and pretend with all this crazy that conjurings and holy arrows and whatever-the-fuck-else is real —”

“It is. But, kid —”

“— And you’re gonna help me find some voodoo or hoo-doo or whatever kind of spell you can that’ll bring her back.”

The fact that Ryder doesn’t look the least bit remorseful is an issue he’ll deal with later — though that plate is starting to get a little crowded. But if the universe seems intent on throwing him into this fucking insanity with no warning or even a tutorial mode then he’s going to meet it head-on and screw the rest.

He leans forward and starts rifling through the leather-bound books, tomes, and sheets of paper scattered on the coffee table. “So what here can help us? Do we need a lock of hair, or a personal item, or —”

“She ain’t dead, kid.”

Taylor nods but doesn’t really register what he hears. “Got it. Dead meaning, what, her soul hasn’t crossed over yet? Is she still on the, uh, the mortal plane or something?” He looks around wildly; lifts up his feet like he’ll find her hiding there in miniature.

“Shit — is she here with us? Can you see her? Kristin? Krissy?”

“Whoa — okay, yep, you’ve cracked.”

Then Ryder’s hands are on his shoulders and oh hell no. His body reacts before the brain can catch up and he’s pushing Ryder away — giving himself breathing space.

“Don’t touch me.”

Much like the flask it’s an issue Ryder doesn’t push. Holds his hands up and gives a curt nod but that doesn’t make him look any less concerned. Now he’ll start to argue with the man, because technically it’s his fault Kristin died in the first place.

“There’s gotta be something —”

“To get you to chill out and listen to me? Yeah I doubt it.”

“— No. To help us contact her.”

“Could try a phone.”

Taylor snaps. “This isn’t a joke! I don’t know this crazy stuff like you do. So stop making jokes and — and help me!”

“Christ,” Ryder rubs his head — leans forward but doesn’t make a move to put his hands on Taylor again, “if you’d listen you’d not sound so damn stupid! She’s not dead, Taylor. The thing didn’t kill her.”

No, no… he saw…

“I won’t say it didn’t get close but she wasn’t the target. I don’t know if that limits it’s powers or… or hell, maybe it was feeling merciful or malicious. But your friend ain’t dead. — In a bad way… but not dead.”

It’s not even in the realm of good news — what did that mean, ‘in a bad way’ — but it’s the best news he’s heard yet so yeah he fucking runs with it. Leaps to his feet and doesn’t even bother trying to misdirect Ryder this time because not only is the door unlocked but he’s going to see Kristin alive.

And, really, with the zeal in which he was ready to pursue some form of necromancy to bring her back he’s kind of disappointed in how surprised Ryder sounds behind him.

“Kid — where d’you think you’re goin’ exactly?”

Still walking to the door, only backwards now. “Where do you think? Is she at the hospital, which one? Come on — take me there.”

“Well that ain’t happening but regardless how about we stay up here instead?”

“How about we don’t?”

“Kid —”

“First I need you to stop calling me that. Second I’ll grab a cab if I need to. Thanks, Nik—Ryder—whatever for saving me but I need to go see her.”

Ryder doesn’t stop him from slamming the apartment door behind him and finding his way out. That must mean he’s not entirely devoted to this bodyguard job, right? If that’s even really the case. Not like he has any proof.

It’s probably guilt at not saving her in time, rationalizes Taylor as he looks around the crowded hallway only to spot a winding, iron-wrought staircase almost hidden in the corner.

That makes the most sense. He feels guilty and there was nothing he could have even done in the first place.

Though, finding out where Ryder gets those hallelujah arrows might help.

He’s at the bottom of the steps when he remembers Vera had his phone last — is halfway through entertaining the idea of going back up to ask Ryder if he could borrow his when he takes in the ground level.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

It’s still dark outside but dawn has to be on the approach — last call having already been there, done that.

The bar is small and he can only think of it as oaken. Wood floors on wooden-panel walls with a wooden bartop in the corner decorated in carvings so small and detailed they could only have been done by hand. Even the booths are wooden on the outside with what look like rich mossy-green velvet lining.

But the place doesn’t smell like a woodshop — not how one would expect what has to be a quarter of the population of Louisiana’s deforestation, has to be — rather a forest. Like all the wood is still growing and alive. Pine needles and sap and mulchy earth digging into his bare toes and proving life continues to live underfoot.

Though when he wiggles his toes Taylor is almost surprised to discover he’s got his shoes on.

The place is empty save for two patrons and a lanky young man behind the counter.

One man, hulking in stature no doubt even if he’s bent over the table before him, scribbles diligently in a notebook with a glass of something bright at his side. Must have one of those cheesy lite-cubes within because he could swear the drink is pulsing color.

The other is a woman mostly obscured by the bar and her ombre violet sheen of hair. She’s gotta be decorated for Mardi Gras though the bone-white hand she twirls a lock of hair around would be more suited for a Día de Muertos party.

She notices him first — offers a flawless grin of black lipstick and white teeth before she learns forward and whispers something to the bartender.

He rounds on a practically choreographed flourish of his heel. Beams wide and unabashed as though he’s greeting an old friend and not a complete stranger.

“Taylor, my mortal! Good to see you again. You look famished. Are you famished? You look famished. I should get you something. Are you a vodka-type or a gin-type? You know what — I’ll fix a couple options up. Variety is the spice of life!”

Before Taylor can even process the English language enough to turn him down the bartender disappears in a shock of his albino-white hair. Leaves him staring at the silvery fabric of the partition.

“Garrus is a hoot, isn’t he?” asks the goth girl — she waves over a hand and pats a stool beside her in invitation. “Come, come! I wanna see what he whips up and you will too.”

He casts a longing look to what has to be the front door of the place — the only thing that isn’t wood, as he notes the iron decor with irony. But can’t even step in that direction before she clears her throat in a way that says she won’t take no for an answer.

So… he sits? He sits.

“I’m surprised Ryder didn’t come down with you. Or did you let him drink himself asleep?”

Taylor shakes his head. “No, he’s… he let me go.”

“Huh, funky.” She taps long dark nails against her cheek and stares at him with wonder. Underneath the strange combination of lights she looks even more pale than he thought — almost translucent. It must be her makeup that makes it look like her veins run black under her skin.

There’s a throbbing in his temples so Taylor looks away out of habit.

“You should call your friend back.”

“Why? It’ll be a good show — and even if it’s not your fancy you’ll still get free booze out of it.”

“Well I don’t drink.”

“Drink what, vodka, gin? I knew I called you for a tequila man.”

“No,” and headache aside he looks grim into her purple color-contacts, “like at all. I’m sober.”

Just as the girl’s expression falls into embarrassed horror the curtain brushes back as if by a gust of wind. The bartender Garrus barrels forward with an actual cauldron in his arms and every nook and twiggy-armed cranny filled with various corked bottles and vials.

“Not for lo~ong!” he sing-songs. Drops his things carelessly on the bar surface and starts picking through them intently. “Now I could have sworn I had more cane root than this, but maybe if I sub in —”

Taylor goes to speak but the gaunt hand on his arm stops him short.

“Garrus, he’s sober.”

“I know, Ivy my love, I heard. Honestly what was Ryder thinking trying to unload all this on the poor man without even offering him a drink?”

Ivy gives a sigh of honestly and precariously balances on thick-sole heels to reach over and grab Garrus’ next glassy victim out of reach.

“H-Hey,” he practically whines, “that’s not in the spirit of things!”

“Listen to me,” and Taylor’s grateful she’s going through all the trouble but can’t not laugh when she sandwiches her friend’s face in both hands, “sweetheart — he is sober; dry, straight-laced, whatever you want to call it — go for it. But this human no drinkey.”

If that’s what it would have taken for Taylor to get the man to stop he isn’t entirely sure he’d have had the guts to do it.

As it is Garrus looks like he’s taking it personally before their eyes meet and his face goes flushed pink all the way to the tips of his rather pointy ears.

“Oh.”

Ivy resumes her seat cheerily. “My work here is done.”

“S-Sorry,” Taylor tries to offer, “I’ll take a coke if you’re really, uh, insistent.”

Garrus is interrupted before he can answer. And by a voice that rings startlingly familiar, too.

“Why not whip up one of those old cream colas for him, Garrus? You were just talking about how much you missed making them.”

It’s enough to put the pep back in his leather-booted step. Has Garrus clapping in delight and pointing between them to the only occupied booth with a wink.

“Darling, you’re a genius!”

Garrus gathers up his cauldron and brews; dashes back behind the curtain. Taylor meanwhile whirls around on the stool cushion to the vaguely recognizable face previously ducked in concentration.

Krum — that was his name, right? The more-mountain-than-man he had bumped into heading home from rehearsal earlier that day.

Who gave Taylor the early triggers of a panic attack in how his skin seemed to turn to a literal mountain under the company lights.

Who pushes up an almost comically tiny pair of spectacles and gazes back at Taylor with similar vague recognition.

“Understudy-boy?” He pulls off his glasses and wipes the lenses with the hem of his sweater — as if he’s the one hallucinating things and not the other way around. “Well I’ll be, it’s you!”

Ivy joins the conversation while sipping her margarita through a stirring straw. “You know this guy, Krom?”

“K-Krum.” corrects Taylor.

“Well actually,” says the man in question sheepishly as he slides out of his seat and comes to join them, “it is Krom. It’s a family name, too, and I’m very proud of it. But mortals never hear it right and I just sort of stopped correcting them.”

Ivy croons. “You gotta get thicker skin you big lug.”

When Krom tries to take the stool next to him, though, Taylor flinches back violently. Practically falls off his seat in his haste to get back. His ‘little throbbing’ is a full-on migraine now; the lights too bright and the smells too weird and he has to back up and steady himself on the nearest support column to keep from vomiting all over the nice shiny floors.

Like most concerned samaritans Ivy and Krom are on him in an instant. Their voices blurring together with the ringing in his ears; “Honey are you okay? — what happened — oh no did I hurt him — go get Ryder!”

“NO!”

He’s startled when he realizes it’s him yelling — not them. Blinks through teary eyes to look into the expressions of two ordinary people warped and twisted by his traitorous mind.

Ivy’s makeup looks melded to her face — like if she catches the light a certain way he’ll see her skeleton and the lines above are the tension of her muscles. And Krom is still a literal mountain man but in high-granite definition; he swears he even hears stone grind with every movement.

“Oh god…” he wails and covers his eyes. Scratches at them like maybe he can claw off the tears instead of just wiping them away.

In the bright darkness there’s muttered, muffled noises. Footsteps echoing on wood, then metal.

Then the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knows there’s a hand hovering just above the surface of him.

“The more you go on fightin’ it, kid, the more it’ll hurt.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to imagine the look on Ryder’s face.

Words seem impossible but he finally manages to grit it out. “I won’t.”

“Won’t what?”

“I won’t give in. I’m sober. I’m sober!”

He manages two good smacks to his skull before Ryder snatches his wrist ironclad. “Hey—Hey! Stop that!”

“I’m sober fuck’s sakes! This should have stopped! I’m sober and I’m not. crazy!”

They struggle over his hand but Ryder’s strength beats out Taylor’s fright and panic. Just lets it hang limp in midair in the calloused grip.

“You were up there with me fully ready to take on some high-level necromancy bullshit and this is what sets you off?”

“You were gonna let him do what?!”

“Relax, Iv’, relax,” Ryder sighs, “I wasn’t gonna let him do it. But still he believed. You did believe, didn’t you?”

Did he? He doesn’t know. Can’t even tell if he’s still awake right now or if this is all some awful feverish nightmare he can only hope to never have again with the help of his sponsor.

Ryder tries again. Closer, this time — almost a whisper.

“Didn’t you?”

“I —” the whole bar hangs on his every word, “— I think so.”

“So believe me now when I say this: you aren’t crazy. Weird I guess, and maybe a bit gutsy. But not crazy.”

It isn’t much. But it’s enough for him to pry his eyes open and look at the man above him through the tears.

“You don’t get it. I… they look like…”

“Like what?”

He shudders the words out; “Like monsters.”

“HA!”

The cackle — or shriek — is so loud and so close it startles both of them out of their closeness; out of the intimacy of his admission. Makes them both look at where Ivy sits cross-legged on the floor with them sucking on a lollipop.

“Well I should sure hope so,” she teases, “because my glamour looks like a cheap imitation of the real thing! That’s what I get for skimping with B-O-G-O spell goods.”

Glamour. He knows that word. And Ryder knows he knows too judging by the wry little smile he gets. “Yeah, them too.”

“But —”

“Glamours are for all kinds’a things, kid. Here, c’mon up ya get,” with both hands Ryder helps him stand, “that particular one of mine was for secrecy. Most common ones you’ll run into though are harmless little shifts — ways to make the not-so-human look a little bit more that way.”

There’s a gasp and all eyes fall on Krom, now fully stone. His hairline replaced by filed-off pointed edges and skin rippling with crystalline sediment.

“You can see through glamours?” He asks, mortified.

Ivy’s black lips peel back with her grin. “Wicked.”

Garrus appears from around the bar with interest. Still pale but there’s no denying the actual point and tilt of his ears or the way his skin seems to almost shimmer. His eyes pale but reflective like bright diamonds.

“I wondered what set off my wards when Ryder here dragged you in. Seeing through glamours is some high-level magic. What’ve you charmed?” He looks Taylor over with interest.

“What have I… what?”

Ryder answers for him. “Already did my due diligence, guys. He’s not wearing anything charmed — he is charmed. Can see through the veil au natural.”

“Wicked.” repeats Ivy.

“Guess you’re my not-so-mortal, huh?”

Krom shakes his head with hands clasped together. “No wonder you were so frightened at the company. I’m so sorry, Taylor. I had no idea.”

Taylor swallows but manages a smile. “It’s… it’s okay. Not your fault, right?”

And the more he looks at them — really looks instead of seeing passing glimpses and resisting their existence — the less everything hurts. The ringing in his ears fades and like a drum at the end of a song his head abruptly clears. Along with the clouds that seem to hang invisible over his head every time he has one of his hallucinations.

But they aren’t hallucinations. They’re real.

It’s all real.

There’s a hesitation before Ryder lightly touches his shoulder. Taylor doesn’t flinch away — in fact a little human (maybe?) warmth is kinda comforting.

“You good?”

“Y-Yeah, I think so,” he inhales shakily, “I just can’t believe it’s all… I mean that it’s not in my head. It’s real. Everything I’ve seen is… is real.”

But everything means everything. Makes his heart settle down somewhere in the region his stomach ought to be occupying.

Makes him look Ryder head-on.

“So why does it want me dead?”

#nightbound #playchoices #choices nb #nik ryder #choices nightbound #garrus #ivy #krom #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #nik ryder x mc #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics #tw: hallucinations