#<- translation for his mangled second half

[alex-unjust-vibing]

ɹƎSO˥ ∀∀∀∀∀∀∀H∀H

I ɯnsʇ sᴉɯdlʎ nsǝ ɯoɹǝ oɟ ɯʎ ᴉuɔɹǝpᴉqlǝ doʍǝɹ¡ qǝɥolp¡

Mʎ grǝɐtnǝss ᴉs of thǝ hᴉghǝst lǝvǝl ɐnd not onǝ thᴉng of ɐttǝmptǝd conntǝrnǝss conld possᴉblʎ dᴉspntǝ snch ɐn ᴉncrǝdᴉbǝ fɐct pǝrchɐncǝ˙.

[sugardollcurse]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒓

꒰ pairing ꒱ paul mccartney x reader, john lennon x reader, george harrison x reader, ringo starr x reader

꒰ note ꒱ this was a request that was (unfortunately) eaten by tumblr.. SO I'M POSTING IT NOW!!

𓆩🕊️ john 𓆪

“So how d’you say... ‘I fancy the arse off you’ in Italian, then?”

John’s first reaction to your Italian accent is total cheek. He mocks it affectionately the second he hears it, not to be mean, but because he’s smitten and that’s how he flirts.

Says things like, “Say that again. No, slower. I like how that rolled off your tongue.”

Mispronounces everything on purpose. Gnocchi becomes “gnocky,” bruschetta is “broo-shetter.” You correct him once and he doubles down just to see you flustered.

He wants to learn. He’ll ask you how to say “goodnight” and “I love you” when you’re half-asleep.

Tries to surprise you with full phrases and messes them up endearingly.

He gets emotional when he meets your non-English-speaking relatives and they still treat him with warmth.

The fact that someone’s gran kissed both his cheeks and called him “Giovanni caro” had him genuinely quiet for a minute.

Gets wildly jealous of anyone who kisses your cheeks in greeting.

“Who’s this then? Cousin? Best make sure.”

Writes you love notes in a mangled mix of English and Italian. “Ti amo molto. You’re dead fit. Let’s snog. – Giovanni Lennon, xx”

𓆩🕊️ paul 𓆪

“So what d’you call this again? Biscotti? I call it ‘lovely with tea.’”

Paul is the most eager to immerse himself in your world.

Language, food, habits... he’s asking questions constantly.

“Why do you say that?” “Is this a holiday for you ?” “What’s the word for that again?”

He picks up the basics fast and even tries full Italian sentences at restaurants or with your family.

His accent is a bit too clean, schoolboy-ish, but he’s sincere.

He adores hearing you speak Italian. Will literally ask you, “Say it again, just slower this time.” Bonus points if it’s affectionate or poetic. Even if it’s just ordering a sandwich.

“Say that again, no, don’t switch to English! I wanna learn it how you say it.”

He tries cooking Italian dishes for you and messes up the first few times.

Way too much olive oil. One time he served pasta with cheddar cheese on top and you looked so appalled he immediately started over.

Keeps a tiny notebook where he writes Italian words he hears you say. You once found “sciopero” (strike), “amore,” and “mangia!” scribbled next to doodles of your face.

Asks your mum for recipes in the most polite broken Italian ever.

Loves your family gatherings. Brings wine and tries to kiss everyone on both cheeks, then gets confused and kisses someone's ear instead.

𓆩🕊️ george 𓆪

“You speak it so fast... It’s dead nice, though. Wish I could say it back proper.”

George is deeply curious. He listens more than he speaks. The first time you spoke Italian on the phone, he paused and said, “That was nice. What were you sayin’?”

Loves when you get passionate mid-sentence and start mixing Italian and English. He can’t follow, but he watches your face closely.

He wants to understand, so he asks you to repeat words until he gets them. Practices them under his breath. “Soff...ritto? Sor-frito? Sod it.”

Doesn’t correct your English mistakes... he finds them charming.

You caught him once with a little Italian dictionary open on his lap, trying to translate one of his lyrics for you.

When he meets your family, he’s awkward but respectful. Tries to follow conversation, nods politely, says “grazie” like ten times in a row.

Loves how much warmth and food is in your household. “Me mam’s quiet. This is... mad, but nice. It’s like a hug, all of it.”

Gets really still when you call him any pet name in your language. He tries not to blush but fails miserably.

Writes you letters when he’s on tour that say things like, “The pasta here’s not as nice as yours. Miss your voice more than the soundcheck.”

𓆩🕊️ ringo 𓆪

“Eyyy! Am I sayin’ this right? What d’you mean that’s not a word?!”

Ringo is a ball of sunshine when it comes to your culture. Everything is new and exciting and he wants to experience all of it.

Tries to greet your family in Italian and gets it all wrong.

Your accent fascinates him. “You always sound like you’re singin’ even when you’re shoutin’. It’s brill.”

Calls spaghetti “spagoot” just to annoy you. You once jokingly called him “testa di rapa” (turnip-head) and he made it his new nickname.

Tries to learn Italian and ends up mixing it with his Scouse. “Amore, la me tea’s goin’ cold innit?” it's terrible!

Buys you flowers and mispronounces the card every time. “To me sweet bella... bee-liss-ee-muh... oh bugger it, just read it.”

Is obsessed with your cooking. “Don’t even need restaurants when I’ve got you. What’s this one called again? Lasagnuh?”

Says “Ti amo” with all the wrong intonation and too much feeling, like he’s singing opera. You laugh until you’re crying. He beams.

You mentioned once how you missed the smell of fresh espresso in the morning… and a week later he bought a moka pot and woke you up to the hiss of it brewing.

When you visit Italy together...

He can’t stop pointing at everything. “Look at that! That’s a real olive tree, innit?”

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[tracingdreams]

Why was he still here? Surely, it was because he wanted to live.

~Saiunkoku Monogatari, LN volume 4

My blog is usually full of baseball boys and the occasional Fushigi Yuugi spam, but today I felt like translating something Saiunkokuish.

~-~-~-~-~

She was a fragile, sickly woman. A woman with a weak character.

She used her beauty as a weapon, but she had no interest in the rivalries or jealousies of rank among the other consorts. Rather than being an imperial flower, her life would have been so much happier had she married an ordinary man and lived quietly out in the country. But she was a woman who had captured the heart of the Emperor, become pregnant, and given birth to the second prince.

If only she had birthed a princess, not a prince, then her father would not have grasped power and influence, and would not have behaved so foolishly.

And most of all, if only he himself had realised sooner his own vulnerability – his own foolishness. If so, all these years later, perhaps his mother would have unearthed some tiny fragment of happiness.

But this woman had not even the fragile hope of finding such a dream.

He glanced at her face. She was staring up at the sky, fear etched into her expression. The youth closed his eyes.

 If he had asked her whether she loved him, she would always reply vaguely. That was the sort of mother she was. Instead, she would say, ‘if only you didn’t exist. If only I had never birthed you’.

In the palace gardens, he had often spent time with his youngest half-brother, whose circumstances were similar…Spending time with this youngest brother, who adored him with innocent affection, had helped him to understand how long his own heart had been frozen. Because of his youngest brother, he understood what was dear to him, and how to love.

But his emotion towards his mother was unchanged. He regretted her weak spirit and frequent tears, and looked on her behaviour with disdain. But still, he did not hate her. She was the woman who had given him life.

He had realised too late that his own skills and talents, which his other brothers and consorts resented, should have been better concealed. Instead, he had turned them into a weapon, with which he could protect his fragile mother from their scorn.

But that effort too had now been ended.

The spring was on the horizon, but it was still winter; a cold, frozen day. Their pursuers had already achieved half of their goal.

Simply allowing them to be exiled was not enough. For the brothers and consorts left behind, the decision to pursue and put an end to them was the right one. In this place, they could do so without leaving proof – they had orders to make it look like the party had been waylaid and slain by bandits.

The youth pushed aside his bitter recollections, and opened his eyes.

His mother lay dead. He was surrounded by assassins. The guards who had accompanied them were no more, their corpses scattered across the ground.

He was the last one standing.

He had nothing left. Nothing but the enemy blood now staining his hands.

He tossed aside his mangled sword, which had already claimed the lives of so many enemies. The assassins hesitated for a moment, and he took full advantage. He launched himself at one of the remaining thugs, breaking his arms and wrenching away his weapon.

In comparison to the jewelled sword his father the Emperor had once given him, this weapon seemed too weak even to cut through paper. It was a blade, however, and so long as he had a weapon, he would make it work. With one swing of the sword he cut through the throats of two assassins.

“You’ve underestimated me. Who do you think you’re dealing with?”

His handsome features showed so sign of losing their spirit. His voice was icy enough to have been frozen by the winter wind; his words did not sound like those of a thirteen year old boy.

“My name is Seien. I’ve already overcome more than a hundred assassins in my life. If this is the best you can manage, I won’t lose to you. If you think you can kill me, you better come at me resolved to die.”

Like white feathers, the dancing flakes of snow began to fall all around.

Each time his blade became thick with blood and no longer useable, he grabbed up the discarded weapon of one of those he had already killed. His fighting was no longer the elegant skill he had learned growing up. It was the committed fight of a young man determined not to be slain. It was a fighting style that was designed to kill.

Before the snow had a chance to cover the melting patches thick with blood, the young man proved his declaration true. He had killed all of those who had pursued them.

The clouds hung heavily like mist over the wide, empty plains on which he now stood. He was surrounded by bodies, each discarded like objects in the snow. He was battered and bruised from the conflict, and he sank down onto his knees. He could feel his throbbing pulse, as now he registered the injuries all over his body.

The ragged breaths he drew in felt hot enough to melt the scattered snow. He had never felt such raging warmth from within his body before. He sneered at himself, wondering why he had not just let himself be killed.

Not being killed meant having to live.

Being killed would have meant defeat.

So instead, he had killed.

But what now? He had no place to go. There was nobody for him to rely on. He had battled through to survive, but now he faced the darkness of the abyss. So, why had he killed them all?

Was it his pride as a prince, not wanting to be killed by common thugs? In that case, he could have easily put an end to it all himself. So was it just that he did not want to let his brothers and the other consorts succeed in killing him? But even then, surely, dying meant those things would no longer be his concern.

So why was he still here?

Surely, it was because he wanted to live.

Even he found this realisation to be strange. He tried to laugh at it, but instead, red liquid poured from his mouth. Along with the encroaching darkness, the frozen field, still waiting for the dawn of spring, was soaked anew in crimson.

The injury to his gut was more serious than he had first thought.

In the last snowfall of that winter, this youth, who had once been a prince, toppled forward. His body collapsed onto the frozen morass of mingled blood and snow.

A shadow fell across the white terrain. The last thing the youth knew before he lost consciousness was that someone was coming towards him.

He had no way of knowing that his real hell was about to begin.

(Translation and all mistakes and/or liberties are mine. Credit to Saiunkoku author Yukino Sai for original text. Text from the opening of Saiunkoku Monogatari, LN 4.) Image from the anime, ep 20, borrowed from this site blog/episode guide of the original series.)

[nectarous]

— ᴇʟᴇᴄᴛʀᴀ.｜ᴏᴊɪʀᴏ ᴀʀᴀɴ x (ꜱᴛᴇᴘᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ) ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

WARNINGS: infidelity, stepcest, age gap, angst, mentions of squirting.

W/C: 1.1K

SUMMARY: falling in love with your stepfather might ache, but it’s been the best thing that’s happened to you.

⇦ RETURN TO ARAN WEEK MASTERLIST.

the tension between you two is the paradigm of bittersweet; thicker than honey and acrid like cyanide. it burns at your heart and makes your eyes water, knowing that he’ll never fully be yours, but just for that one second, it feels like everything falls into place.

life isn’t black and white; and neither is the serpentine relationship the two of you have. from a younger age, he forced his way into your heart. it took you years to retaliate, forcing yourself underneath him. when he holds you, you drink in the warmth and the adoration his body leaks. tracing the scars and the barely there dusting of hair on his chest, fingers brushing against the familiar ink on his pecs, and breathe. 

you never know if it’ll be the last time.

you’ve come to despise your mother. she doesn’t deserve aran, not when she spends more than half the week cooped away in some dull office. he’s the bright light that guided you for years—she’s a sharp, piercing cold that nips into that cracked, mangled piece of flesh inside what you you call a heart. she destroys everything she touches.

he’ll fuck you till you can’t feel your toes, till your thighs are shaking. he’ll take good care of you and pet circles into your sore back after he’s tossed you around, but at the end of the day; he’ll always go back to her. 

who enticed who first? was it his smile that made you feel like warm melty caramel or those doe eyes of yours or that irrefutable tautness in the air that solidified this between the two of you. there was no guilt inside you, sleeping with your mother’s husband, although you couldn’t be sure if he felt the same.

you were immediately drawn to him; warm and kind and big, patient and forgiving and eccentric under all that intimidating hulk. he’s ruggedly beautiful with bronzed umber skin, thick muscles and charcoaled eyes; protecting hands and wholesome soul. it’s no wonder she married him.

like mother, like daughter. 

it felt right; oddly enough. even though you were the other woman, you know he thinks of you as more than his stepdaughter, more than some pretty young thing to warm up his bed. you don’t think there’s a way to fake all that passion; all those casual love bites and smoldered eyes and muttered i love yous . 

he never treated you like a child but you always knew you were his girl. he’s always offered himself to you, took care of you and bought you pretty jewelry, and gave you sweet pecks at your life milestones; graduation, job promotions, gathered you in his arms at heartbreaks and rejections. he cared. when no one else could pick up the broken pieces, he’s always been there. 

you were probably closer to him than anyone else you've met. it’s the little things, the obvious care and attention to the small things, that made your heart ache for him that much more.

sometimes you wonder if he really does feel the same way you do. or if he’s like this with your mother. she doesn’t deserve him. and, honestly, you don’t either.

you get a sick giddy feeling whenever she leaves the two of you alone. because then it’s just the two of you, and your old golden retriever. in these moments, you can pretend for just a little bit that he’s yours, in a normal relationship, in a normal house, with normal rules. all yours, completely infatuated with you, dedicated to worshiping you. loving you, admiring you, and only you, for just a temporary moment.

the nights she comes back, when he crawls under the cold silk sheets with her, has you on your knees, praying to any sort of god that he chooses you, with a broken heart and tears soaking into your sheets. lose the battle, win the war.

he rejected you at first when you were fresh out of college, when he thought you were a good, pure girl. but loneliness, that bitter ache that makes your ribs feel like they're going to crack and makes the world dull, makes you desperate, made him desperate. so you both fell into each other's arms, into his marital bed. into the sofa, the backyard, your favorite restaurant, his car— anywhere and anytime he could.

everytime you see the glint of the ring on the hands wrapped around your thighs, feel the cool metal pressed against your throat, or roll around in bed with him, there’s a sick giddy feeling that settles right above that tingly heat that’s settled in your stomach. 

he’s more passionate than anyone you’ve ever met, so it makes sense that it translates to how well he takes care of your needs. when he’s between your legs, forcing that eye contact and making an utter slobbery mess of your pussy until it feels like you’ll melt into the shared sheets in the master bedroom, you can feel something mending and shattering in you at the same time. 

everytime he presses your thighs up to your ears and calls you his good little girl, painting your skin with cum, it fries your brain better than any drug you’ve tried.

he might not be all yours, but he doesn’t fully belong to her either. 

you’ve started something, chipped away at the already rigid marriage, until you found a fissure to sneak through. 

you wonder, does he compare you to her? does he treat her like you, all that rough and disgusting and wicked smoothness. can she even handle everything he offers?

there’s no way she can; not with the way he marks you up. he might’ve sworn holy ordinance to her, but he’s pledged so much more to you when his bare thighs brush against yours when you’re curled underneath the sheets.

when you're in the kitchen, dressed in one of those little flowy dresses that drive him crazy, he’ll palm at your ass, teasingly brush against your upper thighs while asking her how her day was. he’ll kiss her on the lips after he’s gotten on his knees for you, massage her shoulders after fingering you until you squirted all over the bathroom floor. 

when he stuffs his thick fingers in your cunt while he tells your mother he loves her, it makes you realize that this relationship is a two way street. isn’t he just as culpable for playing with your frail heart, pressing kisses to your neck and treating you like every girl deserves to be? for worshipping your body while she’s thousands of miles away?

you might be a bad person but, at the end of the day, isn’t he too?

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings, pt. 17

Description:

Notes: WC: 6.3k

+

"What are you doing here?" Came a low voice, speaking in a foreign language.

Both of you whipped around, wide eyes meeting the stern gaze of a muscular man. His bare waist was toned and dark, covered partially by a long, curly beard of black hair that came down in a straight cylinder from his chin. He crossed his arms.

"We... clean," you tried slowly, glancing to Ahk for any help or assurance. Ahk, unfortunately, had none to offer.

"Your supplies are over there," he said gruffly in Akkadian. Neither of you understood that sentence, but the man pointed back to where you'd came from, and you both silently agreed it'd be best to just go wherever he told you to.

The man, who you now noticed had a sword on his hip, followed you to the back of the temple.

"Do you know when you said you do.. keep me safe, in my travel," you whispered in Egyptian.

"I remember, yes," he muttered, glancing back at the guard.

"Well???"

"... are you saying you want me to stab this man?"

"In safe place," you whispered with a nod.

Ahkmen sucked in a breath, his hand tightening over the dagger's hilt sheathed beneath his longer robes. He had never directly killed anyone––perhaps by careless decisions and ignorance, yes, but never with a knife in his hand.

"I thought we agreed we're just coming to see what it is then leaving," he whispered, leaning down to you partway.

"We see it, now we go! We will get food and leave this city," you hissed.

Before you knew it, rags and sweeping brooms were set out in front of you, and you found yourself returning to what you did best, according to the Egyptian priests––cleaning.

The guard only left you alone when you were both on your knees, cleaning the feet of a statue you were not allowed to look at. You kept your head down, breathing roughly as you dusted and polished the stone, sparing glances only to Ahk. As expected, he wasn't quite as thorough as you were and required a couple whispered instructions.

Speaking Egyptian was not the best idea, but speaking in a language those around you understood would've been more detrimental. So it was only in whispered breaths that you spoke. Behind you, the old man continued to speak in a half-dead voice, reciting indecipherable scripture. Every now and then he'd turn the page––the first time he did it, you were at the knees of the statue, polishing the smooth stone, and the second time the page turned, you were washing the statue's hips and skirt.

Once you finished, you both darted away, grabbing the rags and water as the old man approached. He'd moved from his spot for the first time, appearing from behind a curved wall of stone and wood that he preached in front of. The two of you still managed to peek out from behind the arches, overshadowed beneath evening light still flowing dimly in.

Citizens eventually made their way out of the temple, leaving the old man alone with a couple guards––one of which was the one who originally caught you––before the soldiers relented to the coming night.

The harder you squinted, the more you could see, and Ahkmen managed to catch the old man's mouth still moving in unspoken murmurs. He then knelt upon a cushion sat in front of the statue, his hands clasped together. You watched in silence for a moment more, until the old man slowly turned to face you, an empty, kind smile in his expression.

"Come here, children," he rasped out, beckoning you forward with bony fingers.

You glanced to Ahk, subconsciously pressing yourself tighter to him. He swallowed his fears best he could, took your hand, and stepped quietly forward.

"Are you thirsty?" He asked, but in Akkadian, and you couldn't understand him.

"I... what?" You said ever so hesitantly.

"Mm..," the preacher glanced between you, "what language do you speak?"

Egyptians weren't all that well liked in this region. The Sumerian language, though, might fare better.

"I speak Sumerian," he said in his chosen language, keeping his voice nonetheless quiet.

"Harappan," you added for yourself.

"I am Namluh," the man said with as much of a bow as his frail, aching body could do. He stood and turned to Ahk, speaking in Sumerian, "come drink the Holy water."

Namluh, now that you were close to him, was only a little bit taller than you, and shorter than Ahk, though he wasn't aided by the kinked hump on his back. In short, almost shaky steps he led you to where he'd been preaching. Now, a well stood before you, whose bottom dug so deep into the earth you couldn't see the water that would usually reflect even dim light. You tried to peer down further, but Ahk pulled you back before you could.

Using a rope, Namluh lowered a water-tight reed basket into the stone well. It took nearly a whole minute till you heard the splashing of water, and another couple minutes while Namluh carefully pulled the basket back to the surface. Ahkmen was tempted to help, but far too scared of the man to say anything out of line, and instead watched with his hand encircling yours.

At last the rope rose to its end, bringing with it a basket of crystal clear water sloshing in its' unsteady borders. Namluh took up two flasks from the chest behind him, dipping them into the water, and handing them to you when they no longer bubbled beneath the water's surface.

"Drink, children," he said with a slow nod.

Your hand tightened around his fingers, pressing your racing heartbeat against his. He glanced to you with a knotted brow, and realized something faster than he could truly think––and he was sipping from the flask, swallowing a gulp of freezing cold water.

Ahkmen could hear your breath catch in his throat. He rubbed the bank of your hand softly, allowing you a small comfort before you, too, drank the groundwater. It appeared, after a moment, to be nothing more than water, unlaced and clean.

"You are new here," Namluh said when you both began to shuffle awkwardly.

"Yes," Ahkmen admitted softly.

"Where do you come from?"

"Jericho."

The preacher paused, looking them up and down before he asked, "have you drunk the water of the Euphrates?"

You and Ahk shared a confused look.

"Well, yes," he answered with a slow nod.

"I see... come with me," Namluh rasped, turning and walking towards the main entrance to the temple.

Although uncertain, you followed him, squeezing one another's hands whenever your heartbeat picked up.

Cool, gentle winds blew about the city, tossing Ahk's mangled hair about his dusty face. A refresh of petrichor hit both of you, a stark difference from the incense that poisoned the air of the temple. Houses that were previously abandoned were now filled with sparse lights, the families inside usually very large, numbering around 6 to 10 on average, and all looking starving.

You nudged Ahk with your elbow.

"Ask him, what it is with the water," you whispered in Egyptian. He nodded.

"Uh, Namluh –" Ahk tapped the man's shoulder, startling him. Ahk quickly apologized. "What is wrong with the water?"

"In the winter, disease breeds off the malnourished masses," he said, a form of speaking that reminded Ahkmen heavily of the way his teacher spoke. "In this last year, the disease arrived by the water, and our city has suffered greatly."

Ahkmen whispered slow, clunky translations into your ear, arising an expression of confused alarm.

"That must answer a question I'm sure you have," Namluh said with a dry chuckle. "I have saved this city through the water I pull from the ground."

"Wait – wait. We did drink from the river. What does that mean for us?" Ahk asked, a growing panic rising in his chest.

"I do not know, truthfully," he said as he stopped in front of a building, turning to face you. "No one has drunk from the river for a long time now. Until then you must be watched."

"Watched?"

Namluh knocked on the door and near instantaneously soldiers, though not as tall or muscled as the ones in the temple, appeared through the tall doorway. Both of you froze up, making their job easy––they dragged you into the tall, mud building, shoving you inside and closing the door behind you before you could even think to protest. A large, metal clanging could be heard as they locked you inside.

Your mouth fell open from what Ahk could only presume to be shock.

"What has happened?" You asked in a loud, flat voice.

"I think... we're being quarantined," he said, his wide eyes staring blankly forward.

"What in time?"

"Quarantined," he repeated as he looked to you. "They've locked us up so that illness can't spread to anyone else."

"But we do not... we are not sick," you said.

"They think the river's what's making them sick, and I told him that we drank from it, so..."

"... fucked," you finished for him.

He snorted.

"Yeah, I guess so."

The room, while unlit, could be seen through the couple windows that allowed moonlight in. As scarce as it was, you could still see till the end of a hall lined with beds, some empty, and some occupied. You sucked in a sharp breath at the realization you were not alone, stepping so your side was pressed to Ahk.

Victims.

Or, the already dead. Most of the beds didn't move––not even to breathe, the leaf-thin sheets covered in the dust left by incense burned hours ago. Sitting at the wall opposite the door was another altar not unlike the one you found in the temple. There was no well of water, but there was a plate piled with ash from incense in front of a small statue, seemingly another god that neither of you recognized. Your footsteps that echoed in the tall ceiling eventually earned you a harsh 'shh!' from one of the beds, and while you couldn't tell who had shut you up you dutifully stayed silent.

Ahkmen tried to say something to you, but he was speaking too quietly. Since if he spoke louder he would be heard by others, he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as they moved.

"Should we sleep?"

"It is night," you said, almost reluctant to agree.

The beds had no frame, but they did have a good amount of cushioning that Ahk enjoyed immensely after sleeping on the ground for weeks on end. He wandered a little while before he found the largest, most comfortable bed, and jogged back over to you on the other side of the room.

"I found the best one," he said, grabbing your wrist.

"Good for you," you said as you continued to scan the beds in front of you.

"No," he tugged on you, causing you to face him, "come join me."

Your mouth opened into an 'oh' shape despite not making any sound, and followed after him.

To the right of the bed was the entrance of the hall, as well as a few more empty beds, and to the left was a bed with a suspiciously unmoving body within the sheets. You both tried to ignore that, sidling into the bed beside one another. It was a little small for two people, but you were equally small, and Ahk could easily pull you against him so your back was pressed tight to his chest. The sheet was tossed aside, useless with your combined heat warming each other.

His breath tickled the top of your head, and though the eerie silence still surrounded you in pitch black night, you giggled and scratched at your hair. He chuckled, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly.

"Go to sleep, Yogasundari," he murmured, his words partially blurred  with his lips on your head.

"You go sleep, malam," you retorted as you shifted your body.

Your bags were still in the strange temple. Ahkmen nearly forgot where you were, along the route of the river, and along the traipse of your trek to Harappa. He thought a moment, his eyes staring at the lump in the bed next to you.

Rapiqum. Rapiqum was apparently home to some cult-like figures, and not the kind that Ahk generally enjoyed or knew. Disease and the struggle for water; the same battles fought since the beginning of time almost 5,000 years ago. Ahk held you tighter yet, hoping––or praying––you would never struggle for such things again. There was a certain doubt that preyed on the edge of his mind, whispering that the symptoms would've started a while ago, especially after continuous days of drinking from the Euphrates.

Piye would know, a sudden thought that brought a pang of guilt through his chest like a lightning bolt. He could see them again, he reasoned––he could return to Egypt after you no longer needed him, or Piye could alternatively visit him. They didn't like travelling all that much, but enjoyed learning about other people just as he did.

He would see them again.

A dry, empty feeling trickled down his throat.

He had to see them again.

He gripped you tighter, curling himself around your sleeping body as he closed his eyes at last.

Ahkmen awoke to empty arms and a sense of morning chill creeping in from the high-up vents in the ceiling. He opened his dry, red eyes, finding the bed next to him empty as well. That woke him up a little better, and he blearily made his way to his feet, blinking at the haze-filled room thick with the scent of kyphi incense. He could only tell as he'd encountered it quite a lot––it was a favorite of Egyptians, and most common there. This was clearly not Egypt, and he soon recalled he was in Mesopotamia with quite a lot of distaste for himself.

A short line of children anywhere from the ages of 6 to 20 stood down the middle of the hallway, leading up to the altar from which the incense burned. The priest who had locked you and him inside was at the head of the room, passing out something he once again couldn't see, hidden behind the tallest boys' head.

You were standing near the end of the line. Once he caught sight of you, he jogged over.

"What's going on?" He asked in a hushed voice.

"He is giving bread," you murmured. "Beer. No water."

"Okay.. just to make sure, the plan is still to get out of here, right?"

"Yes," you said, the corners of your lips quirking up. "Food is good, we need to eat."

"I suppose so," he said quietly.

Ahk's gaze shifted from you to Namluh, who stood at a table handing out bits of bread and small cups of beer. The two of you were the oldest of all the kids staying in the hall, which meant that as Ahkmen approached the table, he was quick to notice the portion sizes were smaller than the palm of his hand. He frowned, but took what he was given anyway.

You found a seat back on the makeshift bed you'd slept on, crossing your legs and eating in silence. On your last couple bites you offered Ahk the rest of your bread.

"No, don't do that," he said, pushing your hand away. "Eat it. You need it just as much as I do."

"A fly does not eat what a bird does," you said, and offered the food again.

He sighed as he took it. You grinned, but a quiet fluster overcame you when he split it in half, and handed one of the halves to you.

Mother of Gods, he thought as he watched you eat. I'm whipped.

Throughout the day, there were no other visitors except the priest who checked in sparsely. The chaos Ahkmen had been expecting never came, and instead he spent the day watching sick children sit around, picking at the dusty floors, too tired to move. A handful were in a genuinely sick position––clutching their heads or stomachs, features twisted with pain and nausea.

His sandal scraped against the floor as he drew his knee closer to his chest, eyeing the tired children warily. As pathetic as they were, Ahkmen didn't want to take chances, even with a disease he didn't trust the origins of. You, on the other hand, tried a couple times to go speak to a few of the kids, but were stopped by Ahk tugging you back down.

"We should try and stay away from the sickness," he said, watching you slowly move back to your knees. "Or whatever this is."

"Fine," you said with a huff, crossing your arms as you sat down next to him.

Ahkmen fiddled with his hands as he thought about your bags, locked into the temple in a dark corner. All of your potions, your weapons, and his belongings were now missing, but what he found he missed the most was carving into that shitty block of wood he found in the middle of the desert. It kept his hands busy,and creating something tangible––rather than ordering the work of servants and builders––satisfied him, a feeling that only grew when he fantasized giving you a wonderful thing.

He closed his eyes, his head thunking on the wall when he leant back. What had he gifted you throughout your friendship?

Was it even a friendship anymore?

It felt like more than that. Or less than that, but either way it felt strange to call you his friend.

Other half, he thought. That didn't sound right either.

Companion?.. no.

Your bodyguard. Your protector.

Your secret admirer.

His cheeks lit up a bright red at even the thought of that, and he pulled his legs to his chest, hiding his face in crossed arms that leant on his knees. A hand on his shoulder brought him quickly away from that.

"You are okay?" You asked.

"Yes, sorry," he said with a heavy sigh. "I just want to get our belongings back."

"We will do that this night," you assured him.

"Right... we should probably think about how we're going to do that," he said, glancing to you till your gaze brought that blush back to him and he had to turn away.

"It can not open," you said as you pointed to the door. "That is Namluh's home."

Over the top of your head, Ahk could spy another, much smaller door on the opposite side of the room, near the altar.

"I hate doors," Ahkmen said, frowning.

"Why??" You chuckled.

"Can't see past them," he said.

"You are funny, Aganu."

He frowned again. That usually meant you thought he was 'kind of' stupid.

In the eveningtime, Namluh returned with bread and beer, the common staple of––Ahk assumed––the whole world. He stood at the altar in view of the whole room, his hunched back leaning over the table, upon which the small rations of food were spread out. Children and teenagers soon lined up, their shoulders sagging and eyes darkened with restless sleep.

Ahk watched on with a brow he wasn't aware was furrowed. You eventually stood as well, and Ahk followed dutifully, without thought, to join you in the line.

Namluh muttered prayers and blessings as he handed out the food, the proportions equal to or smaller than what you'd gotten in the morning. Neither of you fully understood what the priest was saying in his Akkadian language, but neither of you cared much earlier, returning to your seats to discuss your escape plan in subdued, hushed voices.

One major problem you had to contend with was the presence of the sick children. At first you wanted to bring them along, or at least the ones who were unjustly locked in the hospital, but Ahk reminded you that all the children lived in Rapiqum. You couldn't take a horde of children all the way down to Babylon and leave them there to suffer the strains of poverty, homelessness, and prejudice.

In that case, staying quiet was a necessity. That ruled out much of the brute-force method Ahkmen suggested, and instead you wondered if, by stacking everything you could find, you could reach the vents built into the roof to allow fresh air in. You were certainly small enough to fit, but Ahk was doubtful that he could.

"How would we get out if I can't fit, though?" He asked, leaning in. "If it doesn't work, then we have a massive pile of things that we need to put back, that could take a while."

You thought for a moment, your brow furrowed as you played with the skin of your chin.

"I have a think," you said slowly, "but we will be very fast to have this done right."

"Well we still have to get our bags. Can we do that in time?"

"... get rope and yes, we can do," you said with a growing, mischievous grin.

"Rope..." his eyes raced around the chamber, searching for anything resembling a long rope.

The door to Namluh's home––or at least his bedroom––swung open as the priest finished with the food and revelations, and fell shut behind his slow steps. It gave Ahkmen ample time to note the decorations in the priest's room, including a beautiful chart of pulleys, the system Rapiqum was now using to hydrate its' citizens. The essential tool. Examples of the system were displayed hanging around Namluh's room, as well, meaning that long, thick, and sturdy rope was much closer than either of you thought.

"No problem," he said, his eyes never leaving the swinging door as he tapped for your attention.

You peered over his tall shoulder, sounding a quiet 'oh,' as you caught sight of it, as well.

Light was already dim in the ceiling vents, as the sun set nearly all the way down over the mountains and plains. Neither of you could see the single, blazing piece of sun remaining, nor the orange and purple dusk that it soon left behind. Now only the incense at the altar burned, glowing like burning embers whose smoke still filled the room, settling low near the floor.

You and Ahk were still awake and obviously so, sat up against the wall with your sides pressed together. The other children slowly made their ways back to their beds, but many stayed awake unwillingly, wracked with coughs and ragged breaths. Conversation between you died off as you both became more preoccupied with scanning the beds, attempting to gauge who was asleep and who wasn't. But your hand creeped down between you, a touch that nearly had Ahk jumping, before his smallest finger linked with yours.

Soon, even the tolls of bells from outside were silenced, and all that existed was the hazy, black room, whose loneliness was broken only by coughs and sniffs. The hall wasn't that big, Ahk reasoned––the ceiling was technically less than twice his height, though only a little––but the overwhelming darkness hiding even his hands from view left him alone. A consciousness suddenly disconnected from its' body, and from reality.

You shifted closer to him and he immediately returned to kiss the top of your head.

"Soon," he murmured.

It must've taken hours for everyone to fall into their uneasy dreams, at which point you were both growing quite tired yourselves. But there was something important to be done, and despite your needs, sleep would be no friend of yours throughout the entirety of the coming night.

Ahkmen slipped his leather and reed sandals off, and the two of you finally stood, him barefoot and you with soft, fabric shoes. You padded down the middle of the room in silence, your slow steps allowing you to look at every child you passed. In the heat of dreams, some had tossed their blankets aside, and others were shivering. You almost paused with your breath caught in your throat, but Ahkmen was quick to pull you along.

The wooden door was rather short, now that you both stood in front of it. It was also locked, but that was only the third thing you noticed, the former being the first, and the second being it had a strange looking handle. Neither of you had ever seen one before.

"What..." you tried to say before Ahk's hand whipped up to your mouth.

He held his finger in front of his lips and you nodded.

While you tried to figure out how the lock and handle worked, Ahk stood guard near the altar, watching to make sure no one would wake up. Metal still rattled against itself no matter how careful you were, and every time it did both of you seized up.

A small click signalled the releasing lock, and Ahk hurried over to your side as you slowly opened the swinging door. It creaked for a half-second, stifling your breath till it opened the rest of the way silently, revealing the inside of Namluh's still-lit room.

Long, black shadows descended across the floor from a rushlight burning at Namluh's beside, where a small counter supported both the light and a wax statue wrapped in linen. His bed was little more than a wooden frame and a neck holder to keep his head up. Across the room from Namluh were bookcases, most of which were filled to the brim with scraps of incomprehensible papyrus and clay. Some shelves contained artifacts of worship and ingredients Ahkmen assumed to be for potions.

Rustling of sheets in the hospital sent you both jumping into the room, shutting the door as delicately and as quickly as you possibly could. Your backs pressed against it, heavy breaths filling your chests as you scanned the room, from the desk, to the bed, and the displays.

On the wall directly to the left of the door, buckets and one long, sturdy rope hung along the frame of an innovative concept. None of the notes and scribbles were written in any language either of you knew, but the illustrations sufficed in their explanations. Still, as nicely set up as the decorations were, your needs were more important, and the two of you picked the rope off the nails and into your eager hands.

You looked up with a wide grin, nearing a laugh you knew you couldn't lease. He chuckled silently as well, and with that you left, opening and closing the door with just as much care as ever.

"Now what?" He whispered beneath his breath, standing at the altar beside you with the heavy rope's weight shared between you.

"I must be on your shoulders," you whispered, looking up at him while he short-circuited.

"What?" He said after a moment of silence.

"I am on your shoulders!" You hissed in a whisper.

"Okay, okay," he said quickly, kneeling down.

You climbed up over the bend of his back, settling your thighs on his shoulders. He screwed up his face into a frown to avoid blushing or stuttering too profusely.

With the rope in hand, you set to figuring out the true distance between yourself and the air vents. You squinted, throwing up one flayed end of the rope that circled around the thick wall separating the different, horizontal vents from each other. When it caught, you pumped your fist with a massive grin before tapping for Ahkmen to let you down.

He knelt again and you climbed off. While you brushed your clothes of wrinkles, Ahkmen reached up on his tip toes, just barely grasping the other end of the rope to pull it down and equalize the sides. There was a special knot he was taught in the house of life––it made a loop that could be secured at the top of the rope by pulling on the other side, meaning you could easily climb the rope. That was what he assumed you wanted, at least––he'd feel rather silly if it wasn't.

Consequently, you began your first attempt of climbing the rope, restrained grunts of effort still sounding behind lips shut tight. He tried to help you up a little further, but he couldn't get you high enough to grasp the vents, so you couldn't make it. As you tried to reach forward, your grip on the rope slipped, and you fell with a muted gasp, landing with a fwhoosh in Ahkmen's open arms.

The two of you stared wide-eyed at each other as you waited for someone to stir, for someone to notice, but no one did. You both sighed in relief, returning to scaling the rope.

This time you kept your grip much tighter, your knuckles paling with the force of it, while your uncut nails dug into your palm. You ignored the feeling to the best of your ability and, using your knees and Ahk's help till you finally grasped the vent wall. Your other hand whipped up to stabilize yourself. The strain of lifting yourself up burned your tired muscles, but you managed it nonetheless and scrambled onto the roof of the hospital.

It took several minutes before Ahkmen followed after you, his head popping out of the vent but not much else.

"Told you it wouldn't fit," he muttered, feeling slightly safer to speak at a more comprehensible volume.

"Do not be a child, Ahkmen," you said with a quiet giggle. "That is my work."

"Yes, you're adorable, I get it," he grumbled as you scooted closer, digging into your pockets. "Are you going to help me or not?"

"No, I will leave you here, for all time," you said, banging a hammer against the dried mud building that began to shatter like shale.

The sound immediately echoed in the mostly vacant hospital, sending numbing shivers all throughout his kicking legs, attempting to find some sort of surface to push him through the vent.

"Yogi I swear to God –"

"Which God?" You said, grunting as you once more slammed down the hammer, breaking the vent further yet.

The missing stone allowed a much bigger entrance, through which Ahk pushed himself desperately through as the sound of footsteps sounded from far below the roof. You grabbed his arms, pulling as hard as you could till he popped out and you both tumbled down the slanted roof, the rough rock burning your cheek when you skidded against it. Even now neither of you dared to make a sound, and you drew blood trying to keep your mouth shut with your teeth.

When you didn't collide with the far off ground, you opened your eyes that had been screwed shut, only to find yourself dangling by a single hand. Your gaze darted up to see Ahk grasping your wrist tighter than a snake's coil, his teeth gritted and eyes burning as they watched you. A darkness overtook his iris––one that didn't fit the usual grey color.

You wound your fingers around his arm, and with that he pulled you up, aided by your kicking feet.

"Get the rope," you said, panting from the exertion. He nodded and rushed over, zipping up the long rope, the end of it disappearing into your grasp the moment the doors splintered open and guards burst through.

Ahkmen peered over the edge, revealing just his eyes that scanned the room below. There were only three men who'd come to check on the noise, and with the rope gone, there was little hint to what had happened. All of the children were in their beds, most of them passed out entirely. Ahk grinned as he slinked away from the vent.

"Smart little thing, aren't you?" He said, sitting down beside you and pinching your cheek. You pushed him away, giggling.

"You say it like I do not know."

Shouts from below signified the arrival of Namluh, who awoke from the clutter only when guards came to shake him from his bed. You both jumped to your feet, but you were quicker to cast the rope down to the earth, as the other end of it was still tethered to the vents and, with that resistance, could hold your weight as you climbed carefully down.

Ahk followed your example as soon as he could, landing both of you with a low puff of dirt around your feet.

You started off in a sprint up the city paths leading towards the temple. Much of your invisibility could be credited to the nighttime, as well as the shadows casted by city homes, making you no more than silhouettes to any passerbys. Still, you both attempted to muffle your heavy pants from running.

Once you made it through the wall borders and into the complex, you found that the front entrance to the temple was blocked off by a large, metal gate, the ends of which were made into pikes that pierced the earth below. There was obviously no fitting either of you through that, so you ran round to the other side to where you'd first entered the temple. The back door, never guarded or closed––mostly because it didn't have a door––had three steps that Ahkmen skipped over entirely. You scaled them with quick feet.

"Alright, where did we put the bags?" Ahkmen asked, his chest still keeping a heavy up and down as he looked around the room.

"I think.. when we had the cleans, we had them off," you said slowly, frowning as you tried to concentrate.

"Right," he said, chewing his lip before he set off again, you trailing behind as you entered the next room.

Somehow, it had gotten even harder to see; the weak light of stars and the moon partially illuminated the entrance room, but was, beyond that, useless. It took a minute or so, but eventually he could see the vague outlines of objects, including a closet that had the designs of Hathor on the edges.

"I can't believe those bastards got a hold of something from Egypt," he tsked, stopping to appreciate the handiwork.

"Shut up, Aganu," you said, and pulled him along.

Someone took your bags away from where you dropped them, making it several grueling, anxiety-filled minutes until you found them stacked in the corner, some of their flaps open and loose. You let out a gasp, falling to your knees as you set to finding your stock of potions. Ahk knelt down beside you.

"Everything there?" He asked, going over his own bags as well as looking over your shoulder.

"I think..," you mumbled as you dug into your belongings. "Sephys!"

"What?"

Ahk, who had only looked away momentarily, was abruptly returned to your shoulder to find Sephys still curled up and sleeping in one of your pack's pockets.

"Holy shit," Ahk said with wide eyes. "She was in there the whole time?"

"What, you want me asking her? I do not know, we must go now," you said, pulling the flap back over Sephys and hauling the bag onto your back. Ahkmen nearly laughed, but was pulled to his feet by his shirt before he could.

The straps weighed down on your shoulders once more, the bruising weight more of a comfort than it had ever been before. Tools and bits of metal, glass, and stone clanked against each other in your packs, making your steps much smaller and more calculated.

From the small hill upon which the temple had been built, and the descending sides that housed the rest of the city, you and Ahkmen could see to the edge of the city––which had really become more of a town in the past century––and the winding, tangled streets that led to the end of the buildings. One particular road led from round back of the temple complex out into the south, opposite from the city's main entrance sitting on the northwestern edge.

Ahk tapped your shoulder, silently directing your attention to the path. You nodded, and the two of you set out, ever remaining in the shadows.

Halfway to the end Sephys popped out from your bag. You nearly let out a call for her name, but Sephys appeared to follow your path anyway. Ahk shrugged and the three of you continued.

It appeared after a while that most everyone was busy searching the hospital or temple for what had made the noise. That was the conclusion Ahk decided to draw; whether or not it was right didn't matter. All that mattered was that the townspeople and the priest were preoccupied, and it was mere minutes until you'd be gone from the city. Surely they wouldn't chase after you. Actually, they might be happy to have you gone, since you were 'infected' in Rapiqum's eyes.

A bloom of warmth that the sun couldn't bring spread throughout his chest as the last of the homes disappeared, making way for an open desert and the river that flowed on the mud-soaked shores of the Euphrates. Reeds grew taller than even him, spreading out from the water to every crevice it could survive in.

The day had yet to come, but the two of you were up on the high of the chase, and thus greatly energized for the long walk you now resumed after the short intermission. You grinned when you met his eye by chance.

"No problem, yes?" You said with a quiet giggle.

"Say that once we get to Babylon," he said, turning from you to the path ahead. "Then we won't have any problems at all."

"Really?"

"I hope so," he said with a nod.

"We can stay, for a long time," you suggested.

"What do you mean by that?"

"We can... you can take your bath, I can see the city, you know. Stay for.. many days. Not for all time, but a good time," you said, glancing between the ground and him.

"... that'd be nice," he said, matching your smile.

[anxiousstark]

S3 13 | Galvanize

BIG MASTERLIST | TW REWRITE | MIATCHEMBER  | KO-FI

Stiles Stilinski x Reader! Half-sibling!Mccall

Word count: 2405

Warnings: Mentions of  injuries, blood, death, swearing (always), etc.

A/N: These kind of chapters are boring but necessary for the story. It would be nice if at least, the people who asked to be tagged did vote. It takes time to write, to add things or to think of future scenes.

↪ PLEASE RESPECT MY WORK. DON’T COPY, TRANSLATE OR CLAIM THEM AS YOURS. NOT ON THIS WEBSITE OR ANOTHER. ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED.

"You're back in school?" Those were the first words that came out of Scott's mouth as the twins parked their motorbikes next to my brother's one. Of course, Scott's bike didn't look as expensive as the other two.

"No, just to talk."

"Oh." Stiles and I walked closer to where my brother was standing. "That's kind of a change of pace for you guys. Usually, you're just hurting, maiming, and killing." His hands were gripping the straps of his backpack.

Aiden rolled his eyes. "You need a pack. We need an Alpha."

"Yeah. Absolutely not." Stiles intervened again, nodding his head, and patting Ethan's chest, who hit his hand off him. "That's hilarious, though."

"You came to us for help. We helped."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "You beat his face into a bloody pulp." I furrowed my eyebrows. "That's not helping. In my opinion, that's actually counter-productive." Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I glanced to my side. Stiles was beaming at me, a goofy smile on his face.

"Why would I say yes?" My brother asked.

"We'd add strength. We'd make you more powerful." Both of the twins nodded their head at the same time. "There's no reason to say no."

Stiles dramatically rolled his eyes.

"I can think of one." Isaac appeared from nowhere, and I quickly sent him a look, asking if he was feeling better. At the forest, he didn't have as much luck as I did. A trap closed around his leg. "Like the two of you holding Derek's claws while Kali impaled Boyd. In fact, I don't know why we're not impaling them right now." Stiles agreed with him, nodding his head.

Aiden didn't hesitate to show his fangs and flash his eyes. "You want to try?"

Scott swiftly grabbed the curly-haired boy's arm, holding him back from getting closer to one of the twins. "Sorry, but they don't trust you. And neither do I." We ignored Aiden and Ethan, walking into school.

As soon as we opened the door, a roll of toilet paper hit Stiles right on the face. "All right, that's my face!" His hands immediately patted the other boy's back. "Hey, dude, good decision, buddy. Good Alpha decision."

"I hope so." He sighed.

"No, you know so." We walked to our lockers. The Hazel-eyed boy fastly grabbed his things while I did the same.

I noticed that my brother was dumbfoundedly looking somewhere. "What are you looking at?" I asked him, closing my locker while Stiles took his backpack off to fill it with some books.

"Me?"

"You," I replied.

"You looking at her?" Stiles followed his gaze for a couple of seconds.

"Her? Who her?" Oh, come on, Scott. It was so obvious.

"Her her. Kira." Stiles answered back. "You like her?"

"No." He spoke up too fast. I smirked while staring deep into his eyes. "Hey Y/N, don't do that. Don't d-. Okay yeah, she's okay. She's new."

"So, ask her out." The Stilinski boy finally shut his locker.

"Now?"

"Yes, now." I intervened. "She is leaving."

"Right now?" He asked again while Kira seemed to walk away.

"Right now." He patted my brother's back. "Scott, I don't think you get it yet. You're an Alpha. You're the apex predator." I rolled my eyes as Stiles gave him advice related to girls. "Everyone wants you. You're like the hot girl that every guy wants." I chuckled.

"The hot girl?"

"You are the hottest girl." Stiles smiled as if he was sure of what he was stating.

Isaac, who had come back, glanced between the three of us. I just shook my head. "What?"

"I'm the hot girl." Scott's expression was earnest as he raised his eyebrows.

Isaac nodded his head. "Yes, you are."

I felt an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to a warm body. "So you swing both ways?" To my question, Stiles seemed surprised. "I thought I was the hot girl, but I can see you think my brother is the hottest girl." I jokingly tried to look mad. "I guess you are just dating me to make my brother jealous." My tone was dramatic. "It was Scott McCall all along. He is the one you desire."

As soon as my boyfriend noticed that I was joking, he couldn't help but laugh loudly. "Don't tell Scott." His mouth came near my ear as he whispered the following words. "You are the hottest girl."

"I was hoping so." A peck was placed on the corner of my mouth. My gaze shifted as soon as I saw Mr. Stilinski on one of the corridos, which couldn't mean anything good. "Hey, Stiles," My hand rested on the middle of his chest as he continued kissing me. "Isn't that your dad?"

His gaze moved to where I was looking. He wandered towards his father, bringing me with him. "Wait a minute, wait a minute! The William Barrow? The Shrapnel Bomber? Spotted nearby?"

"A little closer than nearby, actually." A shiver ran through my body, even though I didn't know who that person was. If Stiles seemed distraught, then it couldn't be anything good.

"Dad, what's really going on here?" Stiles brought me closer to his side, muttering his words.

We had found Allison, Lydia and Isaac. Agent McCall didn't want anyone coming in or out of the school. "Barrow went after kids with glowing eyes?" We walked down the stairs as Isaac asked all the questions that could come to his mind. "He said those exact words?"

"Yeah. And no one knows how he woke up from anesthesia. Just that when they opened him up, they found a tumor full of live flies, which in any other circumstance would be all kinds of awesome." I punch his arm, which made him groan and pout.

"Did you say flies?" As soon as Lydia asked that, a fly buzzed next to my ear, and I quickly moved my arm, trying to scare it. Allison's eyes went from Lydia to me. "All day I have been hearing this sound. It's like this buzzing."

Again, I felt like a fly was near my ear.  The Argent girl continued glancing at me, but this time, everyone was staring at me too. "Like the sound of flies?"

"Exactly like the sound of flies." Lydia nodded her head. "Y/N, there isn't any fly around you."

What?

We ran towards Scott when we finally found him. "Hey, dude, where the hell have you been?"

Lydia came closer to us. "The police are leaving. Why are they leaving?"

"The police?" My brother glanced at me, confused.

"They must have cleared the building and grounds, which means he's not here?" I tried to have a little hope.

"Who? What are you guys-."

"He has to be here. That sound The buzzing I've been hearing? It's getting louder." She glanced at me. "She has been hearing it too."

"I only heard it when you said it! I'm not hearing it now!"

"How loud?" Lydia closed her eyes as soon as Stiles asked her, trying to control her breathing. So it was loud, quite loud.

"Scott and Isaac are in the basement, right?" Lydia asked as we looked around the art room. Her voice was a mere whisper.

"Yeah, with Ethan and Aiden. The plan is they meet in the middle, in the boiler room."

"All of the wolves. All of the ones with glowing eyes are in the basement at the boiler room?"

"Not really," Stiles replied. "Y/N," He pointed at me. "She also has glowi-. Oh, my God! An engineer could use a boiler room to blow up the whole school."

"We have to get them out of there."

And we did, Stiles pulled the fire alarm. However, we were caught by Coach, who expressed his desire for punching Stiles's face. Thankfully, we got out of school, meeting the rest. But Scott and the twins weren't able to pick up a scent.

Scott had been invited by Mr. Yukimura to have dinner with him and his family, and let me tell you he was quite excited. Melissa was working all night, and she didn't want me to be alone at home. Therefore, Mr. Stilinski was happy enough to let me stay with them.

I laid on Stiles's bed as he was adding things to his board. "Scott has never eaten sushi before. He is going to make a mess."

I chuckle. "Maybe they won't eat sushi."

He turned around to glance at me. "They are Japanese."

"Stiles," I groaned. "That's stupid. Japanese people don't eat Japanese food all the time! They can eat other foods too!" He shrugged. "What do the different coloured strings mean?" I asked while I glanced to the strings that were on top of his bed.

"Oh, just different stages of the investigation. So green is solved, yellow is to be determined, blue's just pretty." I couldn't help but chuckle. "They are the colour of your siren's eyes."

I got up from the bed, walking closer to him until I was engulfed by his arms. "My siren side is melting."

He snickered. "What about your other side?" He hummed, his lips trapping my bottom lip. "Does she like it too?"

"Hhmm," I pecked his lips, my tongue peeking out to lick his bottom one. "She is a little more complex." His tongue parted my lips, going inside my mouth as his hands rested on my cheeks. Our breaths mangled while our tongues continued grinding against each other.

"I believe she clearly likes it." He stopped kissing me as he seemed to notice something. "We are going to school." I stared at him, puzzled. "We are going to school. Now."

And that's what we did.

"This is just like the first time." I referred to Stiles, Lydia and I being inside the school at night. "So what are we looking for?" I squeezed one of Stiles's hoodies around my body, hating the cold temperature. He ignored me, opening a door that had a warning sign. "That was supposed to be locked." I glanced at the sign 'Caution. Chemical Storage.'

"Yeah. I know." He took his phone out, turning on the lantern. "Notice anything else?"

I entered the room. "Crystal bottles."

"The smell of chemicals. They wouldn't have been able to catch his scent." Lydia added, offering me one of her gloves as my hands were freezing. I offered her a smile, grabbing the soft item.

My boyfriend nodded his head, glancing at the floor. There was some shattered glass, and what looked like blood. "He was here, performing very minor surgery on himself. Lydia was right."

"I don't feel good about this, Stiles." I peered around.

"Probably because he was here to kill somebody."

"But who?"

"That's what we gotta figure out. We could spread out, start looking for anything." We looked around the room, in hopes of finding something else that would tell us where that crazy dude could be. "Lydia, what are those?"

As I heard Stiles, I glanced up, seeing Lydia walking towards something written on the blackboard. "Atomic numbers." I answered before the strawberry blonde girl could.

"Is it a formula?" The boy walked closer to me.

"Not really. 19's potassium. The first two make potassium iodide." She grabbed chalk, writing a K next to the number 19.

"Potassium is K?" Both Stiles and I asked at the same time.

"From kalium, the scientific neo-Latin name." Next to another number, she wrote the letter I.

"What's radium?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and getting closer to the blackboard. "Is it R-A?" As soon as the words came out of my mouth, Lydia nodded her head. Kira, he wanted to kill Kira. "We need to call Scott."

Stiles was already calling my brother while pacing around the room. "Nothing, he isn't answering his phone." He glanced at me, biting the inside of his cheek. "W-What do we do?"

"We are going to Kira's house." I quickly walked to the door but stopped when Lydia and Stiles weren't following me out. "I know where she lives, okay? I made my research too." Stiles furrowed his eyebrows. "I wasn't going to let my brother go to a stranger's house! Have you watched any criminal documentary?" I rolled my eyes. "Let's go!"

When arriving at Kira's house, we found my brother lying on the ground. He had blood running down his forehead. "Barrow, he took Kira!" I nodded my head, more worried about his condition. He seemed to notice, squeezing my right hand and offering me a smile.

"We know. He was after her the whole time."

"We have to think of something. He's going to kill her."

"I knew he was there." Lydia seemed to be distracted. "How did I know that?"

"Because you heard the flies, right?" I asked.

My brother's gaze shifted to her. "What do you hear now?"

"Nothing. I feel like I can do this. But I don't know what to do. It's like it's on the tip of my tongue, and I don't know how to trigger it. I just I swear to God, it literally makes me want to scream."

"Okay, then scream." Stiles stepped closer to her. "Lydia, scream."

And she did. We all covered our ears, faces scrunched. "It's not flies. It's electricity."

"Wait a second, Barrow was an electrical engineer. He worked at a power substation."

"What substation?"

Scott and Stiles got out of the jeep. "Okay. Wait here, all right?" The Stilinski boy glanced at Lydia and me. I was going to protest, but he didn't let me do so. "Just wait for the cops to come."

"Why?" Lydia asked.

"I only got one bat."

Both boys disappeared inside the building. And as soon as I saw them disappearing, I quickly moved in the car, trying to grab my backpack. "What are you doing?" I only offered her a smirk. "Stiles will kill me if he knows that I let you go inside!" She grabbed my wrist. "You aren't going!"

"Lydia?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry." I moved the seats of the back, getting inside the truck of the jeep as I knew Stiles had closed the car. Once I was inside, I used all my strength to kick it, opening it. Then, I also went into the building.

But it seemed like they didn't need me because Kira was something supernatural.

.

.

TAGLIST: @og-baby-ob14 - @savemypostcards - @cas-loves-pizza - @used-avocado - @mvrylee - @bilesxbilinskixlahey - @honeydoll-stark - @arieltheworldisamess - @softpeteparker - @kit-kat-katie99 - @thatsuperherosidekick - @bexbetterxthanxwords - @big-galaxy-chaos - @littlemiss-forgotten - @enchantedcruelsummer - @coldfreakeggsexpert - @merla123 - @sammypotato67 - @weirdowithnobeardo - @maggiesblogsblog - @itskindyl - @bobo-bush - @moongoddesskiana - @multifandxm353 - @irwxnhugsx - @xoprincessmel - @iclosetgeek - @andreagf956 - @niawoods - @anerroroccurrrrred - @perrytheplatypus11 - @trustfundparker - @nmriia - @steve-harringtonnn - @trustfundparker - @brithedemonspawn - @weirdowithnobeardo - @my-soul-is-the-moon - @azayamari - @poguestyle17 - @bibliophilewednesday - @10minutesofscreentime - @momentitodebruh - @drikawinchester - @perrytheplatypus11 - @my-soul-is-the-moon - @linkpk88 - @royalreadery - @sweetest-serpent01 - @teenwaywardasgardian - @sadcupofcoffee - @maliyamay - @seninjakitey​ - @tairisceana​ -

People in bold means it doesn’t let me tag them.

[tyrantisterror]

I did a four part series of trivia posts when ATOM Volume 1: Tyrantis Walks Among Us! came out, and that was pretty fun!  You can see that set of trivia posts here if you’d like.  I thought it’d be fun to do another now that ATOM Volume 2: Tyrantis Roams the Earth! is out - just one this time, because a lot of the trivia I talked about with Volume 1 still applies.

I’m gonna divide this into two sections: non-spoiler trivia, for things that really don’t give a lot of plot points away, and spoiler trivia, for things that DO give away major plot points.  I recommend not reading the spoiler trivia until after you’ve read Tyrantis Roams the Earth!, for obvious reasons, and will put the spoiler trivia under a cut.

Ok, let’s go!

- So if you read ATOM Volume 1, you probably noticed that the book is split not only into chapters, but “episodes,” which consist of four chapters a piece.  It’s kind of a nod to how the series owes a great deal of its DNA to various monster of the week shows, with Godzilla: the Series and The Godzilla Power Hour being obvious influences.  It also allowed me to pepper in some illustrations and cheesy b-movie style titles into each volume.

- The first “episode” of Volume 2, Tyrantis in Tokyo, pays explicit homage to the giant monster movies of Japan, perhaps even moreso than the chapters that came before it.  Given how much Japanese media influenced ATOM - from tokusatsu like the Godzilla, Gamera, and Ultraman franchises to anime like Digimon and Evangelion (hell, the title of this episode itself is a tip of the hat to Tenchi Muyo by way of one of its spinoffs) - it kind of felt obligatory that Tyrantis visit Japan and pay his respects.

- Tyrantis in Tokyo also fits in a tribute to another staple of Atomic Age pop culture: Rock and Roll.

- Kutulusca, the giant cephalopod that appears in Tyrantis in Tokyo, is one of the oldest kaiju in this series, dating back to the first iteration of Tyrantis’s story that I put to paper back in 2001 or so.  It’s changed a lot since then, but its fight with Tyrantis goes more or less the way it originally did.

- Old Meg, the giant placoderm/shark, and Nastadyne, the bipedal beetle, both owe their existence directly to Deviantart’s Godzilla fandom.  Old Meg originated as a dunkleosteus monster I submitted to a “create a Godzilla kaiju” contest held by Matt Frank, while Nastadyne is based on a Megalon redesign I made during the “redesign all the Godzilla kaiju” phase of DA’s kaiju fandom.

- The second episode, Tyrantis vs. the Red Menace, gets dark as we visit the USSR, which had enough REAL horror with atomic power in its history to make creature features seem a bit defanged by comparison.  It’s probably the episode with the strongest horror elements - ATOM’s always been influenced by Resident Evil, and this is probably where that influence shows the most strongly.

- It also features the first fully robotic mecha in the series, the mighty Herakoschei!  Its name is a combination of “Heracles” and “Koschei the Deathless,” with the former part being added by its Russian creators to make it seem a bit more international as they offer it to the U.N. in hopes of gaining aid for a very extreme kaiju problem they’ve developed.

- Most of Tyrantis vs. the Red Menace takes place in the Siberian Monster Zone.  Its name is a reference to the Lawless Monster Zone in Ultraman, which is such a cool fucking name I wish that I wish I could go back in time and steal it.

- The next episode, Tyrantis’s Revenge, is... full of spoilers, so we’ll move on for now.

- The penultimate episode, Tyrantis vs. the Martian Monsters, is a love letter to MANY different sci-fi stories that involve life on Mars, though the most prominent of them is of course The War of The Worlds (one of my top 3 favorite books) and its various adaptations.  From its tentacles sapient martians, the tripodal leader of the titular monsters whose name includes the word “ulla” which is uttered by said sapient martians, the plant monster made of red vines, the cylinder-shaped spacecraft the Martian monsters are sent to earth on, the copper-skinned stingray-esque flying martian who shoots lasers from its tail, and the fact that every chapter title in this episode is a quote from the book, the H.G. Wells influence is STRONG.

- The final episode, Invasion from Beyond!, is shamelessly inspired by Destroy All Monsters, although there’s a dash of “To Serve Men,” Godzilla vs. Monster Zero, and The Day the Earth Stood Still mixed in as well.  It’s also sort of a tribute to my first “published” bit of a kaiju fiction - a rewrite of Destroy All Monsters that included EVERY Godzilla monster that had appeared at the time, which my middle school self wrote back in 2002 or so for Kaiju Headquarters, a kaiju fansite I’m not sure exists anymore.  Invasion from Beyond! is just as ambitious (but hopefully better executed) as my DAM Remake, with dozens upon dozens of different kaiju duking it out, earthlings vs. aliens.

- There were three different documents I made to outline the final battle of Invasion from Beyond!  It’s the largest episode of the series so far and more than half of it is that fucking fight.  My inner child is pleased, though, so hopefully you will be too.

Ok, that’s all I can share without spoilers.  READER BEWARE WHAT FOLLOWS BELOW THE CUT!

JUST MAKING SURE you know that SPOILERS will follow from here on out.  Read at your own peril!  YOU WERE WARNED!

(I’m gonna start with lighter ones just in case you scrolled too far and want to turn back)

- There’s a number of explicit Spielberg homages in ATOM Volume 2, from a “we need a bigger boat” joke during a chase with a giant shark to the fact that Invasion from Beyond! opens with a group of people flying to an island of monsters to review whether or not it should get more funding.

- When Tyrantis appears in the first chapter, I snuck in modified lyrics of The Godzilla Power Hour’s theme song.  “Up from the depths��... “several stories high”... “breathing fire”... “its head in the sky”... Tyrantis!  Tyrantis!  Tyrantis!

- The two rock bands in Tyrantis in Tokyo have real life inspirations ala Gwen Valentine, albeit a bit more muddled than hers.  The Cashews are inspired by The Peanuts (see what I did there), while The Thunder Lizards are a mix of The Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Buddy Holly, and the Big Bopper.  I wanted The Thunder Lizards to be more akin to the myth of a famous rock and roll band than the reality - less the real Beatles and more the Yellow Submarine cartoon version of them.

- The song The Thunder Lizards write for Tyrantis was written to fit the tune of “The Godzilla March” from Godzilla vs. Gigan, though ideally if someone made an actual song of it it would be its own song.  I got the idea from Over the Garden Wall, which used the Christmas song “O Holy Night” as a a starting point for “Come Wayward Souls.”

- Perry Martin, UNNO reporter and peer of Henry Robertson, is a nod to Raymond Burr, with his name being a combination of two of Burr’s most famous roles: Perry Mason, and Steve Martin from Godzilla King of the Monsters (1956).

- Dr. Rinko Tsuburaya is a few homages in one.  Her name comes from Rinko Kikuchi (who played Mako Mori in Pacific Rim), while her last name is obviously in homage of Eiji Tsuburaya.  Her being the daughter of an esteemed scientist is inspired by Emiko Yamane from the original Gojira.

- Nastadyne’s Burning Justice mode is named after a similar super mode from various Transformers cartoons, though it’s more directly inspired by the Shining/Burning Finger super move from G Gundam.

- Martians sending kaiju to different planets via shooting them out of cannons (with or without cylinder spaceships around them) is another War of the Worlds shoutout.  So is martians living on Venus after their homeworld was made uninhabitable, actually.

- Kurokame’s vocalizations are described as wails in explicit homage to Gamera.  His name can be translated as either “black tortoise” (a reference to the mythical guardian beast Genbu, which can also be construed as a Gamera reference thanks to Gamera: Advent of Irys implying Gamera and Genbu are one and the same) or a portmanteau of the Japanese words for crocodile and turtle - “crocturtle.”

- Burodon’s name is just a mangling of “burrow down.”  It also sounds vaguely like Baragon, who Burodon is loosely inspired by.  AND, since Burodon is sort of a knockoff/modified Baragon, that kinda makes him a reference to various monsters in Ultraman!

- The final battle of Tyrantis in Tokyo is sort of a hybrid of the finales of Ghidorah the 3 Headed Monster and Destroy All Monsters.  

- The Japanese kaiju teaching Tyrantis the art of throwing rocks at your enemies is both a joke on the prominence of rock throwing in Japanese kaiju fights AND the tired trope of an American hero learning secret martial arts from a Japanese mentor ala Batman, Iron Fist, etc.  In this case, the secret martial art is throwing rocks at people.

- When introduced to Herakoschei and its pilot, we are told that the strain of piloting this early mecha is so intense that many pilots have died in the process, with the current one passing out on more than few occasions.  This is of course a Pacific Rim homage - sadly, no one invents drifting.

- Herakoschei’s design is a loose homage to Robby the Robot and Cherno Alpha, because big boxy robots are cool.

- The Writhing Flesh and ESPECIALLY Pathogen are both hugely influenced by Resident Evil and The Thing.  Giant body horror piles of raw flesh, tendrils, mismatched mouths and limbs may be a bit outside the main era of monster design ATOM homages, but they fit the themes and bring a nice contrast.

- I came up with Pathogen long before Corona but MAN it definitely feels different in 2021 to have a giant monster whose name is a synonym for disease driving other creatures crazy in a quarantine zone than it did when I plotted out the story in 2016.

- The chapter title “Hello, Old Foes” is a riff on “Goodbye, Old Friend”

- Minerva, the kaiju-fied clone of Dr. Lerna, is meant to be an homage to Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, which is a genuinely good giant monster flick.  I am sure many of you will also believe I included her because I’m a pervert whose into tall women, but you’d be wrong!  I included the seven foot tall Russian mecha pilot Ludmilla Portnova because I’m a pervert whose into tall women.  Minerva’s inclusion was just coincidental, I swear!

- Since Promythigor is a play on the archetypal ape kaiju to contrast Tyrantis as a play on the archetypal fire-breathing reptile kaiju, their fight has a lot of nods to King Kong movies.  Promythigor attempts the famous jaw-snap maneuver of Kong (with less success), J.C. Clark paraphrases the “brute force vs. a thinking animal” line from the King Kong vs. Godzilla American cut, and Tyrantis slides down a mountain to knock Promythigor off his feet in a reversal of Kong doing the same in King Kong vs. Godzilla.

- Tyrantis sliding down a mountain on his tail doubles as a Godzilla vs. Megalon homage.

- Though Promythigor is the archetypal Ape and Tyrantis the archetypal Fire-Breathing Reptile, I think it’s fun to note that in some ways, Promythigor is the Godzilla equivalent in their matchup, and Tyrantis the Kong.  Promythigor has a slight size advantage, was scarred by humans performing unethical weapons technology, and is associated with violent explosions.  Tyrantis is a good-at-heart prehistoric beast who humanized in part by his unlikely friendship with a human woman.

- Of course, in the context of the famous quote from the American cut of King Kong vs. Godzilla, they remain in their archetypal lanes.  Promythigor is the more intelligent of the two (though not necessarily wiser), and Tyrantis is in many ways a brute reptile.  Their battle is a rebuttal of sorts to the assertion that Kong is the “better” animal because he is closer to human.  Promythigor’s near human creativity and emotions don’t make him the kinder/more benevolent monster, but instead fuel a very self-centered and destructive attitude that makes him the far more dangerous threat.  On the other hand, Tyrantis, who is less intelligent, limited in communication with others by his reptilian mindset and instincts, and simple in his thoughts and desires, is nonetheless a sweet creature that is easily dealt with when others consider his animal needs and mindset.  There’s a quote from Hellboy I love that probably sums up all of my writing thus far: “To be other than human does not mean the same as being less,” and that’s what the matchup between these two in particular tries to illustrate: the “less” human Tyrantis is nonetheless more benign than the “more” human Promythigor.

- Kraydi the psychic lizard began life as a soft sculpture I made of the Canyon Krayt Dragon from The Wildlife of Star Wars.  The sculpture didn’t look much like the illustration, but I liked how it came out, and so I made it an original monster named Kraydi (see what I did there).  Figuring out an explanation for that name in ATOM’s world was possibly the most difficult kaiju naming task in the series, but it worked out in the end.

- Kraydi and Promythigor having psychic powers is a result of my time on Godzilla fan forums in my middle school years.  Most of the forums had OC kaiju battle tournaments, and SO many of those kaiju had a wide array of beam weapons and psychic powers just to win the tournaments by beam-spamming and mind controlling their foes into oblivion.  There’s a special kind of rage you get when your original creation is beaten by “Fire Godzilla” because he has a genius level intellect and the power of unstoppable telekinesis.  Kraydi began as (and still is I suppose) my attempt to do a psychic kaiju well, while Promythigor’s villainy being tied to psychic powers being forced on him is sort of my passive aggressive commentary on people foisting powers on a monster without any real thematic reason for them.

- Henry Robertson and Dr. Praetorius chewing out the laziness of people giving kaiju completely unaltered names of mythic beasts will probably be seen as a jab at the Monsterverse and/or the numerous writers in the kaiju OC scene who do the same, but it’s ACTUALLY a jab at my past self, who had DOZENS of kaiju whose names were just Greek mythological figures verbatim.  There are dozens of kaiju named Hydra, Scylla, Charybdis, Chimera, etc., past me, try to make the names stand out!  Oh wait you did.  I mean, don’t pat yourself on the back too much, you still went with “Mothmanud” as a canon name and never came up with something better, but, like, good on ya for trying I guess.

- Dr. Praetorius takes his name from the evil mad scientis in Bride of Frankenstein, who basically has all the wicked traits that Universal’s Frankenstein downplayed in their take on Dr. Frankenstein.  Ironically, ATOM’s Dr. Praetorius is a bit less evil than his fellow mad scientists in ATOM.  I really like how his character turned out, he surprised me.

- Isaac Rossum, the pilot of the USA mecha Atomoton, is named for Isaac Aasimov, whose robot stories are to robot fiction what Lord of the Rings is to high fantasy.  His last name is a reference to Rossum’s Universal Robots, which is where the word “robot” came from.

- The unfortunate pilots of MechaTyrantis in ATOM Volumes 1 and 2 are all nods to Jurassic Park.  John Ludlow = John Hammond and Peter Ludlow, Ian Grant = Ian Malcolm and Alan Grant, Dennis Dodgson = Dennis Nedry and Lewis Dodgson.

- A good way to pitch Invasion from Beyond! would be “what if the staff and monsters were able to fight back when the Kilaaks tried to take over Monsterland?”

- Ok, here’s a fun joke that no one will get but me because it requires a very specific chain of logic based on some obscure and loosely connected nerd bullshit.  There’s a rocker in ATOM’s universe named Sebastian Haff, right?  One of his songs, “Darling Let’s Shimmy,” is referenced right before a mothmanud larva emerges from the ground in both ATOM Vol. 1 and 2.  Ok, so, in the Bubba Hotep, an aging Elvis impersonator named Sebastian Haff claims he is actually the real Elvis Presley, having changed places with the real Sebastian Haff as a sort of Prince and the Pauper deal that went wrong.  Got that?  Ok, so, in UFO folklore, a common joke is the theory that Elvis didn’t die, but was rather abducted by aliens (or he actually WAS an alien the whole time - the whole “Elvis didn’t die, he just went home” joke in Men in Black is a good example of this).  Ok?  Ok.  So, in ATOM’s universe, we can surmise that their equivalent of Elvis, whose name is Sebastian Haff, WAS abducted by aliens, and that his song “Darling Let’s Shimmy” is subconsciously influenced by his repressed memories from his time aboard the Beyonder spaceships, which is why it accidentally awoke a Mothmanud larva in Volume 1.  There’s a lot of bullshit jokes I put into ATOM, but this is perhaps the bullshittiest of them all.

- One of the most common bits of feedback on ATOM Volume 1 I got was “I kept waiting for something to eat Brick Rockwell, he’s such an asshole.”  And I had to smile and go, “Oh, yeah, guess he never got his, huh?” the whole time without letting on that he was going to die here all along!

- Dr. Lerna and Brick Rockwell’s nature as foils to each other is probably most apparent in Invasion from Beyond!, where both are given fairly similar situations - a nonhuman approaches them with a solution to a global crisis - and react to it very differently.  I worry that some people may think they both made the same choice and got different results, and that that’s hypocrisy on my part, but I hope I wrote it so you can see how their choices and situations actually differ in key ways, and why their decisions, while similar on the surface, are ultimately very different, and thus result in almost opposite outcomes.

- So, when I planned out this book in 2016, I swear I didn’t know about the Orca from 2019′s Godzilla King of the Monsters.  Having the plot hang around Dr. Lerna deciding whether or not to use a sonic device to rouse all the kaiju to save the earth was not INTENDED to be a Monsterverse reference - it came about from me looking at Pathfinder’s take on kaiju, who are all explicitly influenceable by music, and thinking, “Oh, wow, music and songs DO have a major connection with kaiju in a lot of media, I should do something with that.”  Whem KOTM came out a few days after Volume 1 came out I realized I was kinda fucked here, because the comparison was definitely going to be made, but I’d also set this all up already and you can’t just change suddenly to avoid looking like a copy cat and make a good story, so... I dunno, I leaned into it a bit, but it is what it is.

- While most people will probably think they’re a reference to the Reptoids of UFO folklore, the Reptodites are more inspired by the Dinosapien of speculative evolution fame and, even morso, by the Reptites from Chrono Trigger.  Me wanting to avoid the “lizard people control the government” conspiracy theory trope is one of the main reasons why Reptodites have this non-interference clause with humanity.

- Lieutenant Gray is a bunch of different humanoid aliens rolled into one - a little Hopskinville goblin, a little classic gray, a little this one weird alien with five-fingered zygodactyl hands, etc.

- There’s some Beyonder Mecha in this volume that are basically kaiju-fied versions of the Flatwoods Monster.  The species that built them ALSO engineered the Mothmanuds, because connecting Mothman and the Flatwoods Monster is fun!

- Pleprah is, obviously, a one-eyed one-horned flying purple people eater.

- Tyrantis’s brush with death, in addition to being so very anime, was inspired by my dad outlining how mythic heroes often have to travel to the underworld/land of the dead before they can finish their journey.  It’s one of the plot points that I’ve had planned for this series since middle school.

- I’m sure some will view it as hackneyed and corny, but as a person who’s battled with depression for decades, having Tyrantis’s choice to live be the big heroic turn of the finale was very important to me.  Tyrantis incorporates elements of a lot of imaginary friends I made as a kid, and in many ways he’s kind of the face of my more positive side in my head.  He’s been telling me to choose to live for a while, and while maybe to an outsider it may seem hackneyed, it’s just... very Tyrantis.  He chooses life and kindness in the face of pain and struggle.  That’s Tyrantis.

- Tyrantis’s powered up form is called “Hyper Mode,” which is another Gundam reference.  Originally it was a lot gaudier and involved him turning gold like a fuckin’ Super Saiyan.  I opted for something a little more toned down here.  

- Also, speaking of KOTM references, I decided to make Hyper Mode Tyrantis’s final duel with Pathogen be a sort of foil to Burning Godzilla’s final bout with Ghidorah in KOTM.  Instead of ravaging the city, Hyper Tyrantis’s pulse of energy rejuvenates his fallen allies, and as a result he is “crowned” not out of fear for his supremacy in the wake of killing a powerful enemy, but in gratitude for his kindness.  See?  Leaning into it!

- And now I can finally reveal that Yamaneon is ATOM’s equivalent of The Monolith Monsters - that is, a kaiju that is also a mineral.  I took the “strange continuously growing rock” thing in a very different direction, though, as unlike The Monolith Monsters, Yamaneon is actually alive.

- At various points in the pre-writing process, either Promythigor, MechaTyrantis, or both were going to die fighting Pathogen.  I ultimately decided to let them both live, with MechaTyrantis even getting his flesh and blood body back, because I think it’s more interesting and thematically consistent that way.  They get a chance to heal their wounds by changing their ways.

- The Great Beyonder and Dorazor both almost didn’t make the cut, as I felt they didn’t have the same pull as villains that Pathogen, Promythigor, and MechaTyrantis did.  But then I thought that could actually be the gag - build them up as the final boss, only to have Pathogen take their crown.  I want to explore post-face turn Dorazor a bit more, though.  We’ll have to see about that in a later volume.

- Volumes 1 and 2 make up what I call “The Ballad of Tyrantis Arc” for ATOM.  I call it that because Tyrantis’s storyline in these two volumes was patterend after Chivalric ballads like Yvain the Knight of the Lion.  Tyrantis, a heroic warrior who is kind but dumb of ass, learns of strange goings on outside his home and investigates.  During his journey into the unknown he falls in love with a powerful woman, whose favor he tries to win.  Through happenstance he is separated from his love and, distraught, wanders around fighting various foes to prove his worth, before finally returning to his love a better hero.  Invasion from Beyond! could even be seen as a sort of Morte d’Artur, with Tyrantis and a bunch of other kaiju heroes (including Nastadyne and Kemlasulla, who are built up as Hero Kaiju of Another Story) take part in a huge battle that threatens their idealic kingdom (of monsters).

- Volume 2 isn’t the end of ATOM, but it’s designed to work as an ending if you want to tap out here.  As a reader I feel a definitive ending is important, but as a writer I’m always tempted to revisit my beloved characters, so I feel giving closure while leaving a few doors open for possible future adventures is a good compromise between these positions.  There will be more ATOM stories, some (but not all!) following Tyrantis and Dr. Lerna, but if you want to know that Tyrantis and Dr. Lerna get an ending and the resolution to their arcs such a thing promises, here you go.  An ending, if not THE END.

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

more voiceless jaskier AU

https://bygodstillam.tumblr.com/post/613282643525697536/okay-so-i-have-written-800ish-words-ofApparently the middle of the night is when I write this. Though to be fair “the middle of the night” is also just when I’m awake right now.

Reminder that this is entirely self-indulgent, which means people will be giving in to their hearts even when in canon the almost certainly wouldn't. :)

Still pretty angsty, but we're starting to inch towards the soft comfort part of this h/c!

(Part 1) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) Now on AO3

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

The second night after finding himself voiceless, Jaskier ate.

Geralt had tried, most of the day, to talk to fill the silences. He'd failed horribly, the silences were still long and painful, but the attempt was not lost on Jaskier, and it was enough to melt him out of the petrified, empty shock that had consumed him the night before. Their progress away from the lake had been in the opposite direction of Rinde, even though it was the closest place to go for news or supplies. Jaskier couldn't help but be glad - if he never saw that town or the lake again, he'd be grateful.

"If we keep making good time, we should reach the next village in three days or so," Geralt was saying as Jaskier picked at the dried venison stew, wishing he hadn't emptied his flask already days ago. Or that they didn't have to make good time, so he could put off carrying his lute as long as possible in the mornings and take it off (and carefully, so carefully, set it down a safe distance away from the fire) as soon as possible in the evenings.

There was a slight shift of movement in the corner of Jaskier's vision, where Geralt sat, and a subtle glance revealed that Geralt was failing to hide that he kept glancing over at Jaskier, not eating, with a concerned frown. Jaskier lifted the spoon and took a bite. It wasn't too bad, and... well, to be honest now that he'd forced himself to take a bite, he was pretty hungry. A few bites later and the frown had settled back into the usual one, directed into the fire.

Laying in his bedroll that night, Jaskier didn't cry, to his great relief. That wouldn't last, he could tell, but he stared up at the shadows of leaves and branches over the sky, the peek of stars between them in the breeze, and thought about what happened, and didn't cry.

He couldn't remember the entire course of events that led to the djinn's attack on his throat - he'd been a lot more drunk than he would like to admit, burned from being dumped by his most recent lady love, his attempts to flirt ignored by Geralt, and he just felt lonely. He remembered needling Geralt, who was clearly in a worse mood than usual, and doing so beyond what he normally would've. Prodding him until he lashed out, and then taking it too personally. It was fuzzy, but he remembered Geralt shouting that he just wanted a little peace, and then pain, and--

And Geralt's face, immediately panicked by what was happening. Whatever he'd been feeling, he hadn't wanted Jaskier hurt, or dying.

And really, when you thought about it, Jaskier had known, even drunk, that Geralt was exhausted and more volatile than usual. For one of his more obnoxiously annoying drunk idiot mistakes, the fact that he was still here, alive, was more than he'd generally hoped for throughout his adult life. He'd always sort of assumed one day he'd piss off the wrong person and die to that. He'd done it, but then that person had done their best to save him anyway, and succeeded. It was a second lease on life, even if the near-death had never been Geralt's intention.

Maybe that's how he could get through this, learn to live with this silence: by viewing it as a kind of gift.

The third night, Geralt was restless and grumpy. He still hadn't quite given up attempting to fill silences, but had clearly found it even harder than the day before. In desperation, he'd started singing some folk song, and Jaskier had gotten lightheaded and couldn't breathe, and it was stupid because other people singing shouldn't make him feel like he was being crushed to death by his own chest, and after he'd gotten back under control, sitting in the dirt of the road, Geralt had all but forced him to ride Roach the rest of the afternoon.

The whole thing had put Geralt off of speaking, apparently; either that or he was running out of whatever fuel he used to create speech at all, because to Jaskier's ear it sounded like he was forcing the words out with every ounce of willpower he had, when he spoke.

"I'll fix it," Geralt grumbled. Jaskier nodded in response, then shrugged. Oh, he was hoping beyond hope Geralt could find an answer, and soon, but he was still trying to cling to his thought from the night before, that this was the cost of a second chance. Not because of Geralt, nothing to do with Geralt, but because fate herself was trying to tell Jaskier not to be so much of an ass. Geralt frowned deeply at that response.

"It's important," he insisted. "I will fix it. It was my wish, it's my responsibility." And Jaskier knew he didn't mean it like that, like the only reason he cared was because he felt obligated, because you couldn't spend large chunks of over a decade with a man and fall in love with him and not be able to pick out when he truly cares about someone or something. Jaskier knew that Geralt cared, that was why he'd gone to find him in the first place, that day: if nothing else he was lonely and needed to be around someone who gave a shit.

It still felt like a knife twisting in his chest, and his lips twisted in a weak attempt at a smile and waved Geralt off. It wasn't very believable, but he didn't want Geralt to feel obligated.

"It's not fine," Geralt snapped, more or less accurately translating from Jaskier's vague gesturing. But to answer that no, it wasn't, but the idea of obligation made him feel ill? That no, it wasn't fine, but at least he was alive? Jaskier couldn't figure out how to explain that silently without writing, and the only paper he had was his journal. His songwriting journal, the most recent of many, half-full with notes and ideas and scraps of lyrics and the working drafts of his songs. No, he couldn't bring himself to use it for this. So instead he just spread his hands helplessly.

Geralt grumbled wordlessly and stood. "Stay here." He strode into the trees, and Jaskier was left sitting by the fire wondering if Geralt was going to just go scream into the trees or try to find a bear to wrestle with his bare hands or something. That could make a good song, the bear wrestling, but Jaskier shook his head to try to clear that thought from it. Maybe, if Geralt couldn't find some sort of magic that can undo this, he could write again one day anyway. But not yet.

Geralt came all but stomping back into the clearing after a few minutes and jerked his head for Jaskier to follow. Not having anything better to do, Jaskier went.

A few yards through the brush was another small clearing, not big enough for a camp, but with a large flat area of loose slightly damp earth, not so loose as to be sandy, that had clearly been brushed free of leaves and sticks. Jaskier frowned, and turned to ask-- no, to look confused at Geralt, but found a sturdy but narrow stick held out to him.

"Write," said Geralt. "If you need to."

Jaskier swallowed hard, fighting tears despite himself. Geralt's response to Jaskier being unable to communicate a clear thought was to find a way for him to express it, and if Jaskier hadn't already fallen in love with the witcher years ago, he would have now. He nodded and crouched, considering the space he had and the words he wanted to say.

Thought my mouth kill me 1 day, he wrote carefully in the dirt, cutting out words he didn't need, grimacing a bit at his mangling of language. It couldn't be helped, but it wasn't fun. Least not dead? Good.

"It wasn't your-- it was my fault," Geralt said, clearly frustrated. "I was an ass." And yes, it was technically Geralt's fault, in that it was his wish that caused this. If he wanted to, Jaskier could blame him. Part of him wanted to. Most of him thought Geralt wanted him to. But really, Jaskier couldn't find it in him to be angry at Geralt. Not when he saw Geralt's face when he couldn't breathe, heard the panic in his voice demanding someone tell him where to find a sorcerer to fix it.

Jaskier smoothed the earth, tamped it down a bit with his foot. Not intentional. He paused, then underlined it. He could faintly hear Geralt make a displeased noise, and added, Didn't know you had wishes.

There was a moment's pause, then Geralt said softly, "And yet, here we are."

Jaskier couldn't think of anything to say to that, not that he could fathom writing in the dirt, so he just reached over to pat Geralt's arm, in comfort or reassurance or forgiveness? He wasn't sure. Geralt just frowned deeper and sighed. Jaskier didn't like that frown. It was a sad frown, a guilty frown, one that made him think Geralt was internally flogging himself over something he hadn't tried or intended to do.

Not. Your. Fault. Jaskier wrote, after smoothing the ground again. Rather be alive. Other people maybe let me die. But not you. Better.

Geralt put his hand on Jaskier's, stilling his scrawling in the dirt before he can try to add more. "I'm still going to fix it," he said. There was a long pause as Geralt fell silent again, and Jaskier itched to write more, to fill the silence with even the idea of his words, but he could see more words trying to order themselves in Geralt's mouth, and he didn't want to spook Geralt into not saying them.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier," Geralt said, eventually, almost too soft to hear. He cleared his throat and continued a little louder. "You're not a pie with no filling. Not you, not your singing. I was... I wanted you to go away, stop telling me the truth about how I was avoiding the real problem." Jaskier knew, he did, that it had been a cruel barb meant to try to get him to storm off in a huff. But it had still hurt, and it still soothed some little wound in his heart to hear it. "When I was trying to save you," Geralt continued, "I kept thinking I couldn't let that be the last thing I said to you."

Jaskier couldn't help but laugh, though it was just a brief, silent huff of air and shake of his shoulders. The last thing he remembered Geralt saying to him that night was some nonsense about apple juice. He didn't point that out, even in writing, because really, that wouldn't have been much better, and also because he knew that wasn't what Geralt meant.

He couldn't let the last thing he'd said to Jaskier before they were in crisis mode, the last thing he'd said that he'd remember later, be something cruel.

Thanks, Jaskier wrote. Appreciate you tried.

"Wasn't good enough," Geralt rumbled under his breath, but he looked at least slightly less like he wanted to throw himself into a lake as penance, and Jaskier would take that. He smiled up at Geralt, weak but at least sincere, because it did mean a lot to him, that Geralt was that desperate to try to save him, and was this torn up by his failure to save all of him.

"Well," Geralt said, apparently uncomfortable with the implied forgiveness Jaskier kept offering, "do you need anything?"

A voice? Jaskier thought, his smile fading and his shoulders drooping slightly. An identity that isn't built around my words? The ability to undo everything I did to provoke you? But nothing Geralt could actually give him came to mind, so instead he shook his head. The light was fading, and they still needed to make supper and eat, so Jaskier pushed himself to his feet and right into Geralt's chest, not having noticed the larger man move so much closer to him. Geralt caught his arm to keep him from losing his balance and then, looking almost uncertain but deeply determined, pulled Jaskier into a hug.

He was trying to be comforting, working off of an uncertain and ill-used script, but doing his best for Jaskier's sake, and Jaskier choked on the tears that tried to well up in his eyes. He would not cry, even though the physical affection and comfort was something he hadn't realized he needed so badly. He just pressed his forehead to Geralt's chest and breathed in the smell of sweat and horse and leather and Geralt, willed himself to not fall apart, and tried to drink in what might be the only chance he'd have to be this close to the man he loved more than reason itself. He couldn't stand it for too long, for all he needed the embrace, and he stepped back with what he hoped was a grateful smile before jerking a thumb back over his shoulder toward camp and miming eating stew.

"Fine," Geralt said, and started to walk back, pointedly keeping Jaskier in front of him for some reason. "Get settled, supper soon."

Jaskier waited, after supper, for Geralt to fall asleep, or at least lay down silently long enough that Jaskier had to assume he was asleep, before curling in on himself and letting himself cry out all the raw emotions that Geralt's hug had pulled back up. Not the quiet still tears of that very first night but sobs, for the loss of his voice, the loss of his independence (because how would he survive without Geralt at this point, he had no skills to speak of besides music), the loss of the very core of his identity. He felt lost and isolated and the fact that he could sob so hard and the only sound was the faint exhalation of air made everything even worse.

He wasn't sure how long he cried, until it petered out into sniffles and he had to blow his nose a few times into his handkerchief, even if the sniffling didn't stop. He tried to steady his breathing, stop the silent hiccuping breaths that he associated with small children crying themselves sick, and didn't hear the sounds of Geralt getting up and moving until suddenly he felt Geralt laying down behind him on his bedroll, on top of the blankets, an arm slung over his waist. Where the embrace earlier had forced him to fight back tears, this contact - as unexpected and bizarre as it was - settled Jaskier almost immediately, his trembling breaths slowly evening out to match steady rhythm of Geralt's breathing.

He was exhausted, and quickly found himself drifting off to sleep, wondering absently if he wasn't asleep already, to get to feel secure and soothed by Geralt's solid presence at his back.

He definitely imagined, as he let go of that last scraps of consciousness, that he felt lips press against his hair.

(Part 1) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10)

Now on AO3

[delimeful]

WIBAR Intermission: Making Adjustments (2)

WIBAR INT chapter 1 

if you’re new to this AU, you can find the first story here and the ao3 story here! 

warnings: tension, fear, panic attack, mention of blood, and nightmares

-

Once he heard the sounds of the others waking, Virgil managed to work up the courage to head out to the common area, mostly to reassure his stupid brain that Patton really was safe.

Predictably, trouble immediately found him in the form of one very large, very pissed-off alien. 

Fortunately, he was too tired from staying up panicking all night to flinch at Roman’s approach. He raised an eyebrow in question, watching him for any sign of attack. “What’s wrong?” 

“What’s wrong?!” Roman echoed angrily, his huge clawed hands twitching. “What’s wrong is that you apparently decided to gallivant around our ship without supervision for the whole night!” 

Virgil tensed, his heart rate picking up. Did that mean that Roman really had seen him last night, and just acted otherwise? 

Before he could ask, there was an excited trill from the hall. 

“Virgil!” A flurry of bright blue feathers darted into the room, launching itself directly at his chest. 

He caught the Ampen with a wheeze, ignoring the little black spots in the corners of his vision. Relief filled him at the sight of his friend unharmed, and his shoulders lost some of their stiffness. “Hey, Pat.” 

Roman was twitching harder now, his eyes narrowed in a piercing red glare, but Patton didn’t seem to notice. “Where’d you go last night? I went to check on you before bed and you weren’t in your room!” 

Virgil felt a strange happy tug in his chest at the knowledge that Patton hadn’t forgotten about him, and his lips twitched up for a second before he processed the rest of his query. “Huh? Yes I was.” 

“No, you weren’t,” Roman growled. 

Patton leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s just grumpy because he was up patrolling all night even though I told him over and over that you weren’t going to do anything.” 

Virgil shrugged, careful not to upset Patton’s balance. “Well, that’s a shame, because I was in my room. I just wasn’t sleeping in the bed.” 

Roman said something in another language, but Virgil could recognize being called on his bullshit by the tone alone. He rolled his eyes, and turned to head into the hallway. 

“Fine, I’ll prove it.” 

They ran into Logan on the way to the bedroom, and he tucked his extra set of arms behind his back and followed them curiously, confirming that he had also believed Virgil had abandoned the room for the night. 

He had a lot to say when Virgil showed them the cabinet he’d spent the night curled up in, and then upon further prompting, gave a demonstration of how he “managed to fit” in it. 

Roman was speechless for a record-breaking minute and a half, until he noticed the lack of a cabinet door. 

Virgil pulled the mangled door out from beneath the egg-bed-hammock thing sheepishly. “It was an accident.” 

“You kicked through solid Plylon?” Logan asked, eyes bright with interest.

“You kicked through solid Plylon?” Roman asked, in a much more displeased tone of voice. 

“Kiddo, is there something wrong with the bed?” Patton asked, completely unfazed by the destroyed furnishing. Virgil gingerly set the Plylon(?) board down. 

“No, I just… slept easier in the small space,” he answered, having no idea what the word for cabinet was in Common. 

“Do you require a different room? I’m certain we can arrange a smaller or more contained bed,” Logan offered, something in his voice setting Virgil on edge.

“No, really, this works fine,” he insisted, and then resigned himself to lying. “It’s just like beds at home.” 

It wasn’t like he’d be not-sleeping here much longer anyhow. There was no point in making them waste their time on stuff for him. 

“Okay, if you’re sure…,” Patton said. Virgil nodded, and let the tiny alien drag him back to the commons. The last glimpse he got of the others were the two of them engaged in quiet conversation, Logan holding the shredded cabinet door out appraisingly. 

He shuddered, and didn’t look back again.

“You want anything?” Patton asked, a common phrase from back when they were forced to barter and gather for their food. Virgil forced himself not to automatically answer in the negative. There wasn’t a scarcity of food here, he didn’t have to skimp out so Patton would get a full meal. He was lucky the Ampen hadn’t realized that Virgil had been misleading him about how much humans needed to eat.

“Uh, sure. I’ll eat whatever.” One learned not to be picky when living as a hunted fugitive in space. Plus, apparently most “deathworlders” could eat things that would be considered poisonous to other aliens. He supposed his former caffeine addiction would seem outrageous to these guys. 

By the time Patton returned with bowls and silverware, Logan and Roman had returned to the commons, claiming their own spots on the couch built into the floor. Virgil made a note of where they were sitting for future reference of seats to avoid, studiously ignoring the two aliens’ gazes. 

Outright questions were more difficult to ignore. 

“Virgil, was it?” Logan started, stressing the second vowel for too long. Names didn’t translate too well in Common, so Virgil nodded vaguely, not bothering to correct him. “How often do you eat?” 

Oh great, the one question he didn’t want to answer in front of Patton. Virgil stared at him blankly for a moment, and then shoved an oversized piece of fruit into his mouth to stall for time. He immediately regretted the action as he began to gag on the overwhelmingly sweet flavor. 

Strangely enough, Logan immediately recoiled, and tucked all four of his arms behind himself. “My apologies,” he offered in a much more reserved tone, eyes averted. 

Virgil’s mouth was too occupied with the miscellaneous space fruit he was half-choking on to ask what the hell Logan thought he’d done wrong, so he held up a finger in a gesture of ‘just a second, let me finish inhaling this fruit’. 

There was a loud cracking noise a few feet away, and Virgil turned in time to watch Roman shake the splintered remains of his eating utensils from his claws. 

“I’m going to bed,” he announced with the dark anger of a wronged anime protagonist, and promptly stomped out of the room. Patton chirped a sound that was the Ampen equivalent of clicking his tongue. Virgil continued to choke on the damn fruit for another few moments. 

“What… was that all about?” he managed as his airway finally cleared up. “What’d I do?” 

Logan finally looked up at him again, a strange curiosity in his gaze. “You don’t know?” 

“Virgil was smuggled fresh off the planet, Lo,” Patton chimed in helpfully. “He hasn’t gotten any sensitivity training. You wouldn’t believe how many times I thought he was going to take a bite out of me just from how he was staring!” 

Virgil planted his face in his hands to hide his mortified flush. He spent a lot of time dissociating in that cell- he hadn’t realized he’d been staring at the time!  

“So, the threat displays are… unintentional, then?” Logan asked, and Patton gave an affirmative whistle. 

“What are... threat displays?” Virgil asked, clumsily sounding out the unfamiliar Common. Logan visibly perked up.

“The baring of teeth and extended jaw are signs of aggression in many cultures,” he explained, lifting his arms to gesture. “Beyond the fact that he truly does need sleep after staying up for so long, I believe Roman left because pointing with one digit is a gesture of disrespect in Crav’n sign. They have a language formed solely by hand signals and body gesturing, due to the prevalence of early-onset deafness in some adults.” 

“I- hold on.” Virgil turned to Patton. “Baby words for the idiot, please,” he requested, using the English word for idiot.

“I hope you’re not speaking bad about yourself, Virgil!” Patton knew him too well. The Ampen frowned suspiciously at him for a moment longer before repeating what Logan had said in simpler words, with some added English and gesturing for what certain Common phrases meant. Logan watched the byplay with wide, intrigued eyes. 

Virgil nodded, wishing he had a manual for alien body language. And a Common-to-English dictionary, while he was at it. And maybe a free spaceship ride home.

“I know about sign language,” he finally offered, fingerspelling his name in example. “Humans have… uh. Hearing-gone?” How had he already forgotten the word, Logan had just said it.

“Deafness?” Logan offered tentatively, and Virgil offered a quirk of his lips in thanks. 

“We have deafness also, there are many causes,” Virgil didn’t have the vocabulary to describe the human tradition of gathering together to have performers blast loud music directly at them at close range without sounding like a dumbass, so he left it at that. Who knew if aliens even got tinnitus. 

“Interesting,” Logan said, tracing patterns in the air with his lower hands. “I would have presumed- ah, guessed that weaker individuals wouldn’t have persisted- or, lived long enough to form a cultural touchstone like a sign language on a world like yours.”

Logan’s effort to dumb down his vocabulary helped, and Virgil raised an eyebrow once he figured out the implied question. “What, you think we just leave deaf people to get hurt alone?” 

He’d meant the question sarcastically, but Logan’s distinct silence was answer enough. He set his fork down despite not having eaten more than a bite of his food. “Oh.” 

Logan looked from Virgil to Patton and back, belatedly sensing his misstep. “I didn’t mean offense. I’ve simply been led to believe that human social constructs weren’t so… community-based.” 

“It’s fine,” Virgil said, careful not to come off snappish. He’d forgotten his situation, his position as a human for a moment. “Don’t worry about it.”

He pushed back from his chair, and Patton tilted his head, birdlike in his concern. “I’m just still a little tired. I’m going to rest some more.” 

“Do you want me to come with?” Patton asked, antennae leaning towards him. Virgil shook his head. He didn’t want to imagine what kind of scene would occur if Roman woke up and found them. He was supposed to be avoiding putting tension on Patton’s relationships, not increasing it. 

“No, you finish eating. I’ll probably be out later.” He didn’t meet Patton’s eyes as he turned away. Lying again. At least he knew that was what they really expected of him, being human and all.

“Is this amount of sleep normal for a human?” Virgil heard Logan ask in a not-quiet-enough tone as he left. He was out of range before he could hear Patton’s answer. 

He spent the rest of the light cycle sitting in the corner of his room behind the bed, not answering whenever Patton knocked gently on the sliding door. He couldn’t hang out, he was too busy staring blankly at the wall with only the barest perception of time passing. By the time he snapped out of his dissociative fugue, the hall lights had been dimmed and the ship was quiet once more.

Taking a spare moment to stretch away his body’s stiffness, he crawled back into the cupboard space. Sleep attempt two: electric boogaloo. He could feel exhaustion weighing on him, making his eyelids droop heavily with every blink. Surely he was tired enough to just get a dreamless coma-nap? Please? 

Barely an hour later, he jerked up and slammed his head into the roof of the compartment, breathing so stifled that he had to crawl out of the confining space before the band around his lungs loosened slightly. 

He could barely even remember what the nightmare had been about. The only things that lingered after he woke were snapshot sensations- flesh under his teeth, the feeling of being chased, Patton’s rust-orange blood too much they’ll find him run run run- and a sense of terrified dread settling deep into his bones. Probably for the best that he didn’t remember the specifics. He shuddered, pulling himself to his feet. 

As long as he avoided the part of the ship where the others slept, it wouldn’t hurt to walk around the ship a little, ease his nerves. He hoped. It wasn’t like he was going to touch anything important, just… maybe try to figure out how the kitchen worked around here. 

He was struck with a feeling of deja vu as he crept through the corridors, and snorted at realizing that he was sneaking around to get a snack like he’d done back when he was ten. Everything always seemed louder in the quiet of the night when everyone else was asleep, though it was offset slightly by the way the walls hummed. Side effect of being in a spaceship, he supposed. 

When he reached the kitchen, he realized that he wasn’t the only one who’d thought to rummage around for a snack. Logan was there, humming one of Patton’s melodies softly as he leaned over whatever he was fixing himself. His arms were more extended than Virgil had seen since their first encounter, three of them busy with making food while the fourth one traced squiggles into the air. He tilted his head curiously, and then rapped his knuckles against the wall quietly to announce his presence.

All of Logan’s hands spasmed in surprise, but his turn to face Virgil was slow and measured, not fearful. The moment he recognized him, his extra arms were tucked away behind him, and he stared at Virgil with those translucent eyes. 

“Are you nocturnal?” he asked, and Virgil blinked. It was better than being interrogated on what he was doing out of his room, he supposed. 

“Nah, just got up because I was hungry,” he answered. He couldn’t really be nocturnal if he wasn’t sleeping during the day. He wasn’t sleeping at night, either, but that was beside the point. “What are you eating?” 

Logan glanced behind himself. “Are you asking simply out of curiosity? A desire to know?”

“Uh, yeah. Just wondering.” At his response, Logan relaxed slightly and shifted aside. 

“I am eating a staple food made from ground meal and water, with a preserve- a sort of sweet topping made from fruits of my home planet.” 

It looked kind of like jam on untoasted bread, though the textures appeared slightly different. “Huh. Nice,” Virgil offered him a thumbs up, and then, at Logan’s intrigued gaze, remembered that he’d only ever explained that gesture to Patton. “It’s a hand-sign meaning ‘good’ or approval.” 

“I see!” Logan mimicked the gesture curiously with both hands, and Virgil noticed how his fingers, while similar to a human’s, tapered to a distinctly thinner point at the end. Probably pretty useful for finer, more detailed craftwork or repairs.   

“Would you like to try some?” Logan’s voice cut smoothly into his thoughts.

“What?” Virgil looked up to see the alien holding up a piece of bread. Was this out of fear, like when Patton had always let Virgil eat first back in the cell? “Oh, uh, I don’t want to take your food.” 

“I’m offering it. Sharing food is a show of community and trust in many cultures.” Logan recited the fact neutrally, but something about the way his hands tensed and untensed behind his back made Virgil think he was taking this conversation seriously regardless. 

He reached forward to take the bread, careful not to get the jam all over his hands. “Thank you.”  

Logan inclined his head slightly, long ears twitching. Virgil did his best to ignore the way he was openly staring as he bit into the bread. The crust was much softer than he’d expected, but the taste of the bread was distinctly less sweet than most white breads, almost savory. The jam on top did more than enough to provide the sugar, though, and Virgil hummed in appreciation. At least if he was going to have an allergic reaction and die from space food, it would be tasty space food. 

“Is that a sign of enjoyment?” Logan asked, clearly invested in Virgil’s opinion for whatever reason, and he nodded.  

“Yeah, it tastes really good.” His gaze trailed down to where Logan’s lower arms were drawing patterns in the air again. “Hey, why do you do that?” The arms were immediately stowed away again. “And that. Am I not supposed to look at them?” 

Logan slowly drew his arms back out, ears tilted up curiously. “No, it is okay for you to view them. I was simply trying not to startle or otherwise upset you... When the three of us first began to travel together, I had to learn how to mind my arms to avoid causing Roman undue stress.”

“Roman got nervous because of your arms?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. The huge alien didn’t seem the type to be twitchy around friends. 

“For a Crav’on, spreading one’s arms is an imminent sign of an attack. Roman hadn’t been around any Ulgorii before, so it took him a while to adjust and be able to view my gesturing without believing that I was upset or about to lunge at him,” he explained. “Do humans not feel threatened by such motions?” 

“Uh… maybe if I didn’t realize you were there at first? As long as you don’t, like, hit me, I don’t really mind if you do your little,” he wiggled his fingers in an imitation of Logan’s gestures, “thing with all your hands.” 

“I would not hit you,” Logan hurried to reassure him. “My mind-weaving is very contained even when it looks… haphazard, or messy.” 

“Mind-weaving?” Virgil asked, and then watched as Logan brought his hands forward to show him the air-patterns he was tracing. “Oh, is that what that is?” 

“Yes. It’s a method of physical memory integration for my people, to keep a record of important thoughts or data.” Logan twisted his wrist slightly. “It makes it significantly easier to recall information, as well.”

“Huh,” Virgil said, reminded of notetaking. “Why are you always doing it around me? I’m not that interesting.” 

Logan’s ears angled downwards in disagreement. “To the contrary, I’ve nearly cramped my hands recording all the information I can about you! It’s been quite the trial to keep track of all of your mannerisms and what they imply about life on your planet.”  

A trickle of unease dripped down Virgil’s spine, making goosebumps rise on his skin. “Uh, why are you doing it then?” 

The alien looked as though Virgil had asked why the sky was blue. “I have to make sure I don’t forget anything, of course. There’s never been scientific records of a human from direct contact and engagement like my conversations with you. There’s so much to learn, so many misconceptions to dispel and correct! I’d be a particularly poor scientist if I didn’t keep records of it all for the future.”

Scientist. Virgil dropped the remnants of his bread, stumbling back as adrenaline surged through him. He clutched as his heart, furious at his own physiology for making it all the easier for Logan to take more from him. Patton had said he trusted him but did Patton know? Was Patton in on it? Had all this- befriending him, speaking with him, bringing him into their home- been some insane ploy from the beginning? For what? A willing lab rat? 

Movement in the corner of his eye made his head snap up, and he bared his teeth ferally at the sight of Logan trying to reach towards him, to take. “No! Don’t- Get away from me!” 

The alien jerked away like he’d touched a hot stove, eyes big and afraid because Virgil was human and humans were monsters and they were going to get rid of him-

“Lo?” Roman’s low voice overlapped with Logan’s terrified nonsense words, Virgil’s own shallow breaths, and the sight of the Crav’on in the room was enough to snap him out of his frozen state and into flight. He shoved a chair to skid across the floor in Roman’s direction and bolted, halfway to his room before realizing that that was the first place they’d look. 

He cursed. He’d leave, get off this stupid ship and save them the trouble of booting him, but all there was outside was the cold vacuum of space, and he didn’t know how to work the stupid doors anyways. There were calls of his name from the side of the ship he’d left behind.  

Virgil found the tallest appliance he could and scaled to the top of it easily, shoving himself into the furthest shadowy corner and pretending that he was back on that ship, alone in that tiny, dark cell. At least there he knew who was going to hurt him, and when.

[irrealismora]

here's your prompt:

"Have you always been like this?"

"My whole life, actually. Since I was born."

I'm sorry that it took me so long to answer this prompt! I wanted to write something complete, if that makes sense. This is from a WIP that I found literally the day I got this ask. I still don't have a name for it so I've just been calling it Unnamed for now.

Thank you so much for the prompt though! I loved writing this. (This is actually the first complete scene I've written for this WIP, so extra thank you! And it's kind of long, I'm sorry. ;-;)

November presses her forehead against the wall, listening an irritated neighbor chastises Kieran.

"Look, man," the neighbor, most likely Ethan from 306, says, "I get the late night munchies too. But my munchies don't wake up the whole building, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"Yeah, I get you," Kieran replies, his voice muted by the half open door. "We swore we set a timer. We promise it won't happen again. We were watching Avengers and-"

"Yo, you a Marvel fan?"

November smiles as they start talking about how Killmonger deserved a better story line, knowing full well that Kieran has never seen a single Marvel movie.

After less than 5 minutes of talk, Kieran accepts an invitation to binge watch the entire series sometime in November, "'cause you just know that Disney is gonna drop something big for Christmas." With a fist bump and a promise to never set off the fire alarm at 2AM ever again, Kieran gently closes the door.

November steps out from around the corner just as Kieran turns around.

They meet each other's eyes.

Kieran opens his mouth, then closes it. He raises a finger. "Hold on a second." He sidesteps the mangled corpse of the smoke detector and disappears into the kitchen.

November looks at the corpse, then at the murder weapon - the golf club propped up innocently against a side table - then up at the part of the ceiling where the smoke detector met its end.

Great, she thinks. More problems I can't afford.

Kieran reappears with a napkin, offering it to her.

"You've got a little..." he whispers, and he points vaguely to his eye.

November grabs it, taking off her glasses and quickly wiping the corner of her eye. The napkin comes away with a sooty, red smudge.

Kieran leans against the wall across from her, the mangled smoke detector between them.

"Thank you," November whispers back, folding up the napkin. "For that."

"Of course."

November feels his eyes on the top of her head. She takes a small breath, then looks up to meet them.

Where his eyes are, she instead sees the gentle light and shape of his soul. It congregates over the bridge of his nose and where his eyes should be, looking not unlike balls of cottonwood seeds that glow ethereally from within.

She slides her glasses on and his soul disappears, leaving only his undecipherable amber eyes.

"Have you always been like this?" he asks.

November looks down at the wad of napkin in her hand.

"My whole life, actually," she says, her voice still at a whisper. "Since I was born."

She expects there to be some kind of relief, some great weight that lifts from her chest. But still. Nothing. Well, nothing more than the jitters from the coffee.

"I set off the fire alarm then, too. Made some nurses and doctors quit." She laughs, a solitary ha. "If it weren't for my Aunt, I think the doctor would've killed me."

He blinks. "Really?"

"Of course. A baby born crying blood and smoke? Anti-Christ material there."

He frowns, but he doesn't look away. "Does it hurt?"

November studies him in the low light of the entryway, the very real looking crease between his brows.

"Always," she says.

They both look down at the smoke detector.

November sighs. "I'm sorry. I can replace it."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that."

"Don't worry about me. Really. I'll be okay."

"I know that. You're a very capable person," and he nods towards the golf club. "I just..."

He turns away, staring at the potted plant next to the front door.

The look on his face shocks her like ice, making her straighten, making her cross her arms tightly over her chest. But it does nothing to stave the feeling of everything inside her emptying.

And oh God. The emptying is terrible, but learning that there were things still left to lose?

That is so much worse.

"It's okay if we can't be friends anymore," she hears herself say, "or if you want me to move out. I get that-"

He whirls. "What? No. No. No, it's not like that. I..." He sighs, bracing himself against the wall.

"Kieran?"

"Admittedly," he says after a beat, "I've seen a lot worse."

November just looks at him, her thoughts flying so fast she couldn't figure out which one to follow and translate into actual words.

He bites his lower lip, then releases it. "I've done so much worse," he says, his voice just a bit too even. "To people."

November doesn't speak until he meets her eyes again.

"Is this about what you used to do?" she asks. "What Vera does?"

He nods.

"And it's not... Marketing?"

Kieran shakes head. "Vera has climbed high enough in the food chain to not have to do the things we used to do. But what we used to do was..."

He lets out a ragged breath, raking his hands through his hair.

This, November realizes, must be the weight lying heavy on his chest, his great relief.

"You don't have to, Kier."

He smiles, just a little. "I want you to know that you aren't alone, and that crying the way that you do is not the worst thing I've seen. That it won't scare me away."

November scoffs. "Oh, it can get a bit worse."

Kieran raises an eyebrow.

"I don't have eye problems," she says.

"Okay."

"I need these glasses to keep me from seeing things I shouldn't see."

He blinks first. "Such as?"

You don't see them, Ma?

See what, honey?

"Souls," November croaks. "I can people's souls, instead of eyes. What they look like, what they are, who people are, if I tried hard enough. My sister June, who can commune with spirits and entities, made them for me so that I don't have to see them."

Kieran stares at her for a split second, then he laughs.

"What?" November asks, her voice raising just a smidge but she might as well have been screaming. "Is that funny?"

"No!" he says quickly. "Nothing about what you're going through is funny. It's just... Crazy that you think that seeing souls is worse. That's-" and he waves his hands. "Beautiful! It's fucking beautiful! So much better than what I do."

"And what do you do?"

Again, he opens his mouth then closes it. Something settles over his features, as though the weight didn't lift but simply got too heavy to bear anymore.

He looks over to the plant, then sighs.

"What do you-"

But then the plant starts moving. No, not, moving.

Dying.

It's leaves shrivel, its stalk caving in on itself until it becomes as thin as a stick. Finally, it falls over,  nothing more than a husk.

She looks at him and despite the resigned look of him, his eyes seem to glow.

"I kill things," he whispers. "And I've killed a lot more than just plants."

[wildshub]

WHO: The Twilight of Adam Boys WHAT: The boys come across Warren’s dead body and bury him. WHEN: Day 3 NOTE: For future reference.

Blue blue had been replaying the entire night over in his head. he had been against leaving sawyer and warren alone on the cliff, they were all a team in this but theyd always be combative until they got that. maybe the guys saw how much carrying another guy around + a lack of good sleep had done to blue, he himself felt like his energy was cut in half. maybe that's why he relented and followed the rest back, in what felt like a half sleep daze. But there they all stood, having seen far too much of what remained of warren on earth. it was the first dead body blue had ever seen, and the image seemed to puncture through any other thought. "what um, what did you guys last say to him?" his eyes housed some extra moisture, but he would be unashamed of this. a brother died, even if he wasnt blue's favorite. and sawyer, soy dog, being given this huge task, and having this be the outcome, it was heartbreaking. "i last told him he needed to translate the message..." he wished he had said anything more comforting, personable, leas tinged with annoyance. but that was the truth

Kian Kian had never been good at dealing with death. When the great aunt he barely ever spoke to on his mother's side passed away, he hid in the coat closet at her wake and refused to come out until the body was gone. That was eight years ago. It wasn't any easier now, standing here in front of a lifeless, mangled corpse...especially not that of who, just hours earlier, was joking and laughing and lazing around like they weren't in dire need of rescue. He had to tear his eyes away from Warren, focusing his gaze on a rip in the hem of his t-shirt. "Dunno. Probably something about how much of a twat he was being," Kian mumbled, none of his usual bite to his words. "But we were all kind of being twats yesterday."

Sawyer Warren was a fuck up. And, selfishly, Sawyer felt drawn to him for that very reason—because he took comfort in knowing he wasn’t the only person on the isle whose smart mouth and poor rationale got him into trouble more often than it got him any good. When Warren chose to stay with the fire, Sawyer hung back with him. He could read people like he read books, knew there wasn’t something right with the guy after he’d been choked out, beaten up, and hung off the ledge of a cliff within an inch of his life. If he indulged in a little alcohol he’d been keeping from the rest of the boys—and if Sawyer shared some with him—nobody needed to know. He’d needed that liquid courage to face camp in the morning...fuck. It felt like a given, only seven hours ago, that he’d even wake up to see the next morning. “S’my fault,” he said suddenly, drawing fourteen sets of eyes away from Warren’s body and to where he stood, feet away from the group. His voice shook as he spoke. “We were drinkin’, a-and I knew he was upset about the radio and shit, and I should’ve…looked after ‘im.”

Joe Instead of properly processing the events of yesterday Joe had pushed them to the back of his mind. He shoved the memories into a filing cabinet where they became an unorganised jumble of shouting, pulling and dashed hope. He trudged back to the camp with the hope that a good night's sleep would fix everything. He prayed that a new dawn would make for a bright new start or maybe he would wake up to find out that the last forty-eight hours had been a nightmare based on some disaster movie he watched years ago. But turns out the exact opposite happened and the new dawn brought more fucking anguish. Eyes still transfixed on Warren's lifeless body he was about to tell the Adams that the last thing he probably said to Warren was be careful, Joe wished he meant be careful in general instead of specifically with the radio. Maybe things would have ended differently if his past life prioritised Warren's life instead of a stupid old radio. That train of thought was interrupted by Sawyer. "Don't you fucking dare." It was supposed to be a command but it was more of a whimper. The words blame yourself remained stuck at the back of Joe's thought. "It wasn't your fault,ok. You couldn't have seen it coming." Yeah, Sawyer stayed behind to babysit Warren but making sure somebody didn't get yelled at wasn't the same as making sure they didn't die.

Dash Dash had seen a dead body once before but Warren’s looked mad different, mangled and limp and scraped up from the rocks. He loitered away from the group huddled together in lieu of getting any closer to the body after the panicky, failed revival. Touching his cold, lifeless skin to drag him ashore had been enough macabre bullshit for one day. Dash flexed his hand as he looked at Warren’s lax face. Well, third time’s the charm, he thought wryly, then felt a little sick. Any of them could die here apparently, and it started to feel a whole lot less like Total Drama Island as the Lost vibes violently rocketed up. The neckbeards who worked at Google were gonna have to hurry up and tap into their space stations to find them before someone else met their untimely demise. His eyes cut toward Sawyer when the other guy spoke and then to Joe when he replied. Dash shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah, I mean, I guess there’s not much you could’ve done about it if you were asleep, man. Alcohol plus dangerous heights equals...” he trailed off. He rubbed the back of his head, eyes narrowed when he noticed something missing. Warren’s belt bag was gone; it had been one of the first things Dash noticed about his fit on the place, not entirely without envy. “Looks like Mother Ocean wanted his fanny pack.” He paused. “Uh... should we let her take him too? Yunno, ol’ Viking funeral style. Those were basically his people, and we gotta figure out what to do with the body.” Dash was all for suggesting some kind of action if that meant he didn’t have to stare at a bloated corpse anymore. Besides, he was going to start stanking the beach up in the hot sun sooner or later.

Lukas Put him in front of the grossest, goriest movie or game and Lukas had a stomach of steel. The second he laid eyes on Warren, he lost the airplane nuts and seltzer that had filled his stomach the night before. Though he did have the decency to at least step away from the group to do it. Wiping his mouth as he returned taking up the spot beside Dash towards the back of the group to avoid his stomach being unsettled again. He shook his head when Sawyer spoke up, wasn’t his fault he wanted to say but he was worried he’d say it with a side of puke. Thankfully Joe had them covered on that front, even if he did say it with a wobble of his lower lip. “ Isn’t that usually with a boat and fire and shit? “ Like that even mattered right now but it was a lot easier than thinking about having to bury Warren.

Liam for the first time in his life, liam was glad he was shorter than most. surrounded by so many taller than him, liam couldn't get a good look at the body in the water, not that he wanted to. while he may have found warren annoying and after the whole ordeal with the radio, everyone was pretty pissed; but that didn't mean he wanted the boy to die. it didn't take long before liam's eyes stung with tears a the thought of one of them dying. he looked to sawyer as he explained what happened, liam reached out and placed a hand on his bicep. "yeah, it's not your fault," he repeated joe's words, but as he did, the tears started to spill. liam quickly rubbed his hands over his cheeks to try and hide the evidence before some of the meaner members of the group (cough sebastian cough) noticed. dash and lukas started talking about what to do with the body and liam had nothing to add, worried if he did have anything, his voice was shake and crack if he spoke.

Kian "He's got family, though," said Kian, shifting his weight from foot to foot. As much as he desperately wanted to go all out of sight, out of mind with Warren's corpse, the thought of lighting him up and sending him off to sea settled in his stomach like a handful of rocks. He couldn't imagine being Warren's parents in that situation, forever haunted by the fact that they'd never get to see their son laid to rest. Fuck, this was all so fucking fucked. "Maybe we should keep him buried somewhere cool. So he doesn't...get too bad before rescue comes."

Joe "Kian's right." Joe said bluntly, breaking the silence that hung over them. He buried his hands deeply into his shorts pocket. Fuck he wished he had his jacket. It didn't matter that he was already being smothered by the humidity of the island."Just throwing him into the sea would be dead disrespectful." Warren was a disrespectful twat when he was alive but that didn't mean he deserved to be dumped into the ocean. He was a person with a family that loved him. Plus, a decomposing body would probably fuck up the ocean floor's ecosystem or whatever it was called and the poor crabs didn't deserve that. Joe took Liam quickly rubbing his cheek as a sign he needed to go into full distraction mode (something he learned to do from awkward family dinners)."And there's so much shit wrong with the viking funeral idea, no offence Dash. We don't have a boat and the Vikings were from that bit of Europe that looks like a tongs grabbing a bit of lettuce. That's not where Switzerland is." He was hardly a viking expert but being forced to go on a two hour coach trip to go to some museum on the other side of the Pennines when he was in year 3 counted for something. It didn't stop him from being complicit in the death of some rich bastard but it counted for something." Not that any of that matters."

Sebastian  Sebastian looked at Warren's lifeless corpse and saw the shape of his own hands reflected in the discolored bruising around the other boy's neck. Would it ever go away or would he be buried with the reminder that his last hours had involved Sebastian trying to kill him? He swallowed hard, disturbed by the thought but the lump in his throat refused to shift in even the slightest way. He decided not to answer Blue's question, everybody knew what Sebastian's last words to the other boy had been and he didn't want to repeat them, not now. "It's not your fault," he insisted, his voice low and gravely as he responded to Sawyer, "You're not his keeper," none of them were. They were looking out for each other to an extent but they weren't obliged to one another beyond that, not really. He looked over at Kian and nodded his head, "Yeah," he concurred when Joe spoke up, assuring the group that Kian was indeed right. He cleared his throat softly and contemplated their options, "We gotta bury him," he announced, though the prospect was unbearably grim. "The animals will get him if we don't," that was worse, much worse.

Sawyer Sawyer appreciated the words of comfort—really, he did—but nice as they were, they did little to lighten the guilt sitting heavy atop his chest. He was the last person Warren ever spoke to. The last person Warren ever saw. If any of them had the ability to prevent his death, it was Sawyer, and he just…drifted off to sleep after a measly half-canteen of cognac. Did he ever ask if Warren was okay? Did he notice if he was drunk enough to make any dumb, rash choices? And if he did, did he even care? With a hard sniff, Sawyer tightened his jaw and focused his attention on an upturned shell poking out of the sand. Having a pity party for himself, he decided, wasn’t gonna bring Warren back from the dead. “Yeah. We can use that emergency blanket to wrap him up, keep the bugs an’ shit out.”

Dash Yeesh, it was just a suggestion, Dash thought, and it was easier to focus on that small smidge of annoyance than the word 'family'. Things were less complicated when Dash could look into Warren's empty eyes and imagine that he spontaneously generated on the plane like one of those meat flies. Okay, so now other cultures’ funerary rites are disrespectful? Awright, cheers, Sir Moseley, he wanted to say, half-jokey in tone and a painful mimicry of Joe's accent, but the quivery feeling that rattled his insides made him swallow the words almost immediately. Maybe it was his Catholic upbringing, and sure he just suggested they log roll Warren into the sea, but cracking jokes in front of a dead body actually seemed kinda uncouth. Kept him from pretending to snore in response to Joe’s list of Viking-related facts, too. Before he could say anything though, his mouth snapped shut when Sebastian spoke. If there was anyone he’d believe actually went on a Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde midnight ride and yeeted Warren from the cliff, it was that guy. The bruises on Warren’s neck seemed evidence enough for a case of premeditated murder in his books. He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and his gut twisted again at Sawyer’s next words, the prospective task nauseating. “Sure, yeah. Makes sense.” He cleared his throat and nodded, then promptly expelled the thought of bugs burrowing into Warren’s carcass from his mind or else he’d follow in Lukas’ footsteps in the retching department. He gave his buddy a commiserating pat on the back as he looked over his shoulder at the stretch of beach, totally lost as to where they’d have to put him. “When my mom’s dog died, we had to bury that thing pretty deep so the bobcats wouldn’t dig him up. So, uh... guess we should get started on that, too. Might take awhile.”

Kian If he wasn't in the presence of a decomposing corpse, Kian would've rolled his eyes. The flippant way Dash was acting about the whole "Warren is dead" situation unnerved him more than he would've liked to admit; as if this was just another fucking Saturday for him. "There's no bobcats in Hawaii," he said.

Lukas " Polar bears then, " Lukas retorted dryly. Even if he had made it to day 3 of the island before making a LOST reference, he wasn't gonna start outright joking about things this soon after Warren's death. He'd give it, like, five more minutes. " Point is, I don't wanna meet whatever the fuck lives on this island because it decided to make Warren a midnight snack. " And he also didn't want to deal with the body, clearly he did not have the stomach for it so he was definitely aiming to be part of the dig crew. " It shouldn't be near camp either. Just in case. "

Dash Dash exhaled sharply. The words ‘what did I do wrong!!!!’ broadcasted themselves in bright, obnoxious colors in his head. Did it start when he wouldn’t say some bullshit things over Warren’s dead body about him and what Dash might or might not have said to him in their final moments together? Because that felt insincere and shitty. He wasn’t going to pretend that he meant anything to Warren, or make the guy’s death about himself. The best thing they could do was save him from the indignity of lying around like a washed up CPR doll while they all stood around crying. He snapped then pointed at Lukas. “Exactly." Kian and Joe wanted Warren to get back to his family? Well, hey, Dash was sure there was a fair chance they wouldn’t wanna see him with chunks missing. But fuck him for trying to be helpful, apparently. “Hence: deep hole.” He lifted his hands in faux surrender. “Can we move on from bitching at me? Yeah? I’ll help dig.” Anything to put some distance between himself and Warren’s body. He hadn’t looked at him once since he said the Viking thing, and he was happy to put that off for awhile longer. He nudged Lukas with his elbow. "Let's find a spot. Who's gonna help?"

Sawyer So that was that. Warren was dead and he wasn’t coming back and they were going to bury his body deep in the ground so wild animals couldn’t eat away at his rot before help arrived. Sawyer felt like shouting, or hitting something, or running off into the ocean until the saltwater swallowed him whole. He felt everything at once and nothing at all. “I’m gonna...go grab the blanket.” If he had to spend any longer staring at Warren’s emotionless face and twisted limbs, he wasn’t sure he’d make it to the burial.

Callum “I’ll help.” They were the first words to leave Callum’s mouth since they found Warren’s body. Unlike most of the group, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the boy’s mangled corpse. He fucking hated Warren when the bastard was alive and breathing, but looking at him now, unmoving and silent for the longest period of time since he’s met him, Callum actually felt something other than irritation and rage for the boy. Was it regret? Guilt perhaps? And possibly some weird variation of yearning where he just wanted the idiot to get up and start doing something stupid like he always did. Yes, he was an annoying son of bitch who fucked up drastically, but he was also the first person Callum saw on this island. The first person to make him feel less alone. Whatever was going on in Callum the longer he stared at Warren’s body wasn’t great. It was a strange mix of things he didn’t quite understand and he wanted so badly for the feelings to go away and be replaced with something familiar. Something he knew how to react appropriately for. Something like... anger. That’s what he preferred to feel when he couldn’t understand what was going on within him. He turned his head when Sawyer spoke, grinding his teeth together and squaring his jaw. “Sure you can do that? You're not gonna let your fingers get all slippery and have it be blown away by the wind? Maybe we should have someone go with you, you know, since you clearly can’t be held responsible for a simple. fucking. task.”

Blue blue froze, bewildered by callum's reaction. while he knew in their time together that callum couldnt be....intense, how could someone so clever not hear the pain in sawyers voice. dash, a guy he admired for his unabashed self and how he expressed it with ease, was ready to point fingers. "it wasn't an easy task. was it an easy task for us to keep warren away from the radio? we don't know what the hell happened up there last night, for fucks sake, if you think something shady happened, share with your brothers." his voice broke a little on the last word. and his eyes darted from callum to sebastian. he expected it from seb, but he thought cal ran cooler than that. "Ill go with sawyer...." his eyes darted more quickly than usual to each boy, wondering on their thoughts. though he always gave a helping hand, he knew it usually came with a smack from a more callous present, but he already put his faith out there, and he did it for sawyer, and the truth.

Sawyer When Callum spoke, Sawyer found himself wishing he’d just punched him across the face—would’ve hurt a whole lot less than taking some salt and throwing it to the fucking sea to pour acid on the wound, instead. He recoiled as though Callum had shot him in the chest, mouth working and gaze darting from boy to boy as he fumbled for something to say. Where were you when Warren decided to hang back? When he needed someone to help carry him down the hill? When he was hovering over the ledge of a cliff and having his windpipe crushed by someone twice his size, where were you? Where the fuck were you? His arm swung uselessly at his side. The ugly truth of it all was that Callum was at the camp, and Sawyer was sleeping right beside Warren, and neither of them were able to stop him from taking a tumble into the ocean. And nothing he could say was going to change that. So, Sawyer did what he knew to do best, and choked out something that might’ve sounded like an “I’m sorry” before he turned and started walking briskly in the other direction.

Kian "Fantastic," Kian said, all-too-ready to participate in the blame game when it suited him but not to stand up for the other members of the group when they were under fire, "you pissed off the guy with the criminal record. Great going." Maybe that meant Callum's body would be next to mysteriously wind up wedged between two rocks tomorrow morning. Maybe Kian would've preferred that to hearing him flex his macho bullshit over a group of grieving 18-year-olds. His arms found themselves wound tight around his middle as he moved away from the body—the last thing he wanted to do was go searching in the jungle with two of the most annoying people on the isle, but like fuck he was going to sit here and stare at a rotting corpse for the next hour. "Guess I'll go, too, then.”

Lukas Lukas was team dig even before Dash nudged him with his arm, starting to move when he did. But he'd barely taken a step when some other bullshit started. Callum spoke up, and was mad at Sawyer. As if he wasn't suspect number two in Lukas' mind. He'd spent all of Warren's two days on the island threatening the dude, was no homo best buds with Sebastian, and had already taken a swipe at Dash. Speaking of, as Callum was having a go at Sawyer, he cast a glance to Dash, making a quick face as if to say What the fuck, are you seeing this shit? And then just as he's trying to start moving again Blue said, share with your brothers and Lukas had to try really fucking hard not to laugh, especially because his voice cracked. These mother fuckers weren't his brothers, especially not Warren. He rubbed the back of his hand against his nose, trying to conceal the small exhale that had escaped, as he started moving again, the task of digging a fucking grave on his mind. " For auto theft– not assault and battery. " Lukas pointed out as he walked, meaning it in Sawyer's defence. The perfect proof that having a criminal charge didn't make you inherently dangerous was Liam, but since the guy was crying he wasn't gonna throw his name down the gauntlet. And he also wasn't gonna offer up his own name and felony seeing as Kian had been so quick to judge Sawyer's record. For what he was going to say next he leaned into the small group going to dig a grave, lowering his voice to avoid getting some bruises to match Warren's, " 'sides, think we all fuckin' know who's got the quick temper 'round here. " He said, raising his brows. Lukas was ready to accept that Warren was just a moron that slipped off the cliff in the middle of the night, but if they were gonna point fingers he didn't get how anyone was pointing them anywhere but Gigantor.

Blue blue rose his hands up, palms to his brothers as he listened to his peers, his fellow castaways though it was easier to think of them as as more in his nature. "seb lost his shit more than anyone." The image of his hands on Warrens neck burned hard but that's wasn't the whole story. "but his strength helped pull warren up when he hung by the ledge.." blue looked each castaway in the eye,unfazed by the personal distance. "If any of you know more than dumb guy blue....say it!"

JJ He understood the tensions raising and the unpredictability of reactions to ensue. However, he knew couple of things for certain, Warren was dead. The radio was gone. The help is not here. There was no need, in his opinion, to pass around blame or mope for too long or make a bad situation even worse. Then again, if his opinion mattered they wouldn’t have left Sawyer and Warren alone over night in the first place. He will look over at Callum then Sawyer than back on Warren and laugh. “Sorry, it’s really not funny...” he will say and nod at Luke and Blue who seemed to have been the most clear minded at the moment. Aside from palpable tension in the air that is. “Sawyer man, don’t beat yourself up. It’s was reckless as fuck leaving yall alone up there in the first place.” He said in his best attempt to provide some comfort to the other before focusing on what to do with the issue at hand. “Burying him in the woods is the best option. We wrap him, dig deep so animals can’t dig him out and mark the place so we can find him when the rescue gets here. But first...” he will kneel down and start digging through Warrens pockets. If there was anything there, they could use it more than the dead guy.

Dash Without a backwards glance, he started toward the jungle, lowering his voice like Lukas did just in case: “Did I or did I not call this shit Day One, dude? Roasted. Fuckin’. Pigs.” He shook his head. “The whole Macho Man rescue thing? Red herring moves. Zigging when we expect him to zag. Classic misdirection.” He looked at Callum out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know if him and Sebastian had any kind of bro bonding moments so far, but Dash at least knew he was on Team Sawyer’s Fault which put them at odds once again. Perfect. His shoulders hunched and he fought back a shiver; the moment they flipped Warren over onto his back replaying in his mind like the most twisted boomerang. The word family haunted him almost as much as those few seconds. “This blows,” he said with feeling. Once they past the treeline, he picked up the first fallen stick he saw. It looked like it broke off at an angle, leaving a slanted end. “I once watched one of those 3 AM History Channel specials about how aliens helped ancient people build pyramids and shit. Alien Theory Guy goes, ‘You want me to believe these Incans could dig thousands of holes totally randomly? Nah, that’s a Martian move.’” He looked over the stick in hand. It seemed pretty sturdy, about an inch and a half in diameter. “Then some corduroy jacket-wearing Ivy Leaguer crops up and says, 'Ever heard of sticks, bitch?’” He cleared his throat again and rubbed at his jaw. Weirdly the further they got from Warren’s body, the more it preoccupied him. Like now that they weren’t looking, he’d pull a grisly Toy Story move and get to his feet. Except he’d be making daddy jokes in his Dr. Doofenshmirtz accent. Dash held up the stick for inspection. “What do you think? Could try and make it work a little bit. Just so we don’t all end up with bloody hands by the end of this.”

Kian “What in the actual fuck are you talking about,” was the only response Kian could muster when Dash started going off on a tangent about Aliens and pyramids. Warren didn’t need a tomb, he needed to be lowered into the earth and kept cool long enough to be recognizable when someone—anyone—could come and exhume him. Chopping him up and stuffing his body parts into little holes in the ground seemed like JJ’s gig, and like, they didn’t need even more of a reason to be suspected of group murder. “We’re burying him, not cutting him open and harvesting his organs. Only reason there’d be any blood is if Godzilla here and his buddy King Kong decide to swing on one of us again.”

Sebastian Sebastian was admittedly surprised by Callum's response. He'd seen flickers of the other male's disdain toward the group but at the time, it had seem warranted. Now, however, he seemed more irritable about Sawyer's failure than perturbed by the fact that the course of the evening, regardless of whether it had to do with Sawyer at all, had resulted in the death of somebody they knew. As he digested it, he considered that maybe Callum was in shock, maybe he'd never experienced death and couldn't process it. When Sebastian's grandfather had died, his Dad had been angry for no reason at all but it was a part of the grieving process, his mother had assured him. "We're not arguing about who is in the right and who is in the wrong right now, we're not arguing at all- we're getting this done," he instructed, leaving little room for protest. Then Jorts piped up, "Who the fuck are you pointing fingers at, Jorts?" Sebastian shot at the other male and he would have had more, far less civil words for the other boy if Blue hadn't chimed in.

Lukas God, Sebastian was so back and forth wasn’t he? Yesterday he was barely tolerable and now he was back to giving off future military recruitment vibes, like pick a lane already. Perhaps stupidly, Lukas rolled his eyes as Sebastian pulled his attention from what Dash was saying. “ It was just a fucking joke, “ well, sort of. It was a joke he had meant. “ Obviously, he took a drunken swan dive off the cliff, right? “ he looked around the group, confirming that was the consensus. “ But you’re not gonna go far trying to convince anyone that those are my hand prints on his neck, that’s all I’m saying. “ He held up his hands as he said it, continuing to take a couple steps backwards before he turned back around, hands returning to his sides. Back to the project of digging a grave for the less than dearly departed. He grinned along with what Dash was saying about Martians  building the pyramids. An easy chuckle leaving his lips too. Then head turns to Kian and Lukas finds himself unable to stop another stupid snort escaping him. “ Who the fuck is talking about cutting him up? “ He asked, amused Kian had even gotten to that point. “ Like maybe old grave robber over there, but not me that’s for sure, “ he said, feeling a little too bold about the distance between them and most of the group as he nodded back at JJ literally looting a corpse. Though the comment of King Kong and Godzilla was a good one and again he laughed. Reaching for a stick like Dash had he held it up, inspecting it as if he knew what would make a good grave digging stick. “ What is it about big dudes that think they gotta fucking rough everyone up to prove something? Like we get it, you’re fucking boring, quit making it our problem.”

JJ He looks over at Lukas "He's dead, he won't need any of his shit. We might."

Callum Seeing JJ drop down to his knees and not hesitate in the slightest to search Warren’s pockets for something valuable was fucked up beyond belief but Callum couldn’t argue that he did have a fair point. And if they couldn’t find anything useful, maybe they could find something to give back to his family. It was then that Callum took notice of the watch on Warren’s left wrist. Fuck, was he really about to do this? With an irritated sigh (because even in death, Warren was making him do things he didn’t want to do), he walked over to the other side of Warren and knelt down to undo his watch. He figured they could give it back to his family along with Warren’s body when they were rescued. Rising to his feet once he was done, he brushed some dirt off of Warren’s watch with the pad on his thumb. The watch face was cracked and after giving it a closer look, he noticed that the hands weren’t moving, stopped at 1:49AM. “Did everyone manage to sleep through the night last night?” He then asked, his gaze still fixated on the watch.

Kian “Something something toxic masculinity, something something animals.” Kian knew he could be a dickhead sometimes, but at least he was a dickhead to everyone. Boys like Sebastian and Callum were wolves in a pack, sniffing out other people’s weaknesses and arranging them accordingly on the ever-arbitrary pecking order. In their eyes, all you needed to be was tall and muscular to be deemed worthy of respect, and that was pretty fucking gay if you asked him. But god forbid anyone point that out to them. “They’ve never had to develop personalities beyond being human jockstraps and it shows.”

Sebastian Sebastian kept his arms folded tight to his chest, perhaps to stop himself from choking anybody else out that afternoon. Everybody knew that the bruising around Warren's throat matched Sebastian's prints perfectly but they also knew that it was as a result of the argument yesterday and not anything that had happened over night- right? His gaze shifted between a few of the other boys, trying to read their thoughts to no avail. He shrugged his shoulders, "I woke up a few times but it was too dark to tell the time," he explained, looking at his own watch briefly, "I don't think I even bothered to check," he confessed a moment later, he'd been exhausted, maybe even a little delirious the few times he'd woken up, irritated by the sand, the cold wind chill, the sound of other boys snoring and talking in their sleep.

Dash Dash distracted himself from Kian’s bonkers, nauseating interpretation of his suggestion with what Lukas had to say. “He's pretty batshit for doing that but can’t imagine they’ll find anything useful on him, unless they plan on hocking the fancy watch when we get out of here. Other than that, he’s probably just got a busted Juul, a nipple piercing, and a few kroner he planned on slipping to the flight attendant for a splash of Stoli in his OJ. None of which are super beneficial to our survival.” As the conversation continued on the topic of Chud and Chuddier, he scoffed lightly when Kian said ‘human jockstrap’. Dash used a similar phrase the other day too and he wasn’t stoked about their thoughts running parallel right about then. He wasn’t stoked about some dude hating him on sight either, but whatever. He poked at the ground with the flat edge of the stick. “My bet’s Mayor of Poutineville’s concussed to hell. Goddamned walking, talking potatohead. Dude operates on nothing but pure, scrambled egg-brain aggression. Rabid dog ass — no fuckin’ hope for the guy.” He stopped when they soon hit a relatively clear area, not too dense with trees and not so far from the beach that they couldn’t hear the sound of the ocean waves or catch the odd glimpse of sand. There was enough shade that the air felt cooler too, and he was sure that it’d be easy to find again. In a pure asinine move, Dash thought hopefully 'hey, maybe Warren'll like it here.' He leaned on his stick and surveyed the dirt like he had any real idea of what he was doing. When he dug a hole for the little rat dog back home, the soil had been pretty sandy. He hoped they had a similar experience here, because he didn’t wanna lug rocks around on top of burying a body. It had to be immoral for a day to be physically and emotionally exhausting. “How’s here?”

Lukas Lukas couldn't help but feel a little elated when Kian joined in on the trash talking, his choice of words especially tickling him. " That's fuckin' true, ay, " he agreed, more than happy to accept that Sebastian and Callum were so easily annoyed by him because they were jealous of his sparkling personality. Even if that was not what Kian had meant in the slightest. " For sure, dude, " he concord with Dash on the topic of Callum without missing a beat. " Yo, you know who they remind me of? " Enthusiasm quickly filling his tone, looking to Kian and Dash, " You ever play Outlast? " He did not stop and wait for an answer to that question, though he probably should have, " The fucking twin meatheads from that. The ones that just like walk around the map, like, " He severely hunched his shoulders, arms dangling comically at his sides as he pulled his face into an over exaggerated expression for the next few goofy steps before he straightened up again. " Dicks out and just saying weird as fuck shit to creep you out. " Lukas was misremembering a lot of details but he could not forget the fact that those characters had been naked the entire fucking game, seemingly for no reason. That image had been seared into his brain in 2013 like a curse and he had not been able to forget it. By the time he's finished his comparison, Dash had stopped in a clearing. When he asked how's here, Lukas actually looked around the place. It seemed as good a place as they could get without putting in, like, actual effort so it seemed perfect. " Yeah, here's probably good. " He dug at the ground with the heel of his shoe, noting how it moved easily out of his way. " Ground's not too hard. " he assessed before moving again. Drawing out an approximately Warren-sized rectangle with the stick he'd picked up, before kneeling to the ground, ready to dig. " How deep d'you think? Like two, three feet? "

Kian Kian could only blink at Lukas's comparison, nose wrinkling in disgust as he tried not to imagine Callum and Sebastian running around camp with their dicks out. Unlike Dash, he couldn't seem to decide who was the worst offender of the two; in his book, a cunt was a cunt was a cunt. He followed the other boys to the clearing and stomped around a bit in the dirt, testing the soil's softness with the soles of his trainers. "Yeah, I'd say a meter at the least. We want it to be deep enough for the animals to keep away, but not so deep we can't get him back out." If they'd have to dig him back out. Personally, Kian was hoping that the rescue team came armed with shovels. "Anyone have objections to using their hands?" He asked with a pointed glance at Dash.

Callum "Hm," was all Callum could think of to say in response to Sebastian. Out of all them, the other boy was clearly one of the most upset with Warren yesterday. But seeing as Sebastian was also one of the first to dive in to save Warren, Callum didn't feel the need to prod for further information. "We need to ask Sawyer what the hell the two of them were doing last night after we left when he gets back here. And what time they fell asleep. All that." He tucked Warren's watch into the pocket of his pants, looking around for sign of Sawyer. "Why the hell is he taking so long? It's a blanket, not a pile of rocks." He shook his head, irritated. Then he shifted his gaze to JJ. "Did you find anything?"

Dash Dash shook his head but still watched Lukas act out the so-called Dick Out Twins with sincere fascination. “Sheee-it. Uncanny resemblance, dude. You even got that bowlegged caveman shtick down pat.” The internet told his mom that they had to bury the dog at least three feet to keep any predators from digging him up, so Dash nodded when Lukas suggested that depth. His eyes still went skyward when Kian agreed, because wasn’t that motherfucker just giving him shit about the very same topic because ‘there are no bobcats in Hawaii’ like five minutes ago? If Dash said it, it was bullshit. But if Kian said it, it was apparently obvious fact. Good to know! he thought sarcastically. At Kian’s question, Dash hummed contemplatively. “Huh. Okay. Here’s the plan,” he started, walking closer to where Lukas drew a rectangle in the dirt. “When the Russians spot us on their satellites and decide to hit up their Navy—yunno, headed up by Nikita Khrushchev's chemically preserved ballsack—and then a rusty little battlecruiser rolls up to haul us to the Gulag, I’m gonna ask Count Admiral Baba Yaga to take out his busted Samsung and google the Ancient fuckin’ Mesoamericans for you.” Dash lifted the stick for emphasis. “Digging stick. It’s a thing, and I’m gonna use it.” He suddenly felt very sure of his expertise as a man who had dug literally one (1) hole in the woods in his lifetime, and ignored the fact that he only doubled down once Kian gave him such a hard time. He stuck the flat end of the stick into the ground and pressed downward. There was some resistance, possibly a shallow root snapping under the pressure, then he bent it to upend a large chunk of dirt. “Hooty-fuckin’-hoo, it works," he announced, voice dripping with performative surprise. "Now let's just get this shit over with. This morning sucks enough already."

Sawyer Sawyer took a few minutes to gather himself before he returned with the space blanket, eyes rimmed red and torso covered with the sweatshirt he'd been wearing on the plane. Didn't make much sense for him to hold onto a dirty wife-beater covered in another person's blood...a dead person's blood, at that. This way, he figured, he could at least be comfortable and respectful. "S'got a couple holes in it," he sniffed, unfolding the blanket as he approached, "y'know, from the fire and all, but I figure we can stuff 'em with grass if we really wanna..." His voice trailed off when he spotted JJ, knelt at Warren's side with his hands down his pockets. Even beneath the warm inner lining of his sweatshirt, Sawyer's blood ran cold. "...Seriously? We're fuckin' lootin' him, now?"

Kian Dash, Kian was convinced by now, was just inventing names and facts for the sole purpose of making himself sound smarter, although it was obvious to anyone with ears that the guy was a complete and total prat. And Kian would've pointed this out to him had he not proceeded to shove his stick in the ground and flick dirt everywhere, onto Kian's shoes, his shins, his clothes. Dickhead. "Are you taking the piss right now? You're getting shit everywhere, we'll go a lot faster if we just use our fucking hands."

Liam in all honesty, liam wasn’t paying attention, he was off to the side and trying to keep what very little control he had over his emotions. his eyes kept wandering to group of boys standing over warren but every time he glanced at the boy laying there, he could feel his chest tighten and anxiety bubble up inside him. that’s going to be all of us. we’re all going to die here, he thought to himself as he sat on the ground, hands gripping his hair against his scalp. he tried to think back to the last thing he said to his siblings, probably something dumb like don’t touch my things or don’t go in my room. now he wished he had told them he loved them one last time. just as he was getting sucked into these thoughts, he heard sawyer come back to the group. his head shot up and he wiped his eyes quickly as if it wasn’t already obvious that he had been crying. “they think he might have something useful on him,” he chimed in, as if sawyer couldn’t figure that out on his own, but liam didn’t know what else to say without breaking down completely.

Lukas " Thank you, " Lukas gave a facetious bow when at least Dash seemed impressed with his impression. Arms extended out to the side then straightening up with a grin. If it wasn't for the fact that they then very soon afterwards stopped to dig a literal grave, Lukas could have almost forgotten the body that had been found less than an hour ago. When Kian brought it up, he crinkled his nose a little at the idea of using his hands, or honestly digging the hole at all. But it seemed the suggestion was not for him, but for Dash, who was still holding onto that stick and quickly started making a case for it. A case with a lot of words that kinda just went right over Lukas' head to be honest. However, when the stick launched a collection of dirt into the air (mostly onto Kian), he couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. And it was only made funnier when Kian responded in anger with that fucking accent. Hand on his stomach as he tried to subdue it. " Okay, okay– as fuckin' funny as that was, ol' Alfred Pennyworth's got a point, hands will probably be quicker. " That's what she said. But before he gave in to covering himself in dirt completely, he took off his sweater, about to toss it behind him before he paused to offer it out to Dash. " You want it? So you don't fuck with your nice Neil Bar-whatever? " He asked, brows raised. He could not remember that fashion name for the life of him, but he assumed Dash still cared far more about his clothes than Lukas did his own. Then glance to Kian, holding up the front of the remaining two layers he'd slept in. " Got one more layer up for grabs if you want it. " Because even with two of the least threatening of the group, Lukas was still not gonna show his chest. And he'd feel like sort of a dick offering Dash something and not Kian, even if the dude was already covered in dirt.

Sawyer “Useful,” Sawyer echoed after Liam, huffing a dry laugh as he traded his sorrow for anger. As if the dead kid was hiding a secret cellphone or something from them - he barely knew how to use a radio when he was alive. “Why don’t we just strip his clothes while we’re at it? Can even use his fuckin’ sneakers as tinder for the fire. Fuck ‘im. Fuck his folks who might want somethin’ to remember him by.”

Callum Fucking finally. Callum thought it'd take ages for Sawyer to get back. "We got a keepsake to give his parents." Well, he did but Callum didn't care to get into the specifics. What he did care about was what the hell Sawyer and Warren were doing up there last night. "What the hell were you and Warren doing up there last night?" He asked, brows slanted downwards in a frown.

Sawyer His gaze flickered to Callum's shoes before they found his face, jaw working like not going off on the guy who just rubbed Sawyer's nose in shit over someone else's death caused him physical pain. "I told you, we were..." Didn't he tell them? They were drinking. Talking, about what fuck-ups they were and how they ended up at the retreat. At least, that's how he remembered it - brandy always made his memory a little hazy at the edges. "Drinkin'. Some of that fancy cognac he smuggled with him on the plane."

Callum "Drinking?" Callum repeated. "That's it? You were drinking one moment and Warren was taking a swan dive off the cliff the next?" Was that insensitive? Probably. But Callum needed Sawyer to hear how fucking vague that sounded. "I'm trying to get some context for why this fucker would off himself, and all you're gonna tell me is that you two were drinking." He scoffed and shook his head. "What else? Were you talking about anything?"

Sawyer "Nah, we drank in fuckin' silence." Callum's edge, no doubt, was starting to rub off on Sawyer, sharpening his tongue like the blade of a knife. Fuck was he supposed to say? That Warren told him he was gonna jump off a cliff and Sawyer said 'sounds good, man, I'll just leave you to it'? It wasn't that simple. Nothing in life was that fucking simple. "Y'know, I don't know if...it were an accident, or if he did it on purpose, but if I was askin' myself what might'a pushed someone to make a decision like that, I think I'd start with the ones threatenin' to off 'im the night before," he said, tapping his temple.

Liam liam's eyes went between the two boys as things started to heat up, blame being thrown around. as someone who preferred to avoid conflict all together, liam chimed in. "maybe we shouldn't be pointing fingers, yesterday was super fucking stressful but whether this was an accident or if he did it... on purpose," liam had to pause to swallow down the lump in his throat, "we can't be putting that on sawyer."

Callum Callum squared his jaw. He thought back to the last thing he'd said to Warren. You fucking idiot! That was our only chance! The last thing he could remember anyway. He walked off to cool his temper before he did something stupid, like break Warren's jaw in three places. Callum just wanted someone to blame, to direct whatever was going on inside of him at someone, and he couldn't very well do that with a dead boy. "Oh, fuck you," Callum shot back. "We may have been pissed with Warren yesterday, but we went back to camp, tired as hell. You think one of us had it in us to hike all the way back up there and throw him off in our state? And you fucking heard Sebastian, it was too dark to fucking seeing anything even if any of us did wake up so there's no way it could have been one of us, and all the more reason it could have been you." That was a little out of left field but Callum was angry and it was all he had. "You're telling me you weren't pissed off with Warren? Who's to say you didn't get drunk, start spouting horrible shit to fuck with him, and that sent him over? Or maybe you just pushed him off yourself, fuckin' criminal," he spat venomously.

Sawyer So, admittedly, the laugh that escaped Sawyer the second ol' fuckin' Dudley Do-Right accused him of second-degree murder didn't exactly help his defense, but sue him. He couldn't help it. Back in Conrad, he'd been called all sorts of nasty things to his face - from felon to fairy - so he wasn't too miffed by having his criminal record thrown back in his face like a handful of sand. What did unnerve Sawyer was the implication that he was a violent drunk, the kind of person who yelled and raged and hurt people after a few drinks. After a fucking nightcap, at that. "Pushed 'im?" He said, each word dripping with disbelief-tinged mania. "Pushed 'im? You think this is a fuckin' Tarantino movie? Is that it? Are y'all so goddamned sheltered in Moose Nut, Canada that everyone with a parkin' ticket looks like cold-blooded killer?"

Callum "Yeah, pushed him," Callum echoed derisively, stepping forward. He wanted to rile Sawyer up to see what he was capable of. A hand of his balled into a fist at his side. He couldn't tell what part of the Hick's comeback irritated him more but the dig at his home country definitely didn't sit right with him. All Callum knew was that he had to get his hands on Sawyer so that's what he did. Crossing over, he held his hands out and shoved the boy. "Yeah, pushed him. Like that."

Liam tension between callum and sawyer escalated, and liam felt like his protests were futile as they got into each other's faces. fuck, where the hell is lukas and the others? he thought to himself. he watched as callum pushed sawyer and liam shot up, trying to push his way in between the two of them but considering they both towered over him, they could easily push him aside. "guys, seriously, this isn't helping anything, just stop," he said, raising his voice at them.

Sawyer They hardly needed Liam’s intervention to put any distance between them; Callum was strong enough to send Sawyer stumbling backward with a shove. Like that, Sawyer was in the mess hall at juvie again, getting pulled into fights with the rougher guys because they were bored and he was an easy target, big bark and little bite. And when Callum pushed him, he wanted to push him back. Worse, even—he wanted to punch him in the fucking throat. “Yeah, Pretty Boy,” said Sawyer, grinning ear-to-ear over Liam’s head, “would be a shame for you break a nail fightin’ the criminal.”

Sebastian Sebastian was getting tired of people pointing fingers in his direction when he had just as much reason to suspect any of them of foul play. He'd been asleep on the beach for most of the night, he'd already said as much so why did it still keep coming back to the argument he'd had with Warren a whole day ago? "Unless you're saying you were so blacked, you wouldn't have noticed one of us coming up on the cliff, you wouldn't have heard a struggle and you wouldn't have heard him screaming as he fell- and if you're happy to go ahead with that summation, you'll also have to accept that you were too blacked to remember what the fuck you said to him or what he said to you or what happened after that. You could have been messing around, accidentally tripped him over- or you coulda been mad about the radio, pushed him," he insisted, "Alcohol changes people- I don't know what kind of drunk you are, do you? I'd make sure your name is clear before you start throwing anybody else's on the table, huh?"

Sawyer Sawyer did not have “get gaslit into thinking you might’ve committed a murder while drunk” on his vacation bingo card, but neither did he have “become stranded on a desert island,” so he supposed he still had a thing or two to learn from the local senior living home. The spark in his stomach fizzled out with the last of Sebastian’s cold analysis, a flame touched, expression falling from a manic grin to a hollow, tight-jawed stare. People could say what they wanted about him: that he was a hick, a petty criminal, a burnout with no fucking future. But Sawyer had never laid his hands on another person—not on anyone who hadn’t laid theirs on him, first—and he’d never used his buzz to put out someone else’s. “Fuck you,” he said, voice wavering. “You don’t know jack shit about me.”

Joe Joe couldn't believe they were having the most stressful game of Cludeo ever over Warren's fresh corpse. Where the fuck were Pinky and The Brain and Kian ? Maybe the others would see sense and realise that accusing an innocent guy of murder wasn't going to fix anything once their focus was on burying Warren's body. "Everybody simmer down.",Joe moved to Callum's side. Somebody had to be there in case the situation escalated beyond shoving and Thumbelina wasn't going to be much use. Bless Liam for trying but with his mild manner and short stature compared to the other boys he could easily be ignored."Baseless murder accusations aren't going to fix anything. We don't have any reason to believe Sawyer murdered Warren, there's only circumstantial evidence. Couldn't Warren have just fallen because he was hammered?"

Blue he wasnt proud of it, but blue could not see the boys without picturing their fates the same as Warren's, and he slipped out to go yell at the water, and write dirty words in the sand just to watch the water take them back, it might have been an odd grieving process but it was his, and as he returned to the group, the air was so tense he, he instinctly reaching his pocket for his phone to see 204 unread messages and feel the dread. but there wasn't anything there, the dread wasn't contained to the tiny electric box, it pumped through the mob's veins and they breathed it back into the air. he looked to each one, lingering a but before speaking it. "hey boys, the fucks all this?" his tone sounded fatherly, concerned but orderly, and he got the chilly feeling that warrens blood wasn't the only time theyd see the red stuff tonight.

Kian Alfred Whomst? Kian opened his mouth to make a quick retort, but was beat to the chase when Lukas offered him his...shirt? It read you're too close in bold, angry red letters, which just about summed up how Kian felt about the two boys he'd made the terrible decision to come grave-digging with. "Fuck's sake," he muttered, looking off into the jungle for a few silent moments as he contemplated his life choices. "Just...give it here, then."

Lukas Stupid grin spread on Lukas' features when Kian, albeit begrudgingly, accepted offer of a protective t-shirt. Pulling it off, he made sure to grab the white long sleeve underneath so it didn't lift up as he removed the top layer. Removal successful he held it out across the drawn rectangle for him. Pushing his own sleeves up to his elbows once hands were empty and announcing " Let's get to it then, " kneeling down on the ground and starting to dig. " Before the Dick Twins get over here and try and find something else to be assholes about. "

Dash The only thing that truly kept Dash from laughing aloud at the way Kian’s voice went high and warbly in his Peppa Pig accent was the fact that the hole they were all bitching about would soon occupy an actual human body. But even that just kept it at bay. When Lukas agreed with Kian, he snorted—the proffered sweater going a long way in quickly smoothing down any ruffled feathers. Dash pressed his lips together, but felt the fight slowly leave him when he suddenly just felt tired. He couldn’t sworn he slept the whole night, but he definitely didn’t feel it. He sighed heavily, stretching his arms out and letting the stick fall by his side. Dash had every intention of bringing it back to camp, regardless of whether or not it had any other use than as a makeshift shovel. “This is not a concession,” he started, and gently pulled his own sweater over his head and folded it neatly to place on the ground. He only had a white t-shirt on underneath but even that was Tom Ford, so he didn’t hesitate to take Lukas’ offer a moment longer. “This? It’s an act of benevolence.” His voice went slightly muffled for a moment as Lukas’ Thrasher sweatshirt went over his head. “We’ve spent more time arguing than getting this shit done, so I’ll throw you a bone here.” With a grimace, and a silent miserable thought about his pants, he got down next to Lukas and dug.

Kian Lukas's shirt was smaller and tighter than the baggy one Kian had on underneath, causing the sleeves to pillow out at his elbows like some kind of weird pirate tunic. He exhaled sharply through his nose. Fuck. This. Properly incensed, Kian knelt across from the Americans and began to claw his way through the dirt. Unlike Dash, however, he at least made sure not to kick it up everywhere. "Would you stop calling them that?" He huffed. "The last thing I want to think about is Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dipshit stomping around camp with their pricks out."

Lukas Lukas wondered if Kian saw the irony in him grumbling out some complaint about his hilarious joke the second after Dash had said they'd spent too much time arguing already. " You knew exactly who I was talkin' about though, and it only took two seconds to say, " he defended as he dug. Defending the phrase for no reason other than he didn't want to talk about the fact that a dead body would be heading towards them any minute now. And god forbid they fall into silence and he just had to think about the dead body again. He's stomach churned just a fraction, so he quickly continued. " Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dipshit is good, but could be anyone, " for example, it could have very easily been used to identify Lukas and Dash.

Kian "Bert and Ernie, then. Literally anyone else." Kian had hardly even made a dent in the ground before his nails were caked with dirt, and if he hadn't spent the better half of his childhood digging through the mud for bugs to show Clarke, he would have been disgusted at the state of them. God, let there be a freshwater lake in the wilderness for him to wash off in. "Besides," he said, wiping hair out of his face with the back of his sleeve, "I think they're the sort to be flattered that you think about them naked so often."

Dash Dash let a low whistle as he tossed a pebble over his shoulder. He didn’t think flattered would actually be the appropriate word for how those two would feel if they knew Lukas had mentioned their names in relation to dicks. “I think the word you’re looking for is disgusted, actually. Or, uh. Vein-throbbingly violent? Like, on the edge of going full-on berserk.” He scooped out another handful of dirt and already felt exhausted by the whole endeavor. Dash reminded himself that they were doing this for what was a good cause and it’d be fucked up if he sat back now. “Gay bash-y, definitely, but whatever.” He gritted his teeth as he came across another root. Fuckin’ weak ass trees and their weak ass roots. Some of the ones back home were similar, always getting blown to shit by every passing hurricane. He stood enough just to bring his heel down hard enough to snap it. “Wait, just to confirm, we’re in agreement that Lord Humungus took the kill shot, right?” he asked Lukas.

Lukas Lukas didn't know where the fuck Kian had got the idea that Gigantor and his Mini Me would be flattered that Lukas was talking about them in such a fashion, but he definitely disagreed. Thankfully, Dash quickly put his thoughts into words. " Yeah, that's more the vibe I'm getting, for sure. " Lukas agreed, eyes staying down on his hands as he dug for a moment. Just get this fucking over with, get Warren in the ground and then they could move on. Eyes lifted when Dash spoke again, meeting his and for the second time today having to disagree with him. " I think he totally could have. You know, definitely had motive and means down, " Start with agreement, wasn't that a debate thing? He didn't fucking know, he wasn't a debate weeb. " But opportunity? " He sucked his teeth, eyes back to the ground as he continued making work on the grave. " Unless he turns into a fucking werewolf at night, there's no way he would've been able to make his way up there in the middle of the night. It was dark as fuck. " Okay maybe there were a couple of ways, but Lukas wasn't sold. " So, like, maybe he did it, I dunno. But what are we supposed to do about it? "

Kian Lord Humungus? Did he mean Sebastian? "Think he's just upset he didn't push him off himself when he had the chance," said Kian. Because Lukas had a point (as much as it pained him to admit), it was way too fucking dark for Sebastian to be able to get up, hike all the way up that cliff to murder Warren, and slink back before sunrise without anyone noticing. All signs pointed to Warren's death being an accident - a shit, unfortunate fucking accident. Kian picked a worm out of the shallow hole he'd created and flung it into the grass. "I'm not taking my chances with him, though. You saw the way he choked Switzerland out - he's definitely out for blood."

Dash "Involuntary manslaughter, then." If that's what it even was called. "Lack of oxygen gave him a big brain booboo which lead to the guy seizing like a motherfucker. Bumble balled it right over the ledge.” Dash raised his eyebrows like, huh? How about that? But what could they even do about that? He didn’t know fuck-all about like, obtaining quote-unquote justice. The whole system was wanky back home, so pulling from real life examples didn't really vibe with him. Plus, there was the whole... they were stuck on an island thing. The best he could come up with was: "Uh. Banish him to the other side of this tropical limbo to go think about what he's done?" He kept digging, and digging, and digging. It couldn't have been a more boring activity, and he wished the other guys would hurry with the body if only so they'd have more hands on deck. Dash tilted his head to the side in lackluster agreement with Kian. Lackluster because he kinda hated to agree with him right then. "For suuuure. I can really respect Warren's kinky side, but that shit's not in my wheelhouse."

Liam clearly, no one was paying attention to anything liam was saying since the giants of the group wanted to keep going back and forth at each other, blue and joe chiming in with a more level headed approach, but liam was already over it. he understood that everything was stressful and the past few days have been a roller coaster, but he couldn't deal with the fact that the others would rather fight with each other than take care of warren's body. he pushed his way out from in between the other boys, "fuck this," he muttered to himself as he walked away from the group. if they weren't going to be helpful, the least he could do was go find the others and see where they are at with digging. he took one last glance at warren, which was probably a mistake because the second he did, he felt the familiar tightening in his chest again. looking away quickly, liam started the walk to the others and hoped he wouldn't get lost in the process. though, being lost in the jungle was starting to seem like a better option than being stuck with all the toxic masculinity of the other group. alone and walking, he finally let himself feel everything and didn't stop his tears until he started to hear the three boys talking. he ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath to compos himself before stepping out to make himself known. "uh, how's it going here? do you guys need help?"

Lukas Lukas made a small chyeah sound with an accompanying chuckle when Dash suggested involuntary manslaughter. Even though it appeared he had more experience with the justice system than these two, specifically in a case of involuntary manslaughter, he didn't think they could prove such a thing. Even with the, what? 14 witnesses? 13 now he supposed. They couldn't even convince one another, how could they convince a court of people who hadn't even been there. He kept digging. " What, like Survivor? " He asked when Dash suggested banishing Sebastian. " Even if he didn't kill Warren I wouldn't be against sending him the fuck away just so I didn't have to see him stand around and brood all fucking day. " Though part of him wanted Sebastian to stay close, so they could see when the eventual murderous rampage was coming on. He's about to tack on some crude joke about Warren getting choked out to what Kian and Dash were saying but that's when he hears a voice behind him. Head turning to look and stupid smile widening on his features. " Yo! " Same shirt! Lukas thought again, even though Dash was currently wearing his Thrasher sweater. " Yeah, for sure, get in here. " He tilted his head back to the grave, resuming his digging while Liam pulled up a spot. " So, the fuck were the others up to that you decided digging a grave was the better option? " He asked, chuckle falling from his lips at the very circumstances. Even if this was definitely the better group of people, by Lukas' definition, Liam had stayed with the others a while before joining them, Lukas figured something must have been happening.

Liam liam tried to muster up as much of genuine smile as he could despite the fact that his had just spent a better part of his walk over crying. he looked between the three boys, noting the progress they achieved in the amount of time it took the other group to do literally nothing but fight and point fingers. with a nod, he walked over to them, getting on his knees at the edge of where they were digging and started to help. he let out a broken laugh when lukas asked what was going on, he couldn't even hold it in because the whole situation seemed ridiculous. "they're fucking not doing shit. jj's, like, looting his shit because he's not going to need it. which fair, but he just went straight to it. everyone's pointing fingers. and sawyer got the emergency blanket but as soon he came back, him and the one tall roid head started going at each other because apparently sawyer and warren were drinking last night and they think it's his fault. then fucking gigantor came in and amped everything up." liam realized he was probably talking pretty fast and agitated and he rambled, so he paused and took a second to catch his breath. "i just- i needed to get out of there. none of them would listen to me."

Kian "Fuck's sake," Kian said for the second time in the span of ten minutes, pushing his momentary annoyance at yet another member joining their group aside to express his utter exasperation at the sheer dickheadness of the dickheads on this island. JJ being a weirdo didn't shock him; nor did Thing 1 and Thing 2 using someone's death to be complete pricks to everyone around them. "What did I tell you? Out for blood."

Dash Dash looked over his shoulder when he heard a new voice, and his brow furrowed. Liam looked a helluva lot like a guy who had just been crying, and Dash could vaguely recall him getting a little choked up when he had still been loitering around Warren’s body. Clearly he was taking this hard. The threat of a big-d Death was annoying and years-long over the course of his life, so he could forget that someone's shit could get really rocked by the whole thing if they had never lived like that. “You good, dude?” he asked, only a little awkward in execution. Being on the receiving end of a barrage of friendly check-ins didn't really make him any better at extending them. As Liam recounted what was up on the beach, Dash rolled his eyes. Day Three of hanging around these reprobates and he already wasn't shocked by some of their behaviors. JJ looting a body? Bit fucked, but not totally out of left field. He was sure the guy still had multitudes of weirdness to expose though. "Okay, cringe. But, uh, did they find anything?" he had to ask, still a little curious if he was right about the nipple piercing thing. Kian’s out for blood comment spurred him to continue: “And is anyone bleeding yet? Someone should probably them it’s kinda tacky to duke it out in front of a dead body.” Warren’s body. Dash grimaced, and went back to digging.

Callum Callum huffed grumpily when Joe came by his side and diffused the situation. "All the stories Warren tells about taking champagne up his ass and having to swim in whiskey before he feels anything, you think a fucking flask got him hammered? That's a joke." He stayed glaring at Sawyer. Then Blue came into the picture. "Something is up and this criminal's just too good at hiding it." Callum couldn't help but take another dig at Sawyer.

Sawyer Sawyer should’ve taken comfort in the fact that the other boys, some of whom he’d barely even spoken to, were willing to stick their necks out for him. He should’ve heeded Liam’s advice, walked away when he had the opportunity to do so with his hands clean. There were a lot of things in life he should’ve, could’ve, would’ve done if he were a better man. But there was something in Callum’s tone—an undercurrent, heat simmering beneath the surface of his icy demeanor—that made him see red. Who gave him the right to speak about somebody like that? He didn’t know Sawyer. None of these assholes knew any more about him than he did of them. His limbs moved of their own accord before his head even had time to process what was happening, tackling Callum to the floor of the impacted sand, arm reeling back and fist connecting with his smug fucking face—once, twice, until his knuckles began to split. “Fuck you,” he spat. “Fuck you—”

Sebastian Sebastian couldn't deny that Callum had made a good point about Warren's alcohol tolerance. The kid seemed to actually be more efficient with a little booze in his system than he was without- so how were they supposed to believed he'd managed to get so plastered the night before that he'd toppled off of a cliff all by himself? Something wasn't adding up and Sawyer's increasing irritation was only adding to fuel to the conspiracy fire. "Whoa- hey!" Sebastian called out impulsively as Sawyer leapt at Callum, tackling him into the ground and taking one manic swipe at him after the other. On instinct, he crashed into Sawyer's back, throwing his arms under Sawyer's and pinning them back as he dragged the other boy, rather clumsily, to a standing (ish) position, away from Callum. "Come on, come on, come on," he insisted, for a lack of anything more profound or meaningful to say to either boy. "Bro, somebody fuckin' check on him," he instructed anybody that was listening to aid Callum after the spontaneous beating. "You gonna cool off man?" he asked sawyer, using all his strength to keep his arms in a submissive position with his arms locked between Sebastian's. "-Or we can go for a walk, you gotta choice here," he insisted, giving Sawyer at least some sense of control in an otherwise out of control situation.

Callum "Umpf—!" One second, Callum was throwing Sawyer a dirty look that could piss off a pacifist monk and the next, he was on the ground getting his face rearranged. He should have probably seen this coming with the way he was running his mouth. For a moment, the embarrassment of being put down was worse than the pain of actually getting his face pummeled. Callum was just barely catching up, getting his hands on Sawyer's arms when he felt the boy's weight be pulled off of him entirely. Then he heard Sebastian's voice. Thank fuck, he thought. Relief washing over him for only a moment before the pain set in. "Fucking prison rat..." He muttered, turning his head and spitting out some of the blood in his mouth. "I'm fine," he insisted, swatting a hand before any of the other boys could do something like rush to his aid. He wasn't some pussy, he could get up just fine. Or so he thought when he attempted to sit up and a sharp pain shooting up his back reminded him he was still very much recovering from an unfair bar fight. "Fuck," he grunted, sucking in a sharp breath in an attempt to contain his reaction to the pain.

Sawyer Sawyer could do little more than let out a pained yelp as his arms were wrenched behind his back—Sebastian had all the strength of a corrections officer and less than half of the patience, pulling Sawyer to his feet before he could get a final blow in. “Don’t—fuckin’—touch me!” He tried, in vain, to weasel his way out of the other boy’s firm grip. Fuck him. Fuck Callum. Fuck Warren for dying, fuck the pilot for crashing, fuck his parole officer for sending him on this retreat and fuck him, fuck Sawyer for thinking he could better himself, that you could add bells and whistles to a broken-down car and expect it to get anywhere good. “You wanna talk about me?!” He yelled, eyes stinging hot with tears again. But this time, he wasn’t crying out of guilt or sorrow—rather, the frustration at his inability to control his situation, or anything, had nowhere left to go but out of him. “Huh?! You wanna talk about what kinda drunk I am?! You’re not even good fuckin’ people sober!”

Callum "And what makes you think you are?!" Callum shot back from where he was twisted uncomfortably on his side. "Fuckin', Mr. Criminal Record!" With his back fucked, Callum was all bark and no bite right now. "Take a fucking hike, convict," he spat from where he was on the ground. "We'll carry Warren ourselves. Don't you need you hijacking his ring and that stupid fucking chain around his neck for some spare change and a place to live."

Sawyer The next thing Sawyer did, he wasn’t too proud of (he wasn’t very proud of pummeling Callum to the ground, either, but in the heat of the moment it felt more than deserved). If these guys wanted to assume the worst of him, though, he’d give ‘em a better fucking reason to. He mustered up the last of his resolution to spit at Callum’s immobile form, hoping, childishly, that he felt the touch of cold saliva on his skin, that he felt every bit as tainted by Sawyer’s indecency as Sawyer did. What little dredges of fuck he had left to give died on his fists the moment they made impact with Callum’s face. With a full-bodily jerk, he managed to free himself from Sebastian’s grasp at last, holding his middle fingers up at Callum as he took a few steps backward before he turned his back to the group. He wasn’t hiking back to the camp or the jungle, but to the furthest corners of the beach, where he could melt into the shoreline and imagine himself turning into sea-foam—swept away, all at once, by the tide.

Callum Spitting on him? Really? Callum scoffed and shook his head. Then he watched Sawyer's retreating figure. "Yeah, walk away, convict. We don't need you," he called out. A final nail in the coffin if Sawyer didn't hate him enough already. He brushed his hand against his pants where Sawyer's spit landed, making a face at the wetness that now covered his palm. Gross, he thought. When he figured the boy was far enough, Callum decided it was high time for him to get up and move too. "Can someone give me a hand?" He asked grumpily, after having attempted to get up himself; though he couldn't quite do it without assistance. "And let's get Warren out of here already."

Lukas Lukas couldn't help but grimace as Liam told the three of them what had happened in their absence. Yeah, no, definitely the superior group right here, he thought. Looting, yelling, and pointing fingers at each other. He was only a tiny bit upset to be missing it all. He nodded in agreement at Kian's point. " Dude, they're so fucked, " he commented, pulling more dirt out of the hole. However, he did also kinda want the answers to Dash's questions so he looked to Liam expectantly, waiting an answer. Then Lukas thinks he hears something. Not sure what he looked over his shoulder again with furrowed brow. " Y'all hear that? " he asked the group, his gaze remaining behind him for a second longer. Sounded like yelling, but it was just too far away for Lukas to put any more effort into finding out what it was. As he looked back to the hole, soon to be grave, he was pretty fucking impressed with their efforts. Someone had to be. " That's probably deep enough, right? Looks about two foot, bit over. "

Joe This had to be some kind of divine punishment. There was no way he would be stuck on a desert island with wankers that couldn't go a full day without getting into a punch up if he wasn't tainted in some way. As tempting as it was to leave Callum on the floor Joe knew had to be a bigger person and make some kind of contribution ,he didn't get Sawyer off of Callum and he did a shit job at including Liam. He would have to apologise to Liam later but in that moment his main focus was grabbing Callum's hand and dragging him off the ground. "Oh yeah, yous are going to have to stop being pricks for a second because we need to move Warren. Is there a technique to moving bodies?"

Callum Callum let himself be pulled up by Joe, offering a short grunt of 'thanks' in appreciation once he was back on his feet. He dusted himself off, scoffed a little at being referred to as a prick, and answered Joe's query. "Not that I know of. But we got the blanket–" Thanks to Sawyer, who he did not care to credit or mention even if there was a gun to his head. "–we'll lay Warren on there, and there's..." He counted whoever remained. Him, Sebastian, Joe, and Blue. Perfect. "Four of us. So each take a corner and just carry him like that I guess." He shrugged. Heavy lifting wasn't a great idea with his back all knotted up and achy like it was right now but Callum figured with three other guys helping carry the load, it shouldn't be too bad. He walked over to the lower half of Warren's body and grabbed his ankles. "Someone get the top half of this kid please. And the rest just like, hold the blanket down flat, hands on the corners."

Blue blue told himself that it was like carrying an injured teammate,  you'll pull your brother up, move him off the ice, the nurses patch him up, or that one time when he had to visit beau at the hospital...but he needed that visualization to make it through this strange night. as he placed the blanket down with the others, and then took a step back, all of that went away and the darkness all around enveloped him. "does anyone know the song from sound of music? the sad one?"

Kian It was easy to block out the events of that morning when you had nothing to do but dig and dig until your arms ached. Moving meant you had less time to think, and the less time you had to think, the less time you had to feel. Mostly, Kian just felt numb...and like, he couldn't figure out whether that made him a shit person or not. That he could look at a dead body and feel nothing but a sense of disgust and dread, like if he stared for too long, the clutches of death would reach out and grab him by the wrist. Scary shit. He scoffed at Lukas's remarks, blowing a piece of hair out of his eyes. "Two feet's not deep enough. It has to be a meter, so, like...three." God. Fuck the Yanks and their stupid measurement system. "You can go tell the others to hurry the fuck up if you want, though."

Lukas Personally, if Lukas was wearing someone else's shirt to prevent dirt getting on him, he probably wouldn't be such a dick to them. Well– he probably would but that didn't stop him from being offended when Kian had a go at him. " I said two and a bit, didn't I? " he rebutted, begrudgingly returning to digging. " And you've gotta give the metres thing up, you're clearly fuckin' outnumbered here. " He cast a glance to Dash and Liam as if to say, right guys? As for going back to the others, however, he shook his head adamantly " No fucking way, I'll fuckin' puke, " again. You would fucking puke again, Lukas. " You can go tell them if you want though, " he offered back to Kian, being completely facetious. He didn't think there was any way any of them were volunteering to go back and tell the others what to do. " Tell them all about how we've got a metre " he poorly mimicked the other's accent for that word and that word alone, " deep hole here and they need to hurry up, you and Warren would look good with matching hickeys. "

Liam liam looked to dash when he asked if he was okay, and again he tried to put on a brave face and pretend like everything was okay. "yeah, i'm good," he said despite being the opposite. liam has never experienced death before, not even a pet. even if they hadn't known warren long and he was pretty annoying, it still made reality hit him hard. "i don't know if they found anything good, i wasn't really paying attention," i was trying to not cry in front of everyone he finished in his head. but then kian seemed annoyed by how deep they should go and lukas teasing him about meters. liam just looked up at the others and shrugged. he didn't see what the big deal was. "they probably wont even listen to you," he mumbled. "they didn't listen to me. they're too busy seeing who's dick is bigger by ganging up on sawyer." he just hoped they were done being dicks long enough to actually get to moving warren over here.

Kian If Lukas's hastiness didn't tick him off, that piss-poor imitation of his accent certainly did. He did not sound like that - Kian could pronounce his r's just fine, thank you very much. With a saccharine-sweet smile, he took the next fistful of damp soil from the ground and flicked it in Lukas's direction. "There. Now it's two and some more." Prick. Liam was much more tolerable than the other two prats, if only for the fact that he seldom talked and always looked like he was on the verge of tears. No wonder he couldn't stick it out with the meatheads, Kian thought. "The one from jail? Why're they ganging up on him?"

Liam he grimaced at the comment. the one from jail. everyone was so focused on the fact that sawyer had been to jail, he wondered what all of the others would think if they knew he had a record too. sure, his was probably much less than sawyers, but they really didn't know anything about each other. "yeah, him. because he was the last to see warren alive and i guess they were drinking last night. they think he got drunk and killed him or something." saying it out loud sounded so ridiculous. even if they didn't know each other well, he couldn't see sawyer doing it. after all, sebastian was the one who choked the dude out.

Lukas He's late to see the handful of dirt flying at him but still he tries to bat it away, leaning back as he did. As if that would help. Looking down at the mess, he couldn't help but snort another chuckle again. How fucking stupid was this whole situation. He thought as he returned to digging. He glanced to Liam as he spoke, but then he laughed again when he revealed the others had been pointing at Sawyer as the cause of Warren's death. " You're joking, Sawyer? Seriously? " He chuckled, giving it a moment to gage that Liam was in fact serious. While Kian was pretty keen to keep bringing up Sawyer's record, Lukas wondered if he was the only one who remembered the cowboy had admitted it was for auto theft. Plus, if a criminal record was all you needed to be a murderer then well shit, guess him and Liam were on their way to the janky island electric chair too. " That's fucked. " He shook his head, still amused but at least a fraction more somber about it now. " There's no way they actually think that, they're just tryna shift the blame 'cause they know they're the most fucking suspect. "

Kian For the first time, Kian and Lukas were on the same wavelength; he couldn't help but let out an ugly guffaw when Liam revealed that some of them were now accusing others of murder. Yeah, no. Sawyer was way too friendly to kill someone - and not in a, like, American Psycho way, but in a weird uncle who drinks too much and mistakes you for your sister way. Believe him, Kian sat across from the guy on the plane. He knew a person who spiked their drinks in secret when he saw one. "And besides, Warren was dumb enough to nearly fall off a cliff without alcohol. What makes them think he didn't just take a long walk off a short ledge when he was trying to piss or something?"

Liam "that's what i thought too," liam chimed in. warren didn't seem like the brightest person sober, nearly walking off the cliff just hours before. "i think they're all so focused on making sure they don't look guilty that they're trying to put the blame on someone else. but i think we all know that if anyone did anything, there are far more convincing people than sawyer."

Kian "Like that JJ fucker," said Kian, eyes going wide. "Swear, I haven't seen him so much as smile since we got here. I think he's a proper psychopath."

Dash Dash didn’t really believe Liam’s ‘I’m good’ and made a mental note to check in on the little dude later. He might not be a total help to him, of course, but it made Dash at least feel like he had something to fill his day after this hellish morning instead of staring vacantly at the ocean. Drops of sweat gathered on his brow from exertion as he listened the other guys contemplate who to point fingers at. "You know where I stand on this whole thing, man,” he said. “Chokey time, brain damage, mouth frothing and a one-way ticket cliffside — ipso facto: Gigantor’s fault.” Dash wiped the moisture away with the back of his hand, and tiredly thought that maybe he should’ve taken his aunt up on the repeated offer to join her at her godforsaken, soul-sucking cycling class. He stood to inspect their work—the boundary of the hole came up to his thigh-ish, edging toward his hip—and stamped down a boot to flatten the earth beneath his foot. “Jesus...” he spoke under his breath, then continued aloud, “Is this finally a fuckin' meter or what?"

Kian Kian sat back on his haunches, heaving a sigh. Grave-digging was no easy task on its own, but having a sweaty mop on your head and a boa constrictor wrapped around your chest put it on equal footing with, like, running laps. Or building pyramids with tree branches. "Proper fuckin' meter," he said, ricocheting right off of Pink Floyd, "where the fuck are the pallbearers?"

Callum Callum made a face at Blue. "The fuck. No?" He shook his head. "Can we just focus on getting Warren out of here?" He asked, his patience thinning quickly with his back pain. Once everyone was in position and Warren was safely wrapped in the emergency blanket, the boys hauled him off, proceeding across the beach until they came across the boys responsible for digging Warren's grave. "Yo, you guys done?" Callum asked when he was close enough to be heard by the other boys. They looked like they've been busy digging so Callum hoped they were, and didn't just spend all this time fucking around.

Dash It was like Kian’s pure pissiness summoned the ‘pallbearers’. Dash looked up from where he watched a shiny beetle scuttle around his boot and was met with a real one-two of shitty and honestly fairly gratifying images. One being Warren’s body, wrapped up like a shoddy mummy—that was horseshit—and the second the pretty black eye developing on Callum’s face. Dash was a pacifist by nature but it was still a refreshing look, if you asked him. He let out a low whistle and leaned back against the edge of the hole, letting his hands rest palms down against the grass. “Wow. Sweet shiner.” He shook his head as he turned to hoist himself out of the grave. “Gotta say, babe. You’ve never looked better,” he wisecracked, a grin started to itch at the corner of his mouth until he looked back from where he came. An empty hole. For Warren. What a way to spend a vacation. He cleared his throat and shrugged both shoulders. “So, uh. Guess you guys just lower him in then,” he continued, gesturing toward their work.

Kian Yo yOu gUys DoNe? As if Moose Knuckle and the park rangers hadn't just taken ages to wrap a body in a blanket and carry it not half a kilometre into the jungle. Kian had a quip ready to go, a right hearty fuck off, but the second he turned around to open his mouth, he lost his shit. Seeing one of the Winklevoss Twins with a bruised eye nearly made up for the corpse within arm's length of his face. "Has he risen from the dead to punch you in the face?" He asked, scuttling out of the way so they could lower Warren's body into the hole. "I miss the fucker, already."

Liam liam’s whole body tensed up when he heard the unmistakable sound of callum’s voice. but at least that meant they were finally done and they could put this whole awful day behind them. getting up from his spot by the hole, liam turned around just as the other boys started commenting on his black eye. clearly the arguing turned physical after liam left, which really didn’t surprise him. but rather than bring attention to himself, he just moved out of the way so the others could move warren’s body into the hole.

Callum Callum swore if he wasn't helping carry a dead body right now, these fuckers — Dash and Kian — would be in the grave along with Warren too. Ignoring the heat he felt in his cheeks when he was cheekily referred to as 'babe', Callum merely scoffed and shot a measly "fuck off" at the two boys with comments. "Let's go," he urged the boys helping him with Warren's body, shuffling forward to position the corpse directly above the hole so it could be a smooth descent. "Ready? Bring him down slowly." It was easier to pretend this was his summer job doing construction work, and not burying some guy they survived a plane crash with. Nice and steady, Warren was lowered and just like that, the boy was laid down in his temporary resting place. Callum blew out a breath once he was standing at full height again. "Fuck..." He didn't expect it to be difficult to look at the grave with the blanket-wrapped body in there. "Guess we just... cover him up?" It felt strange to discuss. He wondered then how Dash, Kian and Lukas felt digging up this hole knowing what it was for.

Dash Dash watched the way Callum’s face heated with fascination, as his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek—one part confused to two parts jazzed about the power he must’ve had to elicit a reaction like that. He badly wanted to say something, to make a joke about how there must’ve been a heart beating there in his chest all long ‘cause his pink cheeks proved it. But he swallowed it down, the words like bile at the back of his throat. It seemed his body would only allow one joke in the presence of an actual burial, which kind of sucked really because without that there was nothing much to do but look at the lump that was once Warren get lowered into the ground. Dash thought about the last time he was at a funeral—and the shower of roses that were placed on the casket before it too was buried beneath pounds of dirt—and glanced around until he saw a flower. “Wait a sec.” It had five large pink petals, and looked like it’d work well enough. He plucked it, then looked over at the other guys. “I dunno, like a fuckin’ — show of respect or something,” he defended himself. “To make up for that Viking burial thing.” He tossed the flower down the hatch. It fluttered, then fell near Warren’s feet. Close enough. “Alright, dirt time,” he said, but still waited for someone else to make the first move.

Kian Kian watched the flower fall to Warren’s feet with little fanfare. That was shit, he wanted to say, but for once, he held his tongue. This was an actual, real thing they were doing; no going back now. Dash’s words hung in silence for eons before Kian began to shove dirt into the hole with his foot, covering up what he assumed—and hoped—was Warren’s face, first. “Where’s Sawyer gone? Thought he’d wanna...pay his respects or whatever.”

Callum "He's off being a pissy little bitch," Callum muttered as he pushed some sand into Warren's grave with the side of his foot. He knew it would be far more useful to go on his knees and shovel dirt in with his hands but he couldn't be fucked to hurt his back even more.

Dash Dash bent to pick up his abandoned stick. He used the flat end to knock dirt onto Warren’s body — it gave him something to do and saved his boots from more damage: two birds, one stone. “Lemme guess,” he started, angling the stick only enough to point in Callum’s general direction. He placed a fingertip under his right eye and tugged down for emphasis. “He responsible for that?”

Callum "Oh fuck off, Troll Doll." Though with his tiredness (and slight guilt), the insult didn't quite have the bite Callum wanted it to have. "It's not my fault the Prison Rat can't take the heat. If he wasn't guilty of anything in the first place, he wouldn't have had trouble sticking around." Callum moved some more sand over the grave with his foot and brought his hands up in a 'it wasn't me' gesture. "S'all I'm saying."

[himbowelsh]

Can you do prompt 9 for gene and literally anyone 🥺🥺🥺

intimacy prompts  ( no longer accepting )

9.   cuddling

i’m gonna tag @fromcrossroadstoking in particular bc i know medic-bonding is exactly your thing!!

Maybe if it weren’t well below freezing, he wouldn’t offer. Actually, scratch that  ---  if it weren’t absolutely goddamn frigid, and they both weren’t in danger of turning into snowmen in the world’s most depressing winter wonderland, Spina would have no illusion that Gene Roe might agree. 

The man’s as closed up as a bar on Sunday morning. Buttering him up enough for small talk was the biggest test Spina’s irrepressible charm has ever faced. The fact that he succeeded probably has less to do with winning him over, and more wearing him down  ---  which seems like the way to go, when Gene’s concerned.

Either way, since his war started in Holland, Spina has come to know his fellow medic pretty well. Gene comes from Louisiana; he prefers the warm weather, has no real love for Vera Lynn’s music, speaks French like a damn native ---  to his untrained ears, at least  ---  and sends his army earnings back home to his Ma. Gene keeps himself to himself, which is fine. Spina...  takes the opposite approach. At this point, he’s talked half the company’s ears off about his wife and new baby back home. If put to it, Gene could probably quote Spina’s favorite pizza order from memory. That’s just Spina’s way. Talking’s how he keeps his head screwed on straight. When you’re huddled up in a foxhole with somebody for hours at a time, watching your fingertips slowly turn blue, you’ve gotta have some conversation. 

He and Gene are almost  ---  okay, Spina wouldn’t call them friends, but they’re close enough. They’re compatriots. They’re living the same nightmare, seeing all the same shit, with the same impossible weight on their shoulders. When Gene’s eyes go distant while staring at his bloodstained hands, like the sight’s taken him a million miles away... Spina gets it, the way the other fellas in the company just can’t.

So, sometime around midnight, he doesn’t hesitate to shift over, nudging Gene with his leg to jar him from his silent reverie. When Gene jolts, his entire body seems to go with it. In the shadows of Ardennes midnight, his eyes are pitch black, but his face is white. His lips part in a silent question, breath crystallizing in a little cloud in front of him.

“Sorry to wake ya,” Spina quips, in a tone than makes clear he has no illusion that Gene was actually asleep. His fellow medic’s gaze lingers on him for a moment, before Gene huffs, shaking his head.

“Better you than a German wake-up call.”

“No kidding.” Spina breathes out all at once, creating a fog of breath so clear he could reach up and swirl it around his fingers like cotton candy. Christ, they’re practically huffing out ice tonight. Another shiver runs through Gene, wracking his entire body; his teeth click together in the same rhythm they’ve been setting for the last half-hour. After so long in the cold, most of them have stopped shivering so bad... but tonight’s a different sort of freezing.

“You’re gonna give ‘em our position if you keep that up,” Spina declares. When Gene casts him an exhausted glance, he just holds one arm open. “Come here.”

Gene makes another noise, one of his weird nonverbal questions. He’s got about thirty of ‘em, and each one means something different, so Spina’s become an expert at translating them all. This one’s something like, Say that again? or possibly When did you trip and land on your head, Spina, and why didn’t you mention it before?

Spina doesn’t falter. He just waits. After a minute, Gene huffs and sort of curls into himself, arms wrapping tighter around his trembling shoulders. He’s still got those shadows around his eyes — the ones that have nothing to do with exhaustion. That alone would be enough reason for Spina not to back down, even if they weren’t both shaking like leaves and in desperate need of body heat.

“Jesus, Gene, my teeth are gonna clatter outta my mouth. Come here, huh? Either we hug or turn into medicsicles.”

“Really?” Now Gene looks exhausted for a whole different reason. It’s a better look on him than half-mangled grief, though, so Spina just stretches his arm out further. 

For a second, he’s sure Gene isn’t going to take him up on the offer. Then, with a heavy sigh, the other man shifts over. Gene’s layers of clothing have frozen on him; they creak while he moves, like an old man’s joints, as he shifts over to settle against his fellow medic’s side. Spina doesn’t miss a beat. He pulls Gene close, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, and is satisfied when Gene leans into him.

“There,” Spina says, giving Gene’s shoulder a satisfied little rub. Flakes of snow are crusted in the ebony strands of his hair, making it glisten; Spina can’t restrain the urge to brush them off, sending a small rain of snow fluttering into the night. “Jesus, Gene, you’re this close to a snowman.”

“I hate to tell you, Spina, but you ain’t exactly a furnace either.”

Spina was hoping for some body heat, but he’s not getting it here. It’s a damn miracle Gene didn’t freeze to death, curled up on his side of the foxhole all alone. The only virtue of voices in the darkness constantly calling for a medic is that they make it impossible to stay still for long. At least that keeps some heat in your body. Gene’s like a goddamn shark, apparently — if he stops moving, he freezes over.

“Geez, buddy.” The poor bastard’s still shivering in his arms. Spina thought he was cold, but it’s nothing compared to the sheer ice of Gene’s skin. Even the fog of breath huffed against his bare neck is icy. “We gotta get some heat into you,” he declares. “Doc’s orders.”

Spina begins to rub a slow rhythm over Gene’s back, massaging circles into the frozen-stiff muscles. If he can force a little warmth back into his body, too, that’s a bonus. Slowly, Gene begins to relax against him. The tension melts from his limbs, and he grows heavier against Spina’s side as the violent shivers begin to die off. His teeth keep it up the longest, clacking like a symphony. When Gene turns his face into the shoulder of Spina’s sweater, burying his bright pink nose into the warm wool, it muffles the clattering sound.

Spina huffs again, considering his options for a long moment. Finally, he bites the bullet. Pulling his hat off his head in one swift motion, he tucks it over Gene’s own before he can protest. The cold is immediate and punishing against his head, but it’s nothing compared to the surprised sound Gene makes as he looks up at him.

“Just for tonight, ya hear? Don’t go walking the line with that on, neither. Anybody who mistakes me for you better get their eyes checked, but you don’t gotta steal my signature look.”

A tiny smile tugs at Gene’s lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Spina,” he mutters, and rests his head against Spina’s shoulder again.

There’s not much warmth to speak of, but at least the shaking’s stopped. Being this close wards off the cold, if only for a few hours. They don’t have blankets, they don’t have winter coats, they don’t even have a fire to keep warm… but whatever light’s burning inside Gene Roe isn’t gonna go out in the darkness. Not if Spina has anything to say about it… and he’s man enough to admit that Gene wears his hat almost as well as him.

[hypmic-translation]

Gimme the Mic

Hypnosis Mic!

ALL: Gi-Gi-Gi-Gi-Gimme the mic!

ICHIRO: Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, gimme the mic A leader going his own way, bad Ichiro’s appeared Unanimously admitted as the head Do you wanna get eaten up today too? (1) In control, I’m the rhyme master Buster Bros!!! This street will now become our front line ‘Bukuro will trample on anyone who dares declare war These wack bastards won’t get my mic off me

JIRO: The bomb’s been ignited, take cover This blast’s attack will rock your body Oi oi, ain’t this fight all just for show? (2) Hey, only meet my eyes if you wanna know pain, got it? In ‘Bukuro every time we cross each other’s paths You’re sure gonna end up in tears two or three times Go on, run away with your tail between your legs Like I thought, you’re just a faker after all

SABURO: You’re totally something like a cocky online troll (3) Seems like the mob is finally making its appearance (4) I can see that you’re in high spirits Scattering like ants after stomping on their nest Boasting like a caged monkey Morons for opponents aren’t even worth my time Merely yelling won’t win in a debate against me With an IQ that low, it simply isn’t enough

CHORUS: Gi-Gi-Gi-Gi-Gimme the mic! Signal the beginning, hear the cue, it’s my mic Stalling won’t bring you victory here Division battle, rule the stage Now, cry out your best words and style different rhymes Steal everything and show off, make an original flavour

Now stand up, gladiator Retreat all cowardly haters Mightier than sword or pen, Hypnosis Mic Divide the world, my punchline (Bang bang bang!) (5) Adrenaline (Pump pump pump!) We’ve got no choice, it’s kill or be killed, so don’t look back

SAMATOKI: No questions asked, here’s MAD TRIGGER Your mouth is shut, swallowed up by this blue coffin (6) C’mon, this is Samatoki-sama’s grand entrance Props like you lot should bow down to me In the end you’re all just puppets Ain’t it chivalrous of me to yank on your strings ‘Hama’s not a joke; not somethin' you can make light of I’ll make you drink the saliva that you’re spittin’!

JYUTO: Amateurs like you should fear my handcuffs You think puny weapons’ll ever spook me? Hah? Disobedience means immediate arrest Forge you a warrant, throw you in the slammer Wandering streets with no care for city limits I’ll turn a blind eye to the law, unchained and unattended Without good sense you’ll be in danger My badge decides your case as black or white (7)

RIOU: Cool and collected, I’m Crazy M From ‘Hama’s soldier into a focused laser No gaps in my focus, I’ll keep you in sight Can’t run in this city; stand your ground, take the beef You’ll get no mercy going up against me Stabbing you with my words just like knives No room for hesitation, I’ll pull the trigger and take your life You know what I’m saying?

CHORUS: Gi-Gi-Gi-Gi-Gimme the mic! Signal the beginning, hear the cue, it’s my mic Stalling won’t bring you victory here Division battle, rule the stage Now, cry out your best words and style different rhymes Steal everything and show off, make an original flavour

Now stand up, gladiator Retreat all cowardly haters Mightier than sword or pen, Hypnosis Mic Divide the world, my punchline (Bang bang bang!) Adrenaline (Pump pump pump!) We’ve got no choice, it’s kill or be killed, so don’t look back

KAZUSATO: Dark liberty, North Bastard Now we’ll take front stage I’m the general of Akabane’s sacred grounds Burn into your memory this wondrous retreat (8) Pursuing forms without sharpness (9) The background is nothing but darkness Scream and cry out as you’re swallowed by all of these wicked shadows You have to die

RYOZAN: I’m a talented trickster A jet roller coaster of lies MC Griffin rolls up, quick-talkin’ deceit (10) But I’m gone once shit starts goin’ down (11) A flippant, young, master MC Aah, y’couldn’t hear me? Don’t worry ‘bout it A cowardly lawbreaker, and slanderous too You gotta win to fit in with this loyalist society (12)

KENEI: Since the day I was born I’ve had dangerous thoughts Armed with logic instead of chasing delusional ideals We will put terror into all of your hearts How shall I mangle you? I’ll dissect you at once Crazy doctor, MAD SNAKE Getting involved brings your life close to the end Before you can notice my dark, hidden impulses I’ll administer my poison, just like a serpent!

ALL: Gi-Gi-Gi-Gi-Gimme the mic!

ICHIRO: A rebellion’s beginning, it’s time for justice SAMATOKI: All you spineless cowards hurry up and go home KAZUSATO: Thug life is superior, a dirty highway to success ALL: A revolution of words, gimme the mic!

CHORUS: Signal the beginning, hear the cue, it’s my mic Stalling won’t bring you victory here Division battle, rule the stage Now, cry out your best words and style different rhymes Steal everything and show off, make an original flavour

Now stand up, gladiator Retreat all cowardly haters Mightier than sword or pen, Hypnosis Mic Divide the world, my punchline (Bang bang bang!) Adrenaline (Pump pump pump!) We’ve got no choice, it’s kill or be killed, so don’t look back

Welcome to the division (Gi-Gi-Gimme the mic!) Welcome to the division (Oh, oh yeah) Welcome to the division (A revolution of words, gimme the mic!) Hypnosis rings out this masterpiece! Now, don’t look back It’s kill or be killed so don’t look back

NOTES:

“Eaten up” is slang.

Mirroring Ichiro, Jiro’s rhetorical question line also includes a slang term (“for show”) which refers to an event being staged or faked. Essentially, he’s saying that the battle isn’t even interesting enough to be real.

First line and already Saburo is making otaku references. He says ikiru/ikitsu, which is a derisive term used online to refer to someone arrogant or cocky, and chuubou, which means “internet troll” (and is also slang for middle-school student? It could be that he’s referring to himself in that line too, but I wasn’t sure).

The word Saburo says here is uzoumuzou (“crowd”), which is basically him calling the other two divisions about as challenging as anyone else.

A punchline in rap is the second half of two bars; one for setting up and one for delivering a blow. These can be both funny and insulting, and usually incorporate heavy wordplay. As you might expect, Sasara is very, very good at this.

“Blue coffin” is a reference to both Samatoki’s speaker and his last name Aohitsugi, which is what that directly translates to.

In Japanese police terminology, “black” means that you’re extremely guilty and “white” means you’re more or less innocent.

This guy loves sounding fancy. Akabane is a relatively small but popular neighbourhood for nearby Tokyo citizens to relax at night, where it tends to come to life, so calling it a “retreat” basically means it’s somewhere nice to go.

It was difficult to find a way to make this sound good in English while keeping the lyric format, but essentially Kazusato’s saying that “you can’t find us because we’re impossible to focus on”, like they’re hidden.

Ryozan says beshari here, which is a term used in the entertainment industry to refer to someone who is talented at communication with others, and good at thinking fast and ad-libbing on the spot.

Here he says tonzura, which is slang usually used when someone runs away from a crime they’ve committed.

A loyalist is someone who sides with the government/whoever’s in charge when an uprising is happening.

[i-like-yoongi-a-latte]

Carolina’s coach praises Teuvo Teräväinen who’s ascended to a star – “Turbo” doesn’t get the valuation he deserves: “He is just as good as Aho [is]”

Teuvo Teräväinen has sneaked towards the top of the NHL with quiet hard work. Now he has a turbo-gear on as claiming the playoff-spot is the only goal for the Carolina Hurricanes.

NHL 11.2.2020, article by Johanna Juntunen

Caption: Teuvo Teräväinen, who’s hoarded 54 points, is currently playing the best hockey of his career. Photo: Pekka Rautionmaa

LAS VEGAS. Carolina Hurricanes’ Teuvo Teräväinen is playing his career’s best hockey during his seventh NHL-season. The winger has hoarded 54 points (12+42) in only 55 games. Last season’s [point] record 76 (21+55) is going to get wrecked.

–I have mangled more power to this body every year. It makes the playing easier. I can maintain the puck in my possession and get space through it. It feels like I have advanced in every field, Teräväinen tells Yle Urheilu in Las Vegas.

Teräväinen leads the Finns’ plus-minus-statistics (+19). Patrik Laine is in the second place with +11 points.

–The defensive play and puckless play have gone forward a lot during the last years.

The assist-virtuoso has an infallible eye for the game. He can anticipate situations as fast as lightning, because there is not a lot of time for solutions in the game that’s as fast-paced and physical as in the NHL. Teräväinen leads the professional league’s assist point statistics between the Finns.

–Usually I like to pass more than shoot. I try to play with my head up and in that way look around a bit to see where others are going. When it is a small rink and fast big guys up against you, there is not much time. You have to be able to react and anticipate quite well.

Caption: According to Teuvo Teräväinen his defensive and puckless play have gone forward during the last years. Photo: Getty Images

During penalty kill Teräväinen, nicknamed Turbo, makes a dangerous duo with Sebastian Aho (30+21=51)

–We really shouldn’t know how to play during penalty kill, but we have survived there well. It usually feels like we get the best spots during penalty kills. When the power play is sleeping a bit [on the other side] we get the loose puck and go quickly two-against-one, Teräväinen tells in his modest way [of speaking].

You must listen to the coach

Playing his fourth season in the Carolina Hurricanes’ organization, the winger has played 300 games with the red shirts already. Teräväinen won the Stanley Cup in Chicago in spring 2015 right during his rookie season but establishing the game position took time.

–I played AHL half a year there and got to Chicago in some point. Little by little I got better in there, but actually a couple years after that it started to feel like I started to get along in the league.

Caption: Carolina’s head coach Rod Brind’Amour. Photo: Getty Images.

He advises the young players to have a high work ethic and to respect the coaching staff, so that the position in the team will be established.

–All the players come to this league from different situations, but you just have to have hard work and be motivated to do those things what the coach asks [you to do]. You can’t go fooling around on the ice, otherwise you’ll soon find yourself in the AHL or somewhere else, if you can’t produce the teamplay system, Teräväinen advises.

“Teräväinen [is] as good as Aho”

The Hurricanes’ head coach Rod Brind’Amour, who led the team as a player to the Stanley Cup in 2006, considers Teräväinen’s development breathtaking.

Turbo doesn’t get enough credit. To me he’s one of the best hockey players in hockey. He does everything well. He’s a great defender, people don’t give him enough credit for that, and his skill levels are off the charts, Brind’Amour tells Yle Urheilu. [*]

Teräväinen has played the last two games in Aho’s first line, which is why Carolina got the wins in Arizona and Las Vegas.

–Aho really benefits having Turbo around. They work well together, and we know how good Seabass is but Turbo’s just as good. [*] But the depth of the team isn’t necessarily enough in the long run if the three best players of the team are playing in the first line, the coach ponders.

Caption: Teuvo Teräväinen and Sebastian Aho have been the supportive forces of the Carolina Hurricanes during this season too.

In this phase the lineups are essential decisions, because the Hurricanes are still under the playoff-line in an absolutely tough and even Metropolitan division.

Carolina surprised all due to the last season’s terrific sprint and fought its way to the conference final. Now the goal is up higher, but it has to be reached one step at the time.

–Now we are fighting of the playoff-spot quite hard and every game is important. It doesn’t help but just get with the flow like last year, when we won quite much during the end of the season. Otherwise the playoff-spot won’t come, knows Teräväinen.

[*] The quote is taken from this video interview so that the translation doesn’t lose anything with the original being in English, then being translated to Finnish, and if I translated it again it could change.

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

Here it is! I decided to make an own post about it 😅 thanks to the wonderful @sepastian-ahoey​ for being the betareader once again! 💕

If you spot some grammatical errors or something that isn’t understandable - don’t hesitate to send me a message! Or if you have any feedback!

[written-adventures]

A Stitch of History

"Stars Swallow!" Kuna cursed as he pricked his finger yet again. Valtyr looked up from his book and watched the smaller man wipe the bead of blood on his hip and get right back to his embroidery. He'd been at it for hours already and grumbled at every mistake, not that Valtyr could spot any. His mouse had perfect stitches as far as he could tell. 

Almost the second he'd gifted the cloak to Kuna the other man had set about embroidering some sort of crest upon it. The same crest, he could now see since it was half finished, that adorned all of the man's clothes.

"Is that a religious symbol?" He asked. Because what else would a priest be determined to stitch into all his robes?

Kuna looked sheepishly up at him and shook his head. "It's... Well I don't know what it is exactly but it was on the jacket my father found me in. Something from my birth family." He touched the half formed crest reverently. "I just feel better when I'm wearing it."

"Your father found you?" Valtyr shifted uncomfortably. Family wasn't a topic they had broached and he wasn't sure if he was read should Kuna turn the questions back on him.

"Found me, was gifted me, he was never very clear on the details." Kuna went back to work, not missing a stitch as he talked. "I was wrapped up in an old jacket with this seal. It's why he named me Kuna, he misread it."

He brandished the finished crest on his robes. "See? The letters look a little like Kuna in Apuran, but when I researched it, this is actually the dialect from Atral."

"So you're a Southerner?" Spirits preserve him, learning about Apura had been tough enough. Valtyr knew next to nothing about the southern nations besides the fact that they existed.

"I guess I technically am. It explains why I was never very good at necromancy, though my father tried his best to teach me, Stars bless him. The people of Atral deal more in fire or ice magics."

"What does it actually say? If not your name?"

"Kun-Fal."

"...Quick Foot?" It took Valtyr a moment to translate the dialect, but he was sure that was it. “Is that a title or a place?”

“I’m not sure. I joined the order for access to the royal archives, but couldn’t find anything about it. I was going to travel out there, but Jian noticed how studious I’d been and promoted me. Haven't left the capital since.”

“Do you still want to go?”

Kuna fell quiet as he went back to stitching but eventually nodded. “My father said my parents wanted someone to protect me. That means they were in some kind of danger. When I was a kid I used to dream of saving them and bringing them back to Apura. I know Dad would welcome them with open arms. He’s that kind of guy.”

“Then why don’t you go? What’s stopping you?”

Kuna looked towards the map in the center of the library. It looked like such a short distance in the drawing. The mountains that separated him from his homeland were nothing more than little triangles around the border. 

“What do you know about Atral?”

“It was once a part of Apura but separated due to a schism in the church. So it’s not that different than here, right?”

“Wrong. Atral is a dangerous place. Revolts against the corrupt church are a daily occurance. The church’s Spirit Hunters are ruthless to anyone they deem ‘sinful’ and trust me, the list of sins is a long one. Towns along the border are riddled with refugees escaping death sentences for slights as little as sleeping in on a holy day.” Kuna dropped his unfinished work and hung his head. “What I’m saying is, I’m a coward. That’s why I haven't gone. That little boy that dreamed of being a hero died the first time I served on the healing corps for border skirmishes. If a trained soldier comes back so mangled his own family can’t recognize him, what hope does a little fool like me have?”

Valtyr rubbed his back. “You’re being too hard on yourself. It’s normal to be afraid of death. I’ve practiced medicine for years and still get chills at some of the cases that I come across.”

“Apurans don’t fear death. I’m just a coward.”

“Well it’s a good thing you’re not Apuran then.” Valtyr wiped a tear from his cheek. “We have a saying ‘don’t force a cub to swim, he’ll learn when the floods come’. You’ll be brave when you need to be, and I hope I’m there to see it. I don’t know about your gods, but I know a spirit-touched when I see one. You’re going to do great things, Kuna.”

“You think so?” Kuna sniffled and scrubbed his sleeve across his face.

“I know so.” Valtyr promised. He ignored that little twinge in the back of his mind, that he was more right than he wanted to be. 

[gay-jesus-probably]

So I’ve started watching Sonic SatAM, cause I remember watching Sonic Underground on youtube when I was a kid, and I’ve heard it was very similar to SatAM. I’m only a few episodes deep, but I’ve got a few thoughts already about the show.

For a start, SatAM has made it clear to me that the 90′s were a dark, dark time. Not because of the whole apocalypse thing, that’s fine, but dear fucking lord Sonic is the worst part of the show. I want him to stop talking. Forever. Shut the fuck up. Did people actually talk like that in the 90′s??? Was the word ‘mondo’ a major part of peoples vocabulary? Because listening to Sonic’s dialogue is physically painful, especially since nobody else on the show talks like that. Sonic is the only one who abuses 90′s slang to that extent. ...Fuck, Sonic is the only character that actually uses 90′s slang at all. The only reason anyone else uses 90′s slang is if they are talking directly to Sonic and repeating something he’s said. Also, what’s with the obsession with juice? I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to mean ‘going fast’, but he just keeps fucking talking about it all the time, and I want him to shut the fuck up about juice and just do whatever he’s going to do.

Just generally it’s never a good sign when the opening theme of a cartoon feels the need to mention that the main character has an attitude. That translate to ‘obnoxious dumbass’, and that is one of the worst character archetypes ever made. I feel like cartoons in the 90′s and 00′s were all deliberately aiming for the most unbearable piece of shit protagonists they could possibly make, and I hate it a lot.

Speaking of unbearable, my least favorite character in the entire show is Antoine. But it’s a weird kind of hate, because as a concept, I actually really like Antoine. He seems to be the only member of the main cast that’s actually aware of how much danger they’re in on a constant basis, and despite being rightfully terrified he’s still going on on regular missions. Especially since he’s the only member of the cast with a language barrier, which puts him in more danger than the others (as misunderstanding instructions can very easily be a death sentence, and the others don’t seem very invested in making sure he knows what’s happening). The concept is great. The execution makes me want to hunt the writers and voice actor for sport.

Just... why. Why would you ever think thats a good character. The joke is that he’s french. WE GET IT. The accent is terrible, every single line is mangled, and none of it is funny. He’s such a god awful caricature that I feel insulted by him, and I’m barely even french. I really like the potential of Antoine’s character. I just can’t stand the way they wasted it.

Anyways complaints aside, I am actually really enjoying SatAM. This probably the darkest concept I’ve ever seen in a show. Not just cartoons, not just childrens shows, any show ever. This setting feels grimmer than The Walking Dead. There’s something deeply unsettling about a show where the main antagonist wants nothing more than to be the last thing left alive, and has already killed nearly the entire planet, leaving the protagonists as a small group of survivors using guerilla warfare in a desperate attempt to slow him down. When the show begins, it’s extremely clear that the main characters will never get their peaceful happy ending - even if they defeat Robotnik, the planet is still a hellish poisoned wasteland. It’s going to take centuries for the environment and population to recover. Victory just means that things stop getting worse. That’s some dark shit.

And as for Robotnik, god damn. This might be because I’ve only ever known Robotnik as a giant ham whose evil schemes are doomed to failure, but holy fuck. I was not prepared for Sonic SatAM’s Robotnik. He’s fucking terrifying, and I love it. I’m half a season deep and he’s barely even raised his voice. He’s just got this sinister calm tone the entire time, and it’s extremely unnerving, but works perfectly for such a monstrous character. In his first scene, I didn’t even realize it was Robotnik talking until he turned around; I figured it had to be a bigger scope villain because there was no fucking way Dr. Eggman could sound that intimidating. I don’t know how they made Robotnik so intimidating, but he’s an amazing villain.

Also, I’m extremely into Sally, even if I don’t really like her voice actress. ...There’s nothing specifically wrong with her voice acting, it’s just that every other member of the resistance actually sounds like a kid/teenager, but Sally sounds like she’s in her mid thirties and it’s really distracting. Apart from that though I really like her, although I was... unimpressed with her leaving Sonic to rescue another freedom fighter alone so that she could go running off immediately to search for a clue about someone who has been missing for like a decade. I get that it’s her dad, but there was literally no reason as to why she had to search the swamp right that second. She could have helped Sonic rescue Cat. Fuck, she could have just waited until he was rescued and then gone. But instead she went off right away, which meant Sonic had to leave Cat to go save her and Antoine after they were caught on camera, causing Cat to be tortured to death off screen while the others were busy with shenanigans. And they don’t seem to acknowledge that she was wrong about that.

I’ve already heard that for Season 2 the network executives ordered the writers to chill the fuck out and make the show lighter, so they had to add even more terrible comic relief and flanderize everyone into bland caricatures, so I’m not looking forwards to that. But issues aside, I’m extremely into Sonic SatAM. Even if it’s a few decades late.