#you can literally see where i started to deteriorate from being sick in the second one💀

[corax-corone]

A couple of the most iconic toontown images/memes but Ghost because i am Not Normal™️ about this band

(You better believe that second one is an argument about Copia’s introduction)

[malikselfindulgence]

Could I request a romantic LMK fic/ficlet with RedSon and a female reader asking them for help foguring out demonic self care? Reader is kind of in the same boat as MK where they absolutely just thought they were human and now they’re discovering they’re not and they’re kind of struggling to get used to their new body, in this case grooming wise. I was thinking a bat demon reader struggling to brush their teeth without breaking the toothbrush with their fangs or getting the fur between their new wings brushed because it’s getting matted lol (it’s already hard to get your back it’s super hard when there’s two things in the way). It can be a bit suggestive but it doesn’t have to be.

RED SON X BAT DEMON!READER

A/N: AGHH thank you for the request!!! Literally had sm fun writing this it's such a cool idea >w<!! Also the way you worded the request makes it sound like YOU'RE a bat demon 🤨🤨 lol

Content: negative self-talk from reader at the start, kind of hurt/comfort, ending is suggestive!

Fic under the cut!

You know- you used to think demons were cool. You thought the monkey king's tail was cute, you thought about how convenient it probably was to have those claw-like feet, you thought DBK's horns looked cool [though you'd never say that to his face] and you still think Red Son's bull form is very pretty, fur and hooves and all.

Now, though? Not so much.

You weren't handling the change as well as you thought you would- being struck by the fact that you're not human, not even mortal, wasn't easy on anyone, but you didn't think you'd struggle with your new physical form this much.

While, yes, you looked cooler, you suppose- every new feature came with about a million more hurdles. You thought flying would be pretty neat? Wrong, you can barely stay balanced for over 10 seconds, and you got too air-sick to make use of it's travel anyways. You thought the new big ears were sick? How much do you like them out in public, when there's too many sounds attacking you from every angle, too loud and too overwhelming? And your sense of sight keeps deteriorating- you think you might need glasses now.

You hadn't left the house in a while- a long while, actually. Everything was just too much, and frankly, you were embarrassed being seen stumbling like an idiot in your new form, hunching into yourself at every noise and bright light. You hadn't been checking your phone either- you knew they had questions, you knew they were checking up on you, and it only made you feel more pathetic.

You were at home now, cursing your ancestors and stupid demon blood and stupid fucking bats, trying to wrangle your arm in position to brush out the fur on your back, but your stupid wings kept getting in the way, and you could barely even see in the stupid mirror, and-

You're not sure when you started crying, but you looked down to find teardrops landing on your sink. God, this was ridiculous. This was basic self-care, shouldn't you just figure it out? Demon instincts or whatever? You'd considered asking Red Son for help, and even though you know it's just your insecurities eating away at you, you can't help but be scared that he'd laugh at you-

'CRASH'

You pause, looking through your open bathroom- you think that was your front door. You think someone just busted open your front door. You think someone's currently in your house- you rush to grab a pair of sciccors from your cabinet, ears straining to pick up on the noise outside.

You hear footsteps, some angry mumbling, and your shackles slowly go down- was that...?

"I've called you thirty seven times! Thirty seven! Not that I got worried, but you're not responding to the dragon horse girl either, and I swear on the jade emperor's life if you don't-"

His rant comes to an abrupt stop once he sees you, cheeks still red with tear streaks, hair flat against your head, wings bent awkwardly to cover your sides from view. You smile nervously in an attempt to ease the tension, but it comes out strained.

"R-Red Son! Funny, ah, seeing you here- you could've rang the doorbell, or something-"

He scoffs at your words, walking closer- your wings wrap tighter around you, trying to shield yourself off- you don't want him seeing you like this.

"With how you've been rudely ignoring just about everyone, I wasn't even sure if you were alive, let alone willing to open the door." He hisses out, and although he tries to come off as mean, you can tell he felt on edge, his concern showing in the way his voice cracks at his words, his eyes boring through you. He's waiting for an explanation, but you're not sure you can give one.

"I'm sorry, it's just been- I didn't mean to ignore you as long as I did, really-" you stumble over your words, embarassed and guilty and scared, scared of how he'll react and what he'll say.

His eyes squint at you, his face softening as he takes you in- you look a mess, and as his gaze falls to the broken tooth-brush and tweezers by your sink, the way your fur is dull and matted down, he starts realising that you'd been struggling, and just what you'd been struggling with.

He sighs, slowly stepping closer, his eyes down-cast and worried. He settled his palm over your jaw, thumbing at your cheek to wipe away a tear. "You could've asked me for help, you know." He frowns, gesturing to your state, "There's....specific tools for this kind of thing. You can't just use your usual mortal appliances, they're too frail, and frankly repulsive. They're more likely to make it worse than anything."

You nod to acknowledge his words- you can't even pretend he was being dramatic and snobbish this time, he was right, your toothbrush being enough proof. You feel your frustration settle down into something quiter the longer he stays next to you.

Red Son suddenly pulls away, fire enveloping his form for a brief few seconds- you stand there, confused and wide eyed, as he returns with some form of bag in hand. You're not sure how he managed to get that so fast.

"Well then, up you go." He sets the bag down and shoos you towards the edge of the tub, urging you to sit down. You do so without hesitation, though you raise your brow at him and hum, a little dazed, "Huh?"

"I'll be grooming your fur, of course. As well as trimming your nails- they don't exactly look comfortable." He takes out a fancy looking hairbrush, better-looking tweezers than yours, as well as a few other things you don't recognise. You're still reeling from the fact that he's here, not making fun of you, and now he wants to take care of you?

"Wait," He pauses his movements to look up at you, hair crackling in the air above him, "You...you don't have to do this for me."

You're about to reassure him that you can take care of yourself [despite the fact that you rather evidently need his help] when his finger settles on your lips, shushing you entirely.

"I'm well aware I don't have to do anything, and I'm sure you're aware I wouldn't be caught dead doing something I didn't want to do."

He leans in to peck your forehead, a quiet show of affection to reassure you.

"Now stop with that self-deprecating talk and let me help you, alright?" You nod silently, your ears twitching lightly, and his lips tilt upward just the slightest bit.

Red Son instructs you to turn around so he can start with your wings and back- he handles them with care, especially around the tendons and legions where skin meets bone, the areas sensitive to his touch. His palms and fingerpads are rough, no doubt from all the handi-work he does, and they scratch pleasantly against your skin.

He washes out the areas you couldn't reach no matter how you positioned yourself with a wet rag and water from your tub, making sure they're clean before starting to brush your fur, "hold your left wing for me?"

You find yourself relaxing as time goes on, the rhythmic brushing and untangling soothing your nerves. You can hear Red Son's hair sizzle, his content breathing, the small murmurs he lets out every once in a while, and rather than overwhelm you it comforts you- you feel enveloped in his warmth.

"My mother used to do fur treatment baths for me, when I was little." Red Son starts quietly, his fingers prodding at certain spots on your wings, perhaps checking to see if something's out of place, or perhaps he's just fidgeting.

"I couldn't control my powers, back then, so my fur was always left charred and dry. It was a sensory nightmare for me, honestly. She hated trimming my hooves, though." He laughs a little, lost in a memory, "always said it was beneath her, but the servants could never quite get it right, so she had to until I was old enough to do it myself."

"Do you paint your hooves? Like, with nail-polish?" You wonder aloud, and you feel him smack the back of your head playfully. "Don't ask such ridiculous things."

"You're avoiding the question."

".....well, yes, o-on occasion."

You giggle at his reply- you'd already painted his nails over the course of your sleep-overs, and you were going to abuse the hell out of this new information.

"Speaking of hooves, could you turn around? I'll start trimming your claws, now."

You do as instructed, watching him pick up the tweezers. You hold your hands out on your thighs for him, watch as he eyes them with a thoughtful look. He picks up one of your hands, pressing it against his lips gently before settling it down again. You try to push down the flush rising up your face.

He rubs his thumb over your fingers, separating them so he can work better, the 'snip-snip' echoing through your ears, "I'll leave these behind for you, since sciccors aren't normally strong enough. You have to be careful not to go past this white line here, though, otherwise applying pressure to your claws will be painful"

You nod, a little speechless. It was easier when your back was facing him, but now you can see his face- the focused look in his eye, his pretty lips pursing in concentration, and you feel your chest warm at just how considerate and loving he's being. God, you should've just picked up the phone and called him so much sooner and saved yourself the trouble.

"Hey, Red?" You mumble with a smile, and he hums to show he's listening. "Thank you, for all of this. I love you."

He freezes, refusing to meet your eyes- you try to hold back a snicker, but you can't help yourself. You'd been dating for ages, and yet everytime you said that he got all flustered and shy like a schoolgirl. He grumbles, cheeks tinted pink, "Yeah, don't mention it."

Red Son rises to his full height, taking something you can't really see out of the bag before leaving it on the floor- you really need to look into getting a glasses prescription- grabbing your hand and pulling you upwards, towards your room. Your muscles feel lax and relaxed, and you yawn, realising just how taxing the day was.

"I think you should rest for now- we'll have to go to the market early morning before all the high-quality merch gets sold out." Red Son pushes you into your bed gently, settling down beside you, putting something over your ears. You feel all the overwhelming background noise drown out, leaving your mind fuzzy and....relaxed. You're not anxious anymore- you can't hear the earth buzzing constantly in your head anymore.

"They're noise cancelling headphones- loud sounds tend to...stress me out, sometimes. I have a spare back home, so no need to- mmmfh?!"

You rush forward to kiss Red Son- your wonderful, considerate, stupidly observant boyfriend, who you love so much you can feel it rush through your heart in waves- melding your lips against his. He starts kissing back once his surprise wears off, arms slowly wrapping around you to pull you closer. You feel refreshed, you feel happy and content and loved, and as you pull away you think he can see it in your gaze, because he smiles in relief.

You start peppering his face in kisses and messy smooches- all over his cheeks and jaw and nose, the corner of his lips, the endearing scar on his cheek, making loud kissing noises all the while. He tries to act annoyed, but the way he blushes and leans into you is telling enough.

"Glad to see you back to your old exasperating self."

You push him down onto the mattress, and although he's strong enough to flip you over again, he doesn't, simply laying there and letting you do as you please.

You kiss his jaw and trail down to his neck again, this time slower, paying close attention to the spot between his collarbone and shoulder, fangs just barely grazing the surface of his skin. You feel him gulp against you in anticipation, his eyes following your movements.

"Just let me thank you properly, okay?"

"W-well," his voice is shaky, your hands roaming over his body, claws now freshly-cut and scraping against his skin deliciously, "I suppose I can't say no to that."

[roukabi]

ROOK!! Do you have any hcs for NYTW!orpheus?

ohohohoho i have Plenty!

Orpheus never knew his parents and doesn't intend to search for them. Though I hc that they’re Apollo and Calliope, with Eurydice having mortal parents.

His earliest memories are of being on the streets, running and stealing, and occasionally charming others with his youthful appearance. 

When Orph was about 10, he stole a bag of grapes from a winery and, while running, hid himself in a bar. And then further hid in a closet.

The owner of this particular bar, Hermes, saw what Orpheus was up to, but instead of turning him in, he decided to coax the child out of hiding and pay for the grapes once the feds caught up with the boy.

Hermes let Orpheus stay the night, though Orph was not having it at all and would not be tricked or softened by this guy!

Spoiler Alert: Hermes gave this feisty child 1 hot chocolate and then he started to warm up to him.

As Orpheus started to stay with Hermes, he started showing interest in music. He liked singing and trying out the bar performers’ instruments, and he was kind of good at it. 

So after a year of them living together, Hermes gets Orpheus a guitar.

And also adopts him.

Note on baby Orph: he’s fuckin adorable. Imagine you’re some musician at a bar, and this 10-year-old in a too-big shirt comes up to you holding a raccoon plushie, looks up at you through the curls hiding his brow with this big smile, and asks to see your instrument. Come on.

okay now here are some actual headcanons instead of a backstory dump lol

He has a massive sweet tooth and his favorite drink is hot cocoa. 

Claustrophobic. Very.

Ambivert.

Autistic because I think having two autistic Orphei is better than one. Not too bothered by sounds or lights, but does not like most textures. Stims with his hands constantly and will rock in his seat from time to time. Ruffy the Raccoon and the red jacket™ are his comfort objects.

Despises any kind of embarassment or humiliation. He will actively avoid even second-hand embarassment, it’s that bad.

Bisexual as hell.

Good with kids and animals, but doesn’t want any children. He and Eurydice think they aren’t prepared for that.

Can sleep in any position, anywhere. Upside down? You bet. Back on the floor and legs on the couch? Yeah. Standing? Probably.

Orpheus is very gentle with Eurydice. They kinda had this effect on each other where they both learned that it’s okay to be soft.

That being said, many a broken nose Orpheus has caused at the bar.

If the Fates weren’t meanies, they’d probably be best frenemies with Orpheus.

Views Persephone as a surrogate mom. Persephone sees Orpheus as a surogate son.

Hermes’ and Orpheus’ relationship crumbles during canon events, when Orpheus’s music starts to become a bit of a problem. Post-turn, it deteriorates into fights.

Post-turn, Orpheus can’t bring himself to be musical anymore; it literally makes him sick just thinking about it.

That said, he wishes he could delve back into his passion again.

Orpheus hates Hades so much that Hades is a little afraid of going up to the surface after canon events.

However, in the event where Orpheus doesn’t turn around, he and Eurydice get a black lab named Charon. Charon is kind of old but he’s a goodboy :)

[skrltwtch]

Starving

Prompt: I work at the butcher shop and we've never spoken, but I recognise you from when you come in to buy fresh meat every month. I don't mind keeping the store open a little past closing since you're running late and seem kind of desperate. This may be weird to mention, but did you know your teeth are getting sharper while we talk? (Source in master list)

Word count: 2,782 words

Genre: Feels, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Someone had the bloody cheek to enter as I was getting ready to close up shop. Our opening hours were indicated on the door. The door. You couldn’t get any clearer than that. When did schools and parents stop teaching their charges not to enter business premises two minutes before closing time?

It was her.

I could make an exception this time, I suppose. She came in often enough and bought more than enough for me to consider her a regular. And she was a lovely person to deal with; I couldn’t say the same for a decent amount of my other regulars, whose business I accepted with gritted teeth.

‘I’m sorry. I know you’re closing soon. Just — please, I’ll take any cuts of meat you have left. I can pay extra for the trouble,’ she said.

Oh, God, what had I done to earn that kind of impression?

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Her pale skin and quivering form said otherwise. ‘I just — I just lost track of time at work. I got here as quickly as I could once I could leave the office. I’m really sorry.’

‘Don’t — it’s okay.’ I packed whatever I had left that would also match the typical volume of her purchases. From the corner of my eye, I saw her pacing up and down the shop, holding herself tightly. Every breath she made reached my ears. She wasn’t fine. Forget small talk then. Just like it wasn’t my business what she did with enough meat to feed a large animal in a day every month, it wasn’t my business why she looked close to falling over.

Maybe it was.

I called her over to the cashier, where approximately four kilogrammes of raw meat awaited her. Despite her stature, she never had any difficulties making it out of the shop with that much in tow. That might not be the case today. She was having a tough time simply getting her wallet out of her bag, and she looked absolutely sickly. Were those … were those tears in her eyes?

I really shouldn’t.

I really should.

‘Hey, are you alright? You don’t look too good,’ I said. Understatement: she appeared to be deteriorating by the second.

‘I’m fine,’ she insisted as she struggled with her wallet this time. I narrowed my eyes at her for a better look at what I thought I saw: her canines extending and swelling into fangs. A cross between a hiccup and a sob squeaked past her throat and into the open.

‘You can come back for payment tomorrow. I can help you with this to your car.’ No, it was now my social responsibility not to let her get behind the wheel. She was barely able to stand. ‘Or I can drop you off at your place … or somewhere nearby if you’re more comfortable with that.’

‘I’m fine,’ she growled.

Literally.

‘Shit, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘It’s … okay …?’ Sorry, my attention was hijacked by the sight of claws, honest-to-God claws, fucking splitting her fingernails open.

She left £100 on the counter and grabbed the parcels I made for her. ‘Please keep the change. You’ve been so kind. I can’t — I can’t come back here anymore.’

I wasn’t given a chance to question why she felt that way. Whatever was plaguing her — and scaring me a little, I had to admit — didn’t give her a chance either to make it out the door, as she’d collapsed not far from the counter. I had no idea how I could even let her walk out alone in the state she was in. I rushed to the phone. ‘I’m calling for help,’ I said.

She got to her hands and knees. That was … encouraging. I think. ‘No, please don’t. You need to go.’ Her voice was distorted and rumbly. Her blouse started to tear across her back, revealing a thin, but growing, layer of … hair. Fur, more like. Not so encouraging anymore.

‘I can’t leave you here alone. What is happening to you?’

She buried her face in her hands — or whatever they were becoming as they stretched and popped. Her feet burst out of her shoes, the same changes happening to them. ‘Don’t laugh.’

‘I promise.’ The rapid decline of her health from when she came in, the physical changes wracking her body, and the animalistic noises she was making drained what I was witnessing dry of any humour. I doubted there was any to begin with. I felt almost like I was seeing something I wasn’t supposed to.

‘Werewolf. I’m a’ — a bark, involuntary, broke up her sentence — ‘werewolf.’

I went to her. Outside, the shades of violet and orange the sky had been awash with were muddling into a dark blue. I ducked my head a little to verify the shape of the moon tonight. None of the passers-by thought to look inside. At this point, I was more worried about someone else becoming privy to her secret than I was about the image of my shop. I didn’t understand how this was happening. It made sense and no sense at the same time.

‘You can stay in the storeroom tonight. You’ll be safe.’

She kept her head down. ‘Your boss? Okay?’ Her speech was strained.

‘I’m the boss of me.’ I knew my decision not to hire extra help would pay off someday. ‘Come on.’

‘Thank you.’

She stood up. I shifted my gaze elsewhere, as tempting as it was to see what a werewolf looked like mid-transformation. I showed her the way to the storeroom. It was due for a cleanup anyway. Her constant twitching and whining next to me didn’t go unnoticed. I took it to mean that she was controlling herself from either changing completely until I was out of her way or hurting me. I could be completely way off base, of course. The only piece of werewolf media I ever consumed was An American Werewolf in London (I was more of a zombie person myself), and … well, from what I’d seen tonight, the filmmakers got the transformation right, I’d say.

She took off what was left of her clothes once she was inside, and her transformation … accelerated. I closed the door to give her privacy — and to drown out the horrific noises. Nothing about the human body should produce what I was hearing. Things went quiet, eventually. I opened the door ever so slightly. ‘I’ll be here all night,’ I said despite not knowing whether she’d know what I was saying, ‘so you won’t be alone.’ I should be safe on this side of the door: the change had stripped her of opposable thumbs. The keyword was ‘should’.

The darkness coupled with her black fur made it impossible for me to see the creature she had become. Did I want to see? I still couldn’t shake off the feeling like I’d been some kind of voyeur; her appearance mattered naught to me, though I’d understand if she thought — she likely did — it would. Then she threw herself against the door, slamming both the actual thing and the door to my maiden glimpse at a real werewolf shut.

She loosed a howl that drove home the point that I had a werewolf in my storeroom. That I had been selling meat to a werewolf for her consumption. That the sweet, cheery petite lady who came in once a month was a werewolf. I wondered, then, if what she was like as a human carried over to her wolf self. If it did, I should be safe, right?

… There it was again: ‘should’.

I went back to what I was doing before what I knew about this world had been violently upended. I thanked God — should I? Did He or did He not exist? — that tomorrow was my day off. I was going to spend it with a good book and minimal to no human contact in the comfort of my living room. Now I was only interested in contemplating my place in the universe. What else was out there? Were any of the people walking past as I went to advertise the shop’s official closure for the day harbouring similar secrets as well?

Baleful whines transcended the door and filled the air. I picked up the parcels she’d dropped. Could she be hungry? It was worth a shot. I unwrapped one parcel. The closer I got to the storeroom, the more charged she got. I never dreamt I’d get to know the extent of damage a werewolf’s claws could do to a door in this lifetime. I threw the slab of meat as deep inside as I could. While she went to examine what it was that I’d left to her mercy, I turned on the lights to benefit us both.

What I got to see at last was ineffective in reeling in my disbelief. Where I’d left a quaking, infirm woman now stood a massive black wolf rending raw meat like paper. Despite looking almost indistinguishable from an ordinary wolf, there was an unsettling quality to her proportions and demeanour that made it hard for me to remember my manners and stop fucking staring. She was … beautifully horrifying and frighteningly stunning all at once. In some sick, twisted way, it made sense that something like her — something like what she’d become — couldn’t have come about naturally.

She turned to look at me, her jaw dripping with blood and her tail … wagging.

I regained control of my senses quickly enough to leave. The slamming of the door failed to mute her whimper at — missing out on her chance at a tasty human? Being alone in the storeroom again? Best I didn’t read too much into it. I fed her the rest of the meat she bought. She refused to eat the last piece, yet she wailed when I left her be.

‘I don’t think I’d taste very good. I’m lean and stringy,’ I said through the crack in the door. ‘And bland, like most English food.’

I didn’t know what to make of the bark that followed my attempt at a witticism.

I felt bad for her. Wolves were social animals, weren’t they? Then again, who’d feel bad for me upon discovering my mutilated body in my shop? No one had attempted to romanticise werewolves like the likes of Anne Rice and the Twilight author had done with vampires, and probably with good reason, as I willed myself to remember how she, a soft-spoken woman an hour ago, devoured almost four kilogrammes of meat in record time. The ending of An American Werewolf in London wasn’t a happy one, for God’s sake! (Maybe I should stop invoking God’s name for now.)

‘Can you understand me?’ I said. ‘Bark … um, bark twice for yes’, so it wouldn’t be a coincidence.

And she did.

Well, fuck me.

I sighed. ‘Are you … are you lonely? Bark twice for yes.’

Silence.

For the longest time, until she barked again, softly, mournfulness plain to hear in the two notes.

✦✧✦✧

My back! G— fuck, my back. How the fuck did I sleep last night?

Right. I slept in a chair outside the storeroom.

I stretched to get rid of the kinks in my back. Yeah, that was it. That was the spot. No, that one. That other one was definitely it. Relief — sweet, glorious relief. How the hell did I even fall asleep in a chair anyway?

‘Hey, you’re awake.’

I turned to the direction of the voice that had no reason to be here at this time of day. Or at all. No one was allowed here but me. Why was I in the shop? Wasn’t today my day off? What happened last night? Why, of all things instead, did I remember not to use God’s name as a synonym for ‘fuck’? I also didn’t remember finding religion last night. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I needed water.

I focused my eyes on the figure in front of me.

It was her.

Oh.

Oh.

‘Yeah, I am now.’ Without a doubt. ‘How are you?’

She declined my offer to have my seat. My legs demanded that I continue standing to get the blood flowing. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. I could believe her this time. She was wearing one of my aprons over the tattered remnants of her clothes. ‘Thank you for … um.’ Her pause made me think her admission last night was the first time she said those words out loud to someone else. ‘Thank you.’

‘It was nothing. You looked … really sick yesterday’: I took a leaf out of her book

She smiled. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to be polite. I know what I am.’ Her words were shaded with the same tint of sadness as when she confided in me about her loneliness.

‘No. You — the wolf — you were …’ Tame? She wasn’t an animal. She was … ‘You didn’t hurt — I’m fine.’ I held up both my hands to show her the absence of any marks, and she could very well see I wasn’t missing any limbs. ‘I’m fine,’ I repeated, ‘except for this sudden bout of scrambled egg for brains, but in my defence (or not), this is how I am a fair bit of the time. Who put me in charge of a meat slicer?’

‘You’re very kind. And cute,’ I thought I heard her say under her breath. ‘Thank you. How can I repay you for last night?’

‘You don’t have to. The meat’s on the house, too.’ Nothing to do with what I thought she said. ‘I’ll return you your £100 on the way out.’

‘No. Please. I could’ve done something bad to you.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘Please. There has to be something I can do for you. I’d feel terrible otherwise.’

I truly wanted nothing from her. I survived a night with a werewolf. That by itself was a fantastic reward. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. Well …

‘Were you serious about not coming to my shop anymore?’

‘I … if that’s what you want, I can go elsewhere. If you’re going to tell the other butchers not to sell to me because of what I am, that’s okay, too. I’ll figure something out.’

‘No. G— shit. That’s awful. I’m not —’ Why did she always jump to the worst conclusions about me? ‘No, promise me you’ll come back to my shop. That’s all I ask. And … your name. You’ve been coming here for years, and I don’t even know your name.’ I knew some of my customers’ names — and not necessarily the ones that mattered. Like her. ‘It’s not about the business I get from you, by the way. I don’t care what you are. I don’t know why you are what you are, and I have so many questions, but I do know it’s none of my business. I won’t judge.’

She nodded. ‘Thank you. I promise. I’ll come back. I’ll come back when it’s not the full moon and I didn’t skip lunch because I was too busy with work. And my name’s Eloise.’

‘I’m George.’

‘It’s lovely to meet you, George. Now you know why I buy so much meat on one day of every month. You’re the only person who knows what I am.’

‘I won’t tell anyone. You have my word.’

‘Thank you. I know I’ve said that a lot of times already, but I mean each and every one of them.’ Her eyes roved around the space. ‘I should go now. I have work in a couple of hours at best … or I’m late at worst. And you probably need to get ready, too. You should be opening soon … or I’ve made you late. It’s on your door.’

‘I have the day off today. Great timing, huh? Are you sure you’re good to drive?’

‘Yes, I can definitely manage much better today than I would’ve have yesterday. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just so hungry …’ She shook her head, expelling a breath signalling disapproval. ‘I’ll return this’ — she yanked at an apron strap — ‘to you tomorrow as well.’

‘Actually … one more thing. So we’re really even.’

‘Yes?’

‘Would you perhaps like to meet for coffee later, please?’ I could only navel-gaze for so long.

She looked taken aback. That and her response, articulated in three softly spoken words — ‘I’d love to’, led me to believe that what she was like as a human did indeed carry over to her wolf self.

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 9

“Don’t kill Cardan.”

The Bomb cocks her head to the side. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I… don’t.”

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Read chapter 9 on AO3, or read below:

The Bomb returns sometime later with a liter bottle of spring water and Tylenol. “Prescription strength,” she tells me, dispensing two pills into my open palm. “Good stuff.”

“Whose prescription?” I croak, sitting up. It feels like every ounce of liquid in me is squeezing itself out as sweat or something else. Masturbating only helps so much—the only thing that abates the worst heat symptoms is mating with an alpha. And since that’s not happening, it’ll just have to run its course.

Oblivious to my true suffering, she winks at me.

I throw the Tylenol back and wash them down with a swallow of cool water, then keep drinking. My mouth has grown so dry. But I wrench the bottle away from my mouth and say “Leave it” when the Bomb moves to take the pills back.

She gives me a look. “I’ll be back to give you more later, but I’m not leaving this with you. For all I know, you’d shut down your liver to make us take you to the hospital.”

I blink at her, wretchedly aware of the heat of my skin where my eyelids press together. I hadn’t even thought of that.

“Crap,” she says, fumbling in the plastic bag. “I should have taken your temperature first. Hold on, maybe we can still get it before the meds kick in.” She clicks her tongue. “Chemistry I like fine, drugs, sure—but nursing isn’t my area.”

“What is your area?” I ask. I don’t really feel like talking to anyone, but my curiosity is strong enough that I push through it. Anything to learn more about the people who’ve taken us.

The Bomb holds up her prize, a thermometer still in its plastic packaging, and grins at me. “I like blowing stuff up. I dabble in hacking. Basically, if there’s a wall, I want to bring it down.”

I shift in my blankets. It’s an endearing answer, but I worry that any positive feelings toward our kidnappers is budding Stockholm Syndrome. “This must be a boring job for you.”

“It was supposed to be, yeah.” She wrestles the thermometer out of the plastic and hands it to me. “You have a way of keeping things interesting. And Cardan’s a riot. I hope we don’t have to kill him.”

The beep of the thermometer turning on immediately after that statement makes me jump. “You said you wouldn’t,” I protest. “You said you’d take care of us.”

“I know. Our employer’s anxious about how much you’ve both seen and heard. But we can’t kill you, so there isn’t much of a point to getting rid of him. And between you and me, the Roach is very fond of him.”

“So—”

“Stick that thing in your mouth,” she says. “We don’t have all day.”

I glare but stick the cold tip of the thermometer under my tongue and wait for it to start beeping again.

The Bomb leans over, reading the lit-up display—red, already a bad sign. “One hundred point nine,” she announces. “No wonder you’re miserable.”

“No real danger though,” I sigh, pulling it out of my mouth and giving it a little shake. Would they really take me to the hospital if my condition deteriorated? Maybe I should consider trying to dehydrate myself. That’s the real danger of going through heat without a partner. I could do it, I think. “Forget” to drink, drive the fever higher. But our current circumstances are already precarious, and there are a million ways this might end badly for me. The headache is pulsing stronger over my left eye already, and the last thing I need is a full-blown migraine. I take a sip of water and silently will the Tylenol to kick in faster.

“We’ll keep an eye on you,” she affirms.

I wipe my hand on the back of my mouth, already feeling a little more like a person instead of a sweaty blob of hormones. “Don’t kill Cardan.”

The Bomb cocks her head to the side. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I… don’t.” I cap the bottle, looking down at my hands. My cheeks are hot again, which at least means some blood in my body has decided to circulate instead of pooling in my groin. “But I don’t think he deserves to die. He didn’t do anything.”

“Hmm,” says the Bomb, mulling it over.

I jerk my head up, but she’s smiling at me. Teasing. I flush again. “I’m just saying. I don’t see you guys as killers, anyway.”

Her voice has a dangerous edge to it when she asks, “You don’t?”

I shake my head to clear it. I may be sick, but I can’t allow myself to forget where I am and who I am with. The Ghost shot me already, and it’s easier than I’d like to imagine the Roach’s twisted features contorting further as he plunges a knife into someone’s back. “Maybe just you?” I offer.

“Well, you’re not far off. Murder is a messy business. I prefer to set the charges and wait at a safe distance. But we all do what we have to.” She shifts, and I must look worried, because she adds, “He’s probably going to be fine.”

“Probably,” I echo, and then sigh. “His family’s even more messed up than mine.”

“Well, your dad is Madoc.”

“My parents are dead,” I say.

“Oh,” says the Bomb. But no apology, no condolences. I kind of appreciate that. I learned a long time ago that no amount of apologies would bring my mom and dad back.

“And my sister—never mind.” I shake my head. I really must be addled if I’m spilling my guts to a stranger. Is this Stockholm Syndrome? Is this how it starts? “At least she’s not trying to kill me.”

“It’s another level of family drama,” she agrees. “The Kardashians have nothing on the Greenbriars.”

I try to work out why I feel comfortable around the Bomb. I think her frankness reminds me a bit of Vivi. She never bought into the pretensions of our new life—she wanted out as soon as she was in. And she talks about it like she really is outside of it. The Bomb is like that. She says what she means. She isn’t bowled over by anything.

“How can you do it?” I ask. “How can you do this kind of work for them? Is it really just the money?”

The Bomb blinks at me, her eyes large and luminous in the dark. Her brows draw together, and she looks past me. I seem to have struck a nerve, and for a moment I think she isn’t going to answer my question. Then, at last, she says, “It isn’t just that. The Roach and I—we owe them a lot. I think if… we might not be alive now, if not for what they did.”

“That’s worth kidnapping for? Maybe killing for?”

She looks back down at me. “I know you’ve had shit happen, Jude. I’m not interested in a competition there. But I think Madoc’s kept you from a lot of bad stuff, given you options. Some of us aren’t so lucky.”

“I know that,” I protest. How many Designation Equality Club meetings had Taryn and I attended in our time? Vivi was president for a little while, I think to spite Madoc. “I know it’s not all mansions and parties. And you know, bad stuff can happen in parties and mansions too.”

“Sure. We are the bad stuff.” She flashes me a grin, then says, “Just think about what could have happened if Madoc hadn’t been there to catch you guys. Where you might have ended up. What you might have done to get out of it.”

My stomach twists. I have, of course, thought about that, but it’s an alternate universe that I can’t look directly at, like a solar eclipse. It’s easier to think about two branching possibilities: parents alive, or parents dead with Madoc intervention. Thinking about Madoc never showing, about Taryn and Vivi and I getting put in foster care, maybe separated… it’s so dim and distant.

“I’m not interested in a competition either,” I tell her. “I mean, I am judging you a little for kidnapping us. I will judge you harder if you kill Cardan.”

“No one’s going to kill Cardan,” the Bomb says, patting my shoulder. “You should lie back down. I’m surprised you’ve been upright this long.”

I scowl, but my head is already beginning to feel swimmy, so I settle back into my blankets. “I’m really stubborn.”

“I got that.” The Bomb gathers up her things, but leaves the water bottle within reach. I am grateful.

Just before she can put her hand on the doorknob, I call softly, “If you kill Cardan, I’ll kill you.”

She looks back over her shoulder at me, looking oddly fond. Maybe a gang of kidnappers and thieves respects threats. “Yeah,” she says. “I got that one, too.”

---

Cardan somehow manages to con his way into spending a lot of time outside of the cell. I am not sure how long, because I am curled up toward the wall and barely notice the light from the window wax and wane. But as the day passes his scent starts to go stale and sour, and I pick my head up every time someone opens the door.

It’s always the Bomb, returning to give me more Tylenol or hand me fresh fruit—not fast food, therefore a luxury. It occurs to me then that they kept buying us stuff from a drive-thru or grocery store because they didn’t think they would have us for long and didn’t bother stocking up. But someone must have thought to buy one a bag of mandarins this time, because I am given a couple to nibble on after each dose.

“Boosts the immune system,” the Bomb says when she drops off the first one. She seems in a good mood, probably because the medication has managed to wrestle my fever down to a balmy ninety-nine. Achy and hollow, I just give her a nod. My hands shake when I peel it, but I can peel it, and I’m grateful for that. I have been so humiliated already, and I can probably take more, but I don’t want to.

I slip into a weird daze for the second half of the day. Even though the fever is gone and my cramps are easier to bear, I find myself cursing Cardan’s name. I am pretty sure his presence made my heat worse—just the presence of an alpha, a desirable one, has convinced my body that there’s a chance I might mate, so it’s punishing me worse for abstaining. The longer he’s gone, the more clearheaded I feel, to the extent that my head can clear. And I am angry, at him for intensifying my misery, and at myself, for being like this in the first place.

By the time he returns, any trace of sunlight is gone. He walks slowly, shuffling behind the Bomb. Even as she talks to me and I nod along, sticking the thermometer in my mouth, my eyes track his progress as he settles in his corner.

His hair is damp, his scent shot through with the floral soap from the bathroom. He showered before coming in. I am unreasonably jealous of him. My hair is plastered to the back of my neck with sweat, and my thighs are basically stuck together with dried—anyway, I haven’t left the room all day, not even to pee. I feel like a damp towel someone wrung out and left to dry over the side of a sink.

After I’ve taken the Tylenol, the Bomb hands me a paper napkin with two more pills folded in it. “In case you wake up in the middle of the night,” she explains.

“It’s night?” I ask.

“We sleep in shifts. If there’s an emergency, have Cardan pound on the door.”

“Why me?” Cardan asks. He’s assumed his usual posture, with his leg propped up and his arm balanced casually on his knee. I wonder if the Bomb notices the rigidity in his shoulders, the tension in the line of his mouth. I do.

“I don’t think Jude’s going anywhere anytime soon.”

I sniff derisively, which is a bad move, because I get a fresh whiff of Cardan and am forced to bury my face in my pillow to smother a whimper.

“Point taken,” Cardan says. “Night. Thanks…” I imagine the rest of his sentence curling up and dying at the novelty of him thanking anybody for anything, but he manages to continue. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

The Bomb dusts off her knees as she stands up. “No problem. If she dies, we’re extraordinarily screwed.”

“I know. Still.”

She nods, then leaves. This time, I hear her lock the door behind her. Cardan and I are once again stuck together, alone.

I turn over and curl toward the wall again so I don’t stare. It’s not like heat gives you night vision, but for a couple of seconds he seemed to be a crisp outline in the near darkness of our cell. I don’t want to be tempted. I don’t.

“How, uh.” Cardan clears his throat and tries again, awkwardly. “How was your day?”

“Sucked,” I mutter.

“Yeah.”

“Yours?”

“Sucked less, probably.” He pauses. “But still sucked. I, um, I wanted to check on you.”

“It’s okay.” I shift my head. There’s a twinge in my abdomen, but at least it’s not another full cramp. “Did you learn any neat card tricks?”

“Yeah, actually. The Roach says I’m a fast learner.”

“High praise from a career criminal.”

Cardan chuckles, and my heart jumps. I made him laugh. I don’t know why that affects me the way it does. It must be the heat, another weird side effect. “I should’ve brought the deck in. To show you.”

“If we get through this, you can show me another time.”

“Oh yeah?” I can tell he cracks a smile just by the way his voice picks up. “You’re still gonna want to hang out when we’re out of here?”

I press my lips together to keep from echoing a smile. “I don’t know,” I say to the wall. “Maybe I’ll be too busy with my cool new friends from college to make time for you. And maybe you’ll be too busy hanging out with the Roach. Although that’s honestly an upgrade from your normal crowd.”

“Ouch.”

“He’s not a douchebag alpha,” I point out.

“I don’t know what he is.” I can picture Cardan shaking his head. “I sat next to him for most of the day and I still don’t have a clue. He sounds like an alpha, but he doesn’t really look like one. He doesn’t smell like anything. He and the Bomb seem to have some kind of communication going, but I don’t know if that means they’re mated, or… just close, I guess.”

“I think the Bomb’s an omega,” I say. “Like me. We kind of had a moment earlier.” I screw up my face in thought. “It bothers me that I still can’t get a clear read on her scent, though. Especially now. That’s weird. What do they have to hide?”

“Maybe they’re all betas,” Cardan suggests. “They don’t give off the same pheromones we do.”

I snort. “That’s not possible.”

“Betas exist.”

“Yeah. They’re one in a thousand. The odds that there would be three in one place...”

“Impossibly low, yeah. You’re right.” He sighs. “Well, we’ve seen their faces, but maybe they don’t want to leave scent markers around so they can be tracked that way. That seems like a smart crime thing… to do.”

My lips twitch again. “A ‘smart crime thing?’”

“Oh, like you could do better.”

I snicker, but then the cell falls quiet. We have officially exhausted every subject that will keep us from facing our circumstances, and we know it.

“So,” Cardan says, “now what?”

I don’t know. I cannot imagine spending the night in this cell with him, like this. But I am supposed to be the one with the plans.” “Um, I guess we try to sleep.”

“Right, right. Will it hurt your foot if I take the pillow under it? I’d ask to borrow a blanket, but…”

“No, I get it,” I rush. The blankets are in no condition to be lent, but I’ve left him without any bedding and anywhere to sleep. “Definitely take the pillow.”

There is silence, in which I can imagine him nodding, then the rustle of his clothes as he crawls over to take the pillow propped up under my leg. His hand skims my foot, and it’s like an electric current zings up my body. I hold my breath, waiting for something else to happen, but I just hear him move back to his corner.

“Do you want, um, my sweatshirt?” I offer.

He scoffs, “I don’t think it’ll fit, Duarte.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re such an asshole. To keep your arms warm, because you don’t have a blanket.”

There’s a longer pause than the situation calls for, and then he says, “Yeah, toss it over.”

I make myself sit up so I can unzip it, then ball it up and fling it toward him as hard as I can. I am not feeling very strong, but the room is short, so it lands at his feet anyway. He picks it up and buries his face in it.

“Oh, you pervert,” I scold, even as my stomach does a flip. I am surprised to find I’m not mad. I’m not even annoyed. What had I thought was going to happen when I threw it over to him? It’s saturated with my pheromones.

And my scent. Which he’s supposed to hate.

“I just,” he says, taking another sniff. There’s a fuzzy edge to his voice. “I thought it would help. Since we can’t—I don’t know, I just thought it would help.”

I force myself to lie back down and turn around and not watch, even though I am unbearably curious. My face is hot, and heat gathers between my thighs again. It’s just the pheromones. It’s just the circumstances. If my mind were less addled, maybe I could make more sense of all this, but I cannot.

A minute or so later I hear him shift again. “Yeah, it’s a good blanket,” he says. “Thank you, Jude.”

“Sure.”

Then all is silent again, and I think he has fallen asleep. It seems impossible that he could. I am so weary, but my arousal is skewering me like a hot spike, and I keep listening for him on the other side of the room. There’s no way I can seek relief with him here, and no way I can sleep like this.

“Cardan,” I say, breathily. “Are you awake?”

He whispers back, “Yeah.”

I shift. It’s like parts of my body flare to life at just the sound of his voice. “What do you think would happen if you came over here?”

“You don’t—want that, right?”

I don’t know what I want. I think I am closer to wanting him—to wanting at all—and then the memory of Valerian using his knee to try and wedge my thighs apart comes back. I pull the blankets tighter around me. “This sucks so much.”

“Yeah.”

“Less for you, right?”

“You think so?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t you flooded with adrenaline or whatever it is that theoretically enables you to keep thrusting for days on end?”

Cardan chuckles. “Wow. You must really be far gone if you’re willing to put me and ‘thrusting’ in the same sentence.”

My cheeks warm. “I meant ‘you’ as in ‘alphas.’ Don’t be dumb. And aren’t you used to this?”

“From—oh. The O?”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, that’s different. They alter it somehow, on a chemical level. All of the euphoria and adrenaline, none of the, uh… the aches or the erections lasting longer than four hours. You know, stuff you want to avoid if you’re not in rut for real.”

“Right, makes sense.” I hesitate. “So, you are? I couldn’t tell.”

“What?” He sounds incredulous. “Yeah, yes, I am. Of course I am. There’s like no space between us and no ventilation. It would be impossible for me not to be.”

“Alright, alright.” I squeeze my pillow a little tighter. “You just seem so…”

“So…?”

“Clear,” I finish. “And calm. Calmer than this morning, at least.”

Cardan is quiet for a second before he asks, “Remember this morning, you asked if I was afraid of you?”

My heart thumps. “Yeah?”

“I’m not. I’m afraid of me. I’m afraid of… of...” He grasps for words. “I’m afraid of all the stuff I want to do. Because I’m coming to a realization that’s very painful and you can’t laugh, but I am, and it’s, it’s important—I don’t want to be like Valerian. Or like my brothers. Or even like Locke. I want to be different. I don’t know if there is a different, but I want to be it.”

I am so bewildered that I don’t reply. For as long as I have known Cardan, he’s never been anything other than a bully, a terror, delighting in other people’s suffering, reigning from the top of the food chain. He always seemed to enjoy being an alpha, relish it. I can’t make heads or tails of what he’s telling me now.

Is he saying he doesn’t want to hurt me? He’s never cared before.

But I think about him tucking the blankets around me, gingerly propping my foot up on the pillow this morning, and I wonder.

“It wouldn’t be like Valerian,” I whisper, but he must have fallen asleep, because he says nothing.

Next

[redhairedfeistynerd]

A Very Bucky Thanksgiving

Bucky Barnes x reader, singledad!Bucky, Riley and Piper Barnes, Steve Rogers

Summary: This is the first year Bucky has invited someone special to join in on their Thanksgiving dinner.Will everything go smoothly?

Warnings: some swearing, some sly sexual conversation, teasing, some humour

Word Count: 3K +

A/N: I originally wrote this piece for Canadian Thanksgiving but here we are!  I hope you enjoy another moment with the Barnes family.

For as long as his girls have been in this world, Bucky has been passionate about baking. He figures this came to fruition when his ex-wife started spending more time out of the house and preferred being away on business trips than building a life with him and their young girls. As their relationship slowly deteriorated, Bucky found solace in pastries, cookies, and breads. Navigating his way through forums and how-to videos online, searching for recipes like he once hunted for his latest mission.

His girls had requested their favourites for this last-minute weekend celebration. Pumpkin pie with maple cream, pumpkin walnut scones, and a new treat he was testing out today, pumpkin spiced doughnuts with maple salted glaze, and for his sweet lady friend; a pecan pie.

Bucky could smell the doughnuts before the time reached zero. The soft smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted through his two-story house, reaching him while he tidied up the bathroom from the girls attack on it early that same morning. Wiping down the counter, he flicked off the light, bounding down the stairs to the kitchen as the last seconds wound down on the timer. Oven mitt on, doughnuts pulled out of the oven (he was trying out a baked version this time) he had about an hour before the girls would burst in the front door after a day of shopping the holiday sales.

The weekend plans had changed at the last minute, his ex (Jackie) had cancelled on the girls again. The girls were to fly up to their mothers' cabin in Whistler, B.C. for a Canadian Thanksgiving but a last-minute job had come up and she chose that over her kids.

Bucky was not impressed by her choice. Riley rolled her eyes at the news and muttered “big surprise” when Bucky relayed the message to his youngest daughter.

Jackie always chose work before their daughters. Her new husband had more importance to her these days.

Her influencer status has skyrocketed after she left Bucky, leaving him high and dry to raise the girls. He didn't see it as an issue though, he loved his girls and if he had to do this on his own, then that's what he would set out to do. His Avengers status pushed away a few years before, he found that he was calling Steve a bit more during those earlier years. Sometimes he needs a break, to sit in a quiet room where Riley wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs, which would have Piper in tears. There was something magical about Uncle Steve though, maybe it was his rich voice, whispering sweet words to Riley to ease the screams to a low whimper. Maybe it was the way he sang the sweet songs of the 40s to stop the tears flowing from Piper's bright blue eyes. Whatever it was that Steve had, Bucky was extremely thankful for.  

One of their first Thanksgivings without Jackie, had both girls sick with the stomach flu. He'd never seen anything as disgusting as what his young girls were dishing out.  

Blood, wounds, and other violent memories had nothing on this. Who knew little people could cause THAT much mess?

Bucky was exhausted. Riley had finally fallen asleep on the couch and Piper was sprawled out in the master bedroom on his bed, resembling a starfish.

With one last swipe of the kitchen counter, Bucky tossed the rag in the laundry basket and released a sigh of completion. Turning on the hood fan, he turned off the track lights and walked towards his daughter who was now snoring lightly on the couch, when a soft knocking came from his front door. Puzzled, he turned away from his sleeping daughter and made his way to the entryway. He opened the door to Steve's smiling face.

"What are you..."

"Nat phoned and gave me the heads up that you were literally drowning in shit."

"Language," grumbled Bucky as he opened the door wider to let Steve in.

Steve chuckled and took a good look at Bucky. "Man, you're looking a little rough around the edges."

"You would too if you were knee deep in dirty laundry and had two goblins that were puking so much, they make that scene in the Exorcist look tame.

Steve scrunched his nose and tried to shake the memory of that scene out of his head. The previous year, Bucky had invited his old team over for a horror movie night while the girls were spending the night with their mom. Steve still hadn't forgiven Bucky for subjecting him to that movie. "Absolutely disgusting."

Bucky grunted and shut the door, Steve following him from the entryway and up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Here, Nat made some soup for you and the girls, if they are feeling up to eating it,” Steve said holding out the package.

“Oh ya, thanks. I’m sure the girls will appreciate their Aunty Nat making her famous soup,” he nods his head in thanks before muttering “hopefully it's not pea soup,” and walks across the kitchen.

Steve watches as Bucky tucks the soup away in the fridge, noticing how stringy his hair has become and when he looks his way, the dark circles are around his eyes. “Hey Buck, why don’t you leave the tidying up to me and you go take a shower, relax a bit.”

Bucky shuts the fridge door and looks at Steve. “Are you sure you want to clean up this cesspool?” He asks as his arms waving to point out the mess around the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m here to help you out, all right?” Bucky nods and pats Steve on the shoulder on his way up to the bathroom.

Steve manages to tidy up the first floor of the house, shift Riley from the couch to her bed, and fold a load of laundry. He’s pouring hot water into a mug when Bucky walks back in, looking like the shower did its job. “You want a cup of tea?” He asks Bucky when he sit down at the kitchen table.

“Please, a cup of something black so I can keep my eyes open for a bit longer. You feel like watching a funny movie? I feel like I need a good laugh after what this week has been like.”  

“Sounds good, how about you go on down and put something on, I’ll bring the tea and some snacks for us,” Steve replies and pours a second mug full of water.  

The men settle in and watch a classic comedy, quiet laughter sailing out of both of their mouths, trying to be quiet while the girls sleep. Steve decides on a second movie and they watch until they fall asleep on the couches.  

Bucky wakes up, his stomach twisting, and the pain, THE PAIN. "You've got to be fucking kidding.” He lurches off the sectional and runs to the bathroom by the laundry room.

Steve wakes from the sounds of his friend slamming the bathroom door, the unmentionable sounds have Steve pulling his pillow over his head. When he moves it away several minutes later, all he hears is silence. Steve gets up from the couch and makes his way to the bathroom, gently knocking on the door. "Bucky? Are you alive in there?"

"Fucking kill me, please,” he begs and Steve hears his best friend heave again.

Steve camps out at the Barnes household during that Thanksgiving weekend. There is no turkey, no pumpkin pie, or a dysfunctional family fight. Everything is quiet as Bucky careens himself in his bedroom while Steve manages the rest of the household. He keeps the girls busy and out of Bucky’s hair for several days; visits to the ice cream shop and to the park near their home, keeps them smiling and giggling while their dad is at home, miserable in bed.

Steve sits back on the park bench and admires the colours changing all around him; the leaves sway from left to right, falling gently down to the ground. Piles of brown and yellow sit before him, raked into tidy piles. He gets and idea, something to cheer Bucky up the last few days of having the stomach flu. He calls the girls over and tells them his plan to make their dad smile. He makes a video of them, jumping in the leaves and throwing them around, their laughter warming his heart. When the girls have finished frolicking in the mounds of colourful leaves, he takes each other their hands in his and begins the walk back to the house. He’ll send the little video to Bucky in the morning when he heads out and back to work.  

Bucky still smiles at the memory of that little video. He can now smile about his treacherous first Thanksgiving as a single dad but he made it up every year that followed; this year, he has to make up for what his ex has left behind. Riley is pressuring him to make her mom's famous stuffing (he laughs at this because this is a recipe that she took from a cookbook he had from his mom) Piper has decided that Bucky is THE WORST because he is going to kill an innocent turkey and all she wants is for him to save one (and yes, he does donate to a local farm that saves turkeys later in the week) and have it live the rest of its life, in their backyard. He notes that she will have a plate of vegetables tonight and he has no idea if that is sufficient enough for a teenage girl who that is 15.  

“Cranberries sauce”

“Check!”

“Water chestnuts.”

“Check!”

“Wait, what the heck are water chestnuts for, Pop?”

Bucky is sitting on the kitchen floor sorting through the pantry and about to answer when he sees you creeping into the kitchen, hiding behind his oldest, about to scare her. Her arms wrap around Piper and she squeezes her tightly expelling a high-pitched squeak.  

He will never get over how beautiful her smile is when her eyes meet his. His heart beats so fast that he’s afraid she will be able to see it pounding in his chest.  

The flowers she is holding scream fall – oranges, yellows, and reds – the cute Chinese lanterns that she adores, wobble back and forth as she walks towards him. She reaches for him with her free hand and pulls him into a tight hug, whispering “you look extra handsome today, soldier.”

“He got his hair trimmed for you,” Riley shouts from the top of the stairs and watches as her father’s face turns as red as the Gerbera's in the bouquet. She snorts as she walks down the stairs at Bucky’s embarrassment and hops down the last few steps to pull y/n into a hug.

“Hi sweetness, I missed your smiling face,” Y/N says into Riley’s strawberry blond curls.

“Missed you too. Are you ready for your first Barnes Annual Canadian Thanksgiving?” Riley asks while rocking on her feet.

Y/N looks at her, “Is it any different from the other Thanksgiving I would be having?

“Well duh, this one if full of maple syrup, poutine, and never-ending skits by Bob and Doug Mackenzie!

Bucky bursts out laughing and poor Y/N is looking between the two of them, lost when it came to the last item. “Okay, okay, Ri, leave the poor woman alone. Here love, let me take those flowers and put them in a vase.” Bucky squeezes her waist gently, taking the colourful bouquet from her hands. She follows him to the cabinet housing the vase and sniffs the air.

“What’s is that smell? It’s so-

“Delicious?” Riley adds as she passes by Y/N and hops up onto a bar stool? “Your taste buds are in for an incredible treat. Dad is the best baker this city has!”

“Pretty sure I’m not hun, but thank you for boosting me up a bit.” Bucky’s cheeks changing in colour, somewhat embarrassed by his daughter's compliment.

“Oh, come on dad, that’s why all the moms are always swooning when you join the bake sales,” Piper chirps in.

“The moms swoon over your dad? I’m pretty sure that has more to do with his-” she’s cut off by Bucky shoving a Snickerdoodle in her mouth. Squinted her eyes at him and waving her finger as if she’s promising to get him back later. He can’t help but smirk and squeeze her side.

“Shhh, my sweet. Don’t be telling my girls how irresistible I am,” he whispers into her ear and kisses it.

Riley makes gagging sounds from behind her dad and Piper’s face turns red from the affection their father is showing Y/N. This is the not the first time they have seen their father with a woman but this specific woman has done something to their father. He’s smiling, he whistles while he bakes, and he’s happy.  

Y/N turns to face Riley, “Oh kid, are we embarrassing you? Making you feel a little queasy inside?” She walks over to Bucky as he arranges the flowers in the vase and loudly kisses his cheek and laughs. “How about that Ri?”

“You’re the worst,” Riley chuckles and grabs the serving spoons to put on the table.  

Bucky pulls Y/N into a hug and kisses her lightly on the lips. He can taste the Snickerdoodle and it makes him wish he could fully indulge but he restrains, knowing that tonight they’ll have time alone once the girls head to their rooms for the night. He brings his lips to her forehead before taking the flowers to the table and placing them in the centre.  

“All right ladies, let’s get this show on the road!”  

“Don’t you mean Barnes’, Assemble!” Piper asks with a smirk on her face. Bucky just shook his head, a big smile across his face.

“Tell me where you want me, Barnes,” Y/N said as she looked at Bucky, his smirk telling her that where he wanted her was not in the kitchen.

“Turkey is in the oven, that weird Tofurky thing is in there too, I need to add the water chestnuts to the beans, the pot of potatoes needs to boil, and in a bit, we can get the rest of the veggies going too. Who’s good with making gravy?”

“I hope you made stuffing for me that isn’t in that bird, dad,” Piper said, giving her dad one of her teenage looks.

Bucky slides a bowl across the counter to his oldest so she can see the stuffing he made; animal free. “It’s vegan sweetie, I hope you like it,” Bucky responds. “I found this recipe online, some popular blog.” He watches as she scoops a bit of the warm food in her mouth, and can’t help but chuckle when a groan of satisfaction spills out.  

Y/N can’t help but take a scoop for herself, a squeal of delight escaping her mouth. “Shit, Barnsey, you’ve been holding back! Where have you been all my life?” She laughs and walks back over to him, wrapping her arms around him and going in for a quick kiss. “Let’s get this show on the road! All pots on boil!” She shouts and turns the last pot on.

The Barnes family and their first-time guest are indulging in their feast within an hour. Nothing but chewing and soft music can be heard at the table. It always amazes Bucky that it takes hours upon hours of work for this one evening and within minutes the food is gone. He’s thankful though; for his girls, for the life he now has, and for you. He wouldn’t change anything. One last scoop of mashed potatoes goes into his mouth and he places his fork down. “So, do you three want dessert now or do you want to digest a bit first?” Riley stands up from her seat and throws her hands in the air. “Roll out the cart of desserts for us to feast upon, father!”  

All Bucky can do is laugh, she’s always been the dramatic one and he lives for these moments. “Riley, I haven’t said what I’m thankful for yet this evening but one of those things I’m thankful for the humour you provide in this family.”

“Aww Pops, I appreciate that but can you please just bring out the good stuff?” Riley’s blue eyes sparkle and Bucky pushes his chair in and heads back to the counter where he has the pies and other sugary treats. He brings the doughnuts and pumpkin pie with maple cream out first, leaving the girls to help themselves as he returns to the kitchen to cut Y/N a slice of pecan pie. He places a dollop of fresh whipped cream beside it and carries it to her, his face turns red when he places it before her stating, “I made this especially for you.” A look crosses her face and its one he has only recently seen. He thinks its adoration? Or could it be...love? He’s not sure if it’s either but whatever it is, he hopes she continues looking at him that way. He sits back down across from her and watches as she takes the first bite of pie. Her eyes close and he can see the sparkle in her eyeshadow as the light above bounces off of it. It feels like forever before he hears a sound of approval from her.  

“Wow Barnes. I’m going to say this is almost as good as s-

“Well now, girls, how about you start cleaning up what you can and let Y/N finish up her pie.” He tries to pull back Piper’s chair and is met with resistance.

“No WAY, Pops. I want to hear all about how good this pie of yours is. Right, Riley?” Piper looks to her sister, eyebrow raised in hopes that her sister will join in on the teasing.”

“Hell no, I don’t want to hear about the crap these two get up to. Nu uh, NOPE,” she shouts and she grabs a few dishes from the table and heads to the sink to rinse them off.  

Dishes away and the leftovers wrapped up, Bucky takes Y/N’s hand and walks with her to his room. Door closed and locked behind him, Bucky finally pulls his sweet lady as close to him as possible. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Buck.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him into a kiss. “Come on Barnsey, there’s one thing you haven’t warmed up yet this evening.”

“Oh, did I forget to warm up your pie because I can head back-

She quiets him with another kiss, deeper than the last. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant. Now, be good a good man and get ready for the real dessert.”

Bucky can’t help but curl up and laugh loudly. His girl knows all the ways to make him laugh and smile, tonight is no exception. With one pull, she is on top of him, where he wants her this evening; where he can be warm within and thankful for everything his life has brought him.

[zelskzerker]

Mangadex went down so I read alot 1/7

Lets review a bunch of isekai and related stuff I binged because mangadex went down. The scale will be a single thumbs up to a single thumbs down in terms of how much I would consider recommending it in general.

Legend

Chapters 1-51 Pretty straight forward in most aspects. For the best. Nothing crazy bad or good happening, making it surprisingly straight forward for an isekai. [Insert isekai startup here] but this time the MC is given a super magic body and the knowledge of ancient magic. Which he promptly uses to create a griffon buddy. Gets a THUMB IN THE UPPER CORNER for just being a nice, believable stay in a world, but I have read some stuff that really has interesting sparks the way this doesnt. MC is brutal at times and General Princess is cute. They make a good pair for each other.  Although there are no ecchi situations, that artist really knows how to slide in the lewds, whether its mid combat flourishes or pre chapter artwork.

The Black Create Summoner: Revolt of Reincarnated

All Chapters

Truly is revolting. A resounding THUMBS DOWN.  Apparently this was just an advertisement manga, which means that its intentionally incomplete and unsatisfying. Ontop of that, the sketchy artwork was generally rough and got worse to look at the more it went on. [Insert isekai startup here] but this time he has a grimoire that lets him summon stuff he draws. The power isn’t used that much though or in that creative of ways. Characters didn’t really leave an impact except maybe the elf little sister that is stubborn yet knows she is incompotent and recruits a dragon out of stubbornness. 

Minotaur’s Sweetheart

Chapters 1-16

So what if a minotaur accidentally seduced the adventurer that was assigned to kill him? This is a good romance manga deserving a THUMBS UP because the pure-hearted minotaur boy and the unmarriageable adventurer girl actually develop a relationship and progress as people. The manga is ultimately about monsters and humans interacting and is fresh due to having a plot that evolves the situation a lot beyond the initial setup of the manga.

Moon-led Journey Across Another World

Chapters 1-64

[Insert isekai startup here] but this time the god of the new world calls the MC ugly and banishes him to the edge of the world to die off. In order to help out the MC, the god of our world (Tsukuyomi) gives him a bit of power. The MC is funny to watch once you realize that he is an incredibly cautious pureboy and expecting every common street thug to potentially end him but in reality he is a god-rivaling cataclysm himself and never realizes. He is so powerful that he recruits the blue haired mist dragon, Tomoe, and accidentally turns her into a weeaboo. Tomoe can read minds and access pocket space with her mist ontop of her sick weeaboo katana skills. She really shines as the most mature person in the story, gaining information that no one else in the story has and carefully withholding it from the MC in order to protect his innocence. She is a DAMN good tomboyish waifu and sarashii is a blessing. Other main girl is yandere spider, Mio, which has shockingly good and well conveyed bouts of emotion. She has an extremely rare “can’t cook at all” joke that is explained due to her “eat literally anything” nature. In terms of plot, the MC hates the god of the world he is in and pretty much plans to do everything she doesn’t want him to. Which means mingling with humans, and eventually, god slaying/usurption. Odd think about this manga is that it’s heavily Japanese-inspired. That may sound odd because its a manga, but generally isekai are most medieval/western skinned than this one which leans in on Japanese mythos. Just look at the god of our world in the manga.

THUMBS UP.

The Unsuccessful yet Academically Unparalleled Sage ~A Cheating S-Rank Sorcerer's Post-Rebirth Adventurer Log~

Chapter 1-10 So lets set up this genre here. This is a part of the “reincarnation” genre, which is a spinoff of isekai. They generally depict a very capable mage who reincarnates themselves into the future of their own world. At which point they realize that although they were pretty strong in their day, they are now practically a god in the deteriorated modern day. This genre will hereby be indicated by [Insert reincarnation startup here]. For this manga in specific, [Insert isekai startup here] but this time the MC could only use lightning magic and was the best at it but failed the gene gacha then [Insert reincarnation startup here] and he fails gene gacha again but is still the walking thunder god. These kinds of manga are always precious when the MC can walk through the world and see the fruits of their past labor. Specifically through Merlin, the MC’s adopted demon daughter who has grown up to be his heritor and bridge human/demon relationships. Truly adorable and heart warming. Lacks a bit of spice from themeing or ongoing plot due to its short length however. THUMB IN THE UPPER CORNER.

Older Elite Knight is cute only in front of me

Chapters 1-17.1

THUMBS UP. This is an oneshota manga where shota is a chad with incredibly good tastes. A really good ecchi manga with a light hearted story featuring Haru(the shota) knight that joins Karen’s(the oneesan) knight crew. As with all good romance manga, the main plot isn’t romance. Knight shenanigins are always happening, with a big (and lewd) bad entering recently. Top tier variation on the lewds, even including a princess loli in on the fun. Must read for all oneshota fans.

Lonely Attack on A Different World

Chapter 1-91

[Insert isekai startup forma de classroom here] but this time the MC gets leftover garbage skills and has to learn to survive. Learning to survive thus makes him the most op and he can magic trick his way out of literally anything. Strong start as the whole classroom first tries to get their footing, but after the starting arc is done this manga starts spinning it’s wheels. The manga is kinda lacking in themes, overarching plot and end goals, so stuff just happens to make this a sort of slice of life trap room escape manga. Magic “just works” in this universe so its not very dramatic when the MC pulls out a new trick out of his bag of million tricks. Just kinda stagnates too much for my liking. THUMB IN THE BOTTOM CORNER.

The Unwanted Undead Adventurer

Chapters 1-34

Rentt Faina, the MC, is a good guy with no talent who aspires to be a legendary adventurer. But then he gets turned into a skeleton, giving the chance to evolve his way to greatness, kinda like in Spider isekai or Dragon isekai. The MC is most like Goblin Slayer in his serious and knowledgeable approach to the world, how characters that know him revere him. End goal so far is just him seeing how far he can evolve as he comes across other vampires and vampire hunters. Really want to see him go to the top. Fuckin great art. Girls drawn perfect. Like the hat on the guild girl, but nothing beats the witch Lorraine. THUMBS UP.

Teihen Ryoushu No Kanchigai Eiyuutan

Chapters 1-13

THUMB IN UPPER CORNER. Pretty funny comedy about a lord of a poor land who wants to be a stereotypical evil lord but can only use healing magic. Therefore he bumbles his way into accepting a heretical cult nun, beast men who hate humans, etc. All the girls are to crazy for him to want to sex them(weak. give the assassin nun your babies). Most interesting parts are aforementioned nun, his fujoshi assistant, and the MC’s willingness to use his power to commit heretical and immoral warcrimes. 

The Undead Lord of the Palace of Darkness

Chapters 1-11

Art average, don’t come to this one for spectacle. It’s strength is in the subertfuge that it’s recently-necromanced-back-to-life MC goes through to get his Master killed and to later, probably, evolve into a vampire. MC isn’t evil though, just wants to survive. Main girl on cover was born and raised to hunt vampires but has a compassionate heart. Obviously she goes easy on and relates to MC. Story is still kinda in it’s first arc so the overall trajectory of the story is a bit hard to gauge and not quite satisfying enough by its own right. Probably a thumb up with more chapters but for now THUMB IN THE UPPER CORNER.

The Reincarnated Inferior Magic Swordsman

Chapters 1-38

[Insert isekai startup here] but this time.... uh... THUMB SIDEWAYS. Usually I am patient, but 31 chapters with no goal and just barely plot? Wow. Saving grace is uh... I guess the world of “other isekai people existed but they sucked because they didn’t level uncap like MC” could go somewhere but. I take it back, lowering this one to a THUMB DOWN.

The Invincible Sage in the Second World.

Chapters 1-12

[Insert isekai startup here] but this time a pro mmo player in a game called “Broken Balance Online.” Guess what his class, the sage class, was considered in the game? Not far along enough to really pop off but it isn’t horrible. MC is moderately cautious to a healthy degree which is actually rare in most isekai. THUMB IN BOTTOM LEFT CORNER. 

The Dark Queen and I Strike Back

Chapters 1-29.5

Although technically an isekai, no isekai startup here. This a battle manga with a big mystery on the backdrop of a war. That is to say, the MC gets teleported to a world to kill the demons but he ends up defending them from the humans with all he’s got. Of special note is the complete seriousness of this manga that whiplashes into debauchery like tentacles, the above cover, oneshota, and even really dark jokes in some of the omake. That tonal lash effect will be either make or break, and it is a HUGE make for me. I love when a single piece can have both absolute serious scenes and utterly lighthearted and fluffy ones. Or in this case utterly lewd ones. May the average-human-amount-of-perverted MC one day slam some demon lord loli. THUMBS UP.

Chillin' in Another World with Level 2 Super Cheat Powers

Chapters 1-24

THUMB SIDEWAYS. Has the feeling of a nerfed slime isekai. Nerfed in all ways except romance. Art surprisingly good.

[bi-makes-pie]

"I'm her best enemy" Playlist [ PART ONE - Songs 1 to 30]

Click READ MORE to see the whole list

1. Nemeses (feat. John Roderick) – Jonathan Coulton I mostly see this as being in the Master’s POV.

“Could it be that you need me To keep you out, to run you faster Promise me you'll let me be The one, the worst of all your enemies”

2. Crazy – Burn the Ballroom 12 to Missy. This one is quite cute. He does calls her mad, but we all know the Doctor isn’t exactly the perfect picture of sanity either.

“She had problems with my love connections So she bought me bullets and she made corrections (…) I'd say crazy, doll, but you've got something different I'd say complicated but that's your kind of rhythm I'd say lost and you'd say love

But you're crazy not to see That you're crazy just like me...”

3. Silence – Citizen Shade This kinda makes me picture the Doctor trying to give in and settle down with the Master (any version) while dealing with the inner conflict that they’re far too cruel for their taste.

“I found peace in your violence Can't tell me there's no point in trying I'm at one, and I've been silent for too long”

4. Dangerous Man - Little Dume This alternates between the Doctor’s POV and the Master’s. But you can also interpret it as being 100% about any version of the Doctor, since they do have a dark side.

“Every bone in my body's bad Fire's burning, the skies are turning black They say I'm a dangerous man” “Can you hear the storm's a coming I'm a silver in the lining There's a spark in me They say I'm a dangerous man Better run fast as you can Don't you look back”

5. Under Covers – LeRiche A bittersweet song about two people who had this precious friendship and love for each other, and about how distance can keep it all bottled up but once they give it a chance, they immediately go right back to the start. Just fits them very well, if you picture a happy ending to their relationship.

“I don't know why you're looking for a friend I'm right by your side But out here from a distance You won't look me in the eyes Without your love, I think I could die Then you let me in, we go back to beginnings When we were just friends hanging out on the ceiling We'll laugh about love and how we felt for one another And I love the way we make up under covers”

6. The Scientist – Coldplay A song about longing to make things right again and with little analogies involving science? I mean…

“Nobody said it was easy It's such a shame for us to part Nobody said it was easy No one ever said it would be this hard Oh, take me back to the start”

7. Renegades – X Ambassadors The “They actually stole a TARDIS and ran away together from Gallirey” AU we need so much

“Run away with me Lost souls and reverie Running wild and running free Two kids, you and me And I say Hey, hey hey hey Living like we're renegades”

8. Love is War – American Young I like how cute this song is and yet there is a bit of a dark twist. Fits them.

“Sometimes love is all that can save us Sometimes love can kill a man Yeah sometimes love is a soft touch Or a pistol in your hand Sometimes love is a white flag (...) Sometimes a cannon ball But it's worth fighting for Baby, sometimes love is war”

9. Bury a friend – Billie Eilish (Cover by Pomplamoose) Master’s POV. Can apply to any of their regenerations but I think of Simm!Master the most, since Ten tends to run towards him rather than walk away from him.

“What do you want from me? Why don't you run from me? What are you wondering? What do you know? Why aren't you scared of me? Why do you care for me? When we all fall asleep, where do we go?”

10. Come as you are – Nirvana (Cover by Imaginary Future) Best Enemies, everyone. Master’s POV again.

“Come as you are, as you were As I want you to be As a friend, as a friend As an old enemy (…) And I swear that I don't have a gun No, I don't have a gun”

11. Turn – The Wombats Academy!Era, Doctor’s POV. Theta (Doctor) clearly has a crush on Koschei (Master) and they’re both love being chaotic together. 

“I like the way your brain works, I like the way you try To run with the wolf pack when your legs are tired I like the way you turn me inside and out I like the way you turn I like the way your brain works Baby, it's the crazy I like I think I saw the world turn in your eyes”

12. Run – Snow Patrol Master’s POV if he was ever able to be honest about his feelings. Some parts can easily be read as the Doctor’s POV too.

“You've been the only thing that's right In all I've done And I can barely look at you But every single time I do I know we'll make it anywhere Away from here”

13. Maps - The Front Bottoms The Doctor’s POV as their relationship deteriorates after the Academy and he plans to steal the TARDIS and leave Gallifrey and his friend behind. I had to help myself from quoting the whole song because IT REALLY FITS SO WELL.

“There is a map in my room, on the wall of my room And I've got big, big plans (…) You say 'I hate you', you mean it And 'I love you' sounds fake It's taken me so long to figure that out I used to love the taste, I would do anything for it Now I would do anything to get the taste out of my mouth (…) "And what about your friends, Don't you love them enough to stay?" And I say, "If I don't leave now, Then I will never get away." Let me be a blue raft on the blue sea, I'll blend right in”

14. Old College – The Mountain Goats This fits the tiresome, sad, manipulative and draining part of their relationship.

“The warning signs have all been bright and garish Far too great in number to ignore (…) Our love has never had a leg to stand on From the aspirins to the cross-tops to the Elavils 

But I will walk down to the end with you If you will come all the way down with me”

15. Like a Staring Contest – The Future Kings of Nowhere Covers the end of their friendship and start of the new enemies dynamic. 

“I'm so tired of open warfare When the point of this was to be best of friends (…) When you fall in love as hard And recklessly as you and I do It seems that the final act should have The same intensity as the first scene”

16. Poison and Wine – The Civil Wars Reminds me of 12 and Missy but before Series 10. 

“You only know what I want you to I know everything you don't want me to Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine You think your dreams are the same as mine Oh I don't love you but I always will” 

17. Genesis 30:3 – The Mountain Goats The mentions of a past relationship and the following lines followed by drums really make me picture this as Simm!Master and Ten getting a happy but bittersweet ending.

“For several hours we lay there, last ones of our kind Harder days coming, maybe I don't mind Sounds kind of dumb when I say it, but it's true I would do anything for you”

 18. Blood Under The Bridge – Frightened Rabbit Could literally be any version, but I picture Dhawan!Master and 13 making amends here, mostly because he might be crazy and frenetic but behind that façade he’s clearly way more tired than she ever will be.

“And it's alright, it's alright It's just blood under the bridge And I'm too tired to fight And you're sick of feeling sick And so am I It's alright It's just blood under the bridge”

19. Even Though Our Love is Doomed – Garbage  Missy’s POV. You can interpret this like her train of thoughts and reflections starting from early Vault days to the last time we see her on-screen. Reluctance, guilt and then the resolution.

“Come a little bit closer I need to understand Why we kill the things we love the most (…) Can you love me for what I've become Love me for what I Said that I would not become 'Cause they don't burn like I do (…) And even though our love is doomed And even though we're all messed up You're the only thing worth fighting for” You're the only thing worth dying for” 

20. Starlight – Muse 12 and Missy during the episodes World Enough and Time and The Doctor Falls.

“Now I'll never let you go If you promised not to fade away Never fade away Our hopes and expectations Black holes and revelations” 

21. Control – Halsey This screams Missy to me, especially since she literally incorporates the character of the evil nanny in her book (The Missy Chronicles) and in Big Finish’s audio dramas.

“I'm bigger than my body I'm colder than this home I'm meaner than my demons I'm bigger than these bones

And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" I can't help this awful energy God damn right, you should be scared of me Who is in control?”

 22. Enemy – Woodlock End of Academy!Era. Yet another song which reminds me about their early fighting days and the end of their friendship.

This is where it begins At the start of an end I could no longer pretend No more, you walked out the door You’re my enemy

23. Why Can't We Be Friends? – The Academic The title says it all. The lyrics also mention how the relationship is always turning into something new, so I had to associate with the longest friends to lovers to enemies we’ve ever seen on television.

“This world is pointless If you're not here This world is pointless If we're not self-destructing love And it falls and it breaks and it turns into something new And it falls and it breaks and it turns into something” 

24. Wish That You Were Here – Florence + The Machine Doctor’s POV, in the days when he regrets leaving Gallifrey for a couple of seconds before turning to occupy his with something else. Because he knows that even if he went back, things aren’t the same and everyone has changed – including him.

“And I never minded being on my own Then something broke in me and I wanted to go home To be where you are But even closer to you, you seem so very far

And it's beautiful but there's that tug in the sight I must stop time traveling, you're always on my mind”

 25. No Light, No Light – Florence + The Machine This one makes me picture the first moment the Doctor realized his friend had changed too much and had to choose between his own feelings and standing for what’s right. This happens A LOT in the show, but I imagine realizing that for the first time was the hardest.

“But would you leave me If I told you what I've done And would you leave me If I told you what I've become No light, no light in your bright blue eyes I never knew daylight could be so violent A revelation in the light of day”

26. Dancing with the Devil – Wolf Gang This alternates between the Master’s POV and the Doctor’s POV. 

“If you're the chosen one How does it feel to be loved by no one? If you're the number one Where do you run to? Can you hide behind the sun? You say that there's no oxygen again You're forcing down the lies but you always get your way Something tells me that this was all arranged You tricked me once again” 

27. Skeleton Park – Kasador Master’s POV. “You know, back in the day, I'd burn an entire city to the ground just to see the pretty shapes the smoke made” (Missy, in The Lie of the Land, Series 10, Episode 8)

“When the house is on fire Air fills my lungs I satisfy desire From watching all you run Yeah the house is on fire Hear the sirens scream My hands hold the lighter It fits so naturally”

28. Elastic Heart – Longfellow What I love the most about the Doctor (all versions) is how they keep fighting for what is right despite their own feelings being hurt or despite how much it may cause them pain. I love what this character represents, and those lyrics reminds me so much of them. 

“Oh why can I not conquer love? And I might have thought that we were one Wanted to fight this war without weapons And I wanted it, I wanted it bad But there were so many red flags (…) Yeah, let's be clear, I'll trust no one You did not break in here I'm still fighting for peace”

 29. Bite Back – The All-American Rejects “You think you've broken me? You'll have to try harder than that” (The Doctor, in The Timeless Children Series 12, Episode 10). Same unbreakable side of the Doctor, but this time she definitively resents it a little more than usual. 

“You couldn't break me in the end And such a freedom I enjoy When you're deaf to the sounds you trust If that was all you've got, my friend Then set yourself to disappoint” 

30. No Children – The Mountain Goats Listen to me here: this covers the whole “They were married way before they started to hate each other back on Gallifrey” fan theory.

“I am drowning There is no sign of land You are coming down with me Hand in unlovable hand”

[ PART TWO TO BE ADDED SOON ]

[earthnashes]

LAST OF UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!

I started playing the very second it was made available to play and just finished it last night at like 4 in the morning. And of course it destroyed me. I love this series man so much man. ;w;

SO! I don’t usually do this but I’m like, fuckin’ dyin’ to talk about it a lil bit so if ya have plans to play it, SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT. <:

-Aight so lemme just say right off the bat that this game is fucking. Gorgeous. The environments, lighting, visual design, the level design, everything was spot on. And don’t get me started on the CHARACTER MODELS. AND ANIMATION. Like bro that shit was lifelike in not just appearance, the characters emoted and carried themselves with so much life they felt legitimately real. They were all so unique too; characters had unique special ticks to just them (Like Ellie pinching her fingers when nervous or upset, or Joel standing taller and squaring himself when talking about hard subjects like he’s bracing himself for it, or Jesse giving his stunted headtilt when he talks) and expressed in a way that was just. Bruh. Aight I’mma stop but fuckin hell what they pull off with the characters in specific in LoU (both part 1 and 2) is just somethin’ outta this world.

-For anyone interested in playing it, the game is roughly 22-30 hours long if you’re just focused on the story, and much longer still if you take the time to explore and find all the little secrets. Some secrets include unique cutscenes and dialogue that are well worth the look; I haven’t found all of ‘em yet but I’m considering trying a completionist playthrough.

-Joel’s death fucking destroyed me. I’m in no way surprised he died, but it hurt regardless, just how quickly things went south for him and Tommy there. And ELLIE. FINDING HIM AND WATCHING HIM GET REKT WAS PAIN INCARNATE. Set the tone hella hard and I’m fuckin’ here for it.

-I’m not gonna lie I fully expected to dislike Abby given she rekt Joel, even though I figured it was for a pretty good reason before it was revealed her pops was the doc Joel killed. But damn. I really enjoyed Abby, a lot actually. From a gameplay standpoint I dare say I enjoyed her section more than Ellie’s since you were BLASTING ENEMIES with those fuckin’ GUNS of hers. And by guns I mean her arms’, jesus she was shredded. As a character, she felt a lot like Ellie from a different perspective and mindset, and I really appreciated the reflection the two of them had. Two sides of the same coin, basically. Also I really, really liked how killin’ Joel brought absolutely no peace to Abby at all, and you caught her beginning to regret it. And it kinda sorta acted as the catalyst to her shift in how she viewed the world. I think that’s a good portion why she latched onto Yara and Lev so hard. Perspective is everything, and there is always more than just one side of a story.

-In the same vein I had a blast learning more about Abby’s friend group, dynamics, how she lived, who she worked for and her past and everything. Of them all I think I liked Nora the most, but Mel and Manny were both reaaaalll close seconds. O:

-Speaking of, DOGS. DOGS DOGS DOGS. So many dogs man and you got to play with and pet them! Fuck yeah. That should be a rule in gaming; if you have a cat or a dog in the game, you should have a button to pet it. Also good gorl Alice is best doggy don’t fight me on this. uwu

-Jesse and Dina were the beez knees I fuckin loved them man. They were exactly the sort of folks I can see Ellie being best friends with. ALSO, this one isn’t major, but I really appreciated that there was no love-triangle here? Dina and Jesse dated, smashed, didn’t work out but they still remained good friends. Ellie’s first reaction to seeing Jesse is to confess that she and Dina kissed, and Jesse readily accepted the fact that Dina moved on (and he had too). It’s just refreshing. No bullshit love triangle there, just three people who really understood each other. Also jesus christ, I really didn’t want Jesse to die. Goddamnit. But I’m so glad they didn’t kill Dina too like, I was fully prepared to see her get fucked up. Base rule of LoU: anyone you like has a high probability of dying. ;w;

-BRO THINKING OF JESSE, ELLIE, AND DINA MADE ME REALIZE THE PARALLEL OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP TO MEL, ABBY, AND OWEN. Ellie’s triangle was essentially non-existent; no feelings of betrayal or anger, just understanding and love, like there was a deep-seated bond here that would weather anything. If Jesse had lived, I wouldn’t doubt he, Ellie, and Dina would have lived together to raise the baby together. Meanwhile Abby’s triangle had Owen seeming to unable to let go of the past he and Abby had together, that poor bastard was still in love with her, and how that supplemented the slow deterioration of all three’s friendship. I was sad to see Mel turn on Abby the way she did but like. I mean.  Dude was ready to leave Mel in the dust for Abby despite HIM GETTING MEL PREGNANT. Abby also kinda did drag everyone into this, even if it was of their own violation. Oof. Though it did feel like she was angry at both Abby and Owen equally, not just blaming Abby for everything there... or at least the romantic relationship part. Honestly probably one of the few times I actually enjoyed a love triangle in a story, or at least of this caliber.

-Isaac, the leader of the WLF? He was cool as fuck. I love how much character they packed into him without even showing him too much. Like there was a scene where Nora mentions she tried to question Isaac about Owen and she said “he gave her that fucking look and told her to drop it”. Hell, when he was talking to Abby, he isn’t that much taller than her but he felt like he outright dwarfed her with the way he carried himself and how they reacted to him. I love shit like that man. But anyway fuck Isaac. uwu

-Not gonna lie I kinda wish I got to see the leader of the Seraphites, but it was hella cool to learn that she had been dead already and how the Seraphites operated with and without her. I don’t think I found everything regarding that specific point in game, but it sounded a lot like a peaceful religious leader who’s words and teachings were twisted to suit the goals of corrupt members of the tribe. She was essentially an equivalent to Jesus, at least to the Seraphites.

-I honestly really loved all of the characters introduced but I have to admit that Lev and Yara were standouts. Yara’s one hell of a big sister, lemme tell you, and the lengths she went through to make sure Lev was safe really shooketh me. AND LEV. MY CHILD. MY SON. To those of you who are familiar with the LGBT+ controversy around the game, he and Ellie are what people are complaining about. Ellie because she’s gay, Lev because he’s trans.

Lev in particular was heartbreaking. His tribe were outright hunting him for who he was, as well as Yara because she chose to protect him. The mindset the tribe had was pretty much isolated to them though.

And jesus. That scene with him and his mother? Fuck.

-YARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA :( BRUH that scene pissed me off, fuck you Isaac, you bastard.

-THE SCENE. WHEN YOU PLAY AS ABBY. AND YOU FIGHT ELLIE. WAS SO FUCKING COOL. AND SCARY. Ellie man, that section really showed how efficient and smart she is. She legit tricked me a few times not gonna lie, like I thought she didn’t see me but she’d pretend she wouldn’t, only to ambush me with a FUCKING MOLY. Also the fact that the game outright says “hey uhhhhh you can’t actually take her head on, she’ll fuck you up in a heartbeat bro”. Welp. A really strange mix of horror and sadness and pride there. Hm. :/

-Mom!Ellie was so fucking sweet to see. And it made me catch a glimpse of hope that Ellie actively tried to soldier through for her fam’s sake. But she clearly had demons she had to confront and I’m angry at Tommy for disrupting her and Dina’s life, but it felt necessary. Still made me sick to my stomach to watch her go after Dina fucking BEGS HER TO STAY. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

-Speaking of Tommy, it was so sad to see how much he fell after Joel’s death. It really showed just how much he was like his brother though; underneath a gentle man is someone you best not trifle with, and is very familiar with doing horrific things to reach a goal. Because fuckin hell, Tommy is legit a badass. That sniper part was SO. COOL. Aaaaand terrifying. RIP Manny. :/

-Bro, I’m very curious to see more about the Rattlers but. They were fucked up in a special kind of way. There’s no telling what they did to those people they captured and enslaved. Seeing Abby in the state she was in after seeing her throughout all the game in tip-top shape was painful. That poor girl was literally skin and bones and... just beaten down.

-ELLIE AND ABBY’S FINAL FIGHT WAS SO SAD. I HATED (but I loved) EVERY SECOND OF IT. I was so scared Ellie had fully lost herself there, when she threatens an unconscious Lev to force Abby to fight, who at that point, very clearly didn’t want to. Honestly. Ellie clearly didn’t either, far as I could tell, but it felt like it was the only way she knew how to confront everything. Fight it, until you kill it, or you die. It also felt like Abby understood that since she was in Ellie’s shoes once upon a time.

-I don’t care what anyone else says I’m so happy Ellie let Abby go. I’m so glad she chose not to go through with it. For so long Ellie has been angry and resentful about a lot of things, and she never got a choice once throughout the majority of her journey. As much as I will 100% agree with Joel sayin “fuck this supposed cure, fuck the Fireflies”, it’s not fair of him, or the Fireflies, to just outright take that choice from her, that she didn’t really have one to begin with. She was justifiably angry with Joel and the moment she chooses to try and forgive him, he dies. Another choice stolen away from her. The fact that she chose mercy despite everything, and it was prompted by a memory of Joel, the very reason she was doing this, is profound to me. Like she finally understood why he did what he did, and why he said he’d absolutely do it all over again. Hell, she probably even reached the understanding that her and Abby really aren’t that different from one another in that aspect.

-Ellie returning to an empty home, with Dina and JJ gone, was heartwrenching. I fully understand why Dina left and she honestly had every right to, but it still hurt man. :C AND ELLIE. PLAYING THE SONG JOEL MADE/SUNG FOR HER. ALWAYS KILLED ME. But this instance in particular was something else man like fuck I balled like a baby. Especially when it was followed by the fact that Ellie and Joel were on the cusp of mending their broken relationship only for it to be ripped away man. Goddamnit.

-ELLIE AND JOEL DUET NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. FUCKIN HELL I love this game.

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

So, this isn’t really a review more than it is me just sharing some of my thoughts on the game, but if ya want me to give it a rating? 10/10. If not a perfect score? At least a 9/10.

The Last Of Us as a series is one that’s moved me more than any other game I can think of honestly (outside of Telltale’s The Walking Dead), and just like the first one, LoU2 left me thinking about it for hours after. It’s thought-provoking, it’s compelling, it’s fun as fuck, aaaaand it’s made me cry like a baby a good number of times. I also really appreciate the fact that, in this game, they actually show the consequences of your actions. Like, they made you consider the fact that you aren’t just killing grunts to get to the next enemy or mowing through mindless drones. You’re killing people, who have lives, and friends, and families.

We got to see Joel for who he was: a very broken man, with a very dark past, who has done very horrible things in this shitty post apocalyptic world, but he is a father, and protective, and loving and thoughtful, who will do anything, anything, to protect Ellie. Blood or not, Ellie is through and through his child. But Abby only saw a monster, and could you blame her? He killed her father, and countless others, and she never got the full story. Just that a man came in and killed the entire hospital, put an end to even the smallest possibility of finding a cure, killed her dad in cold blood, and walked away no problem. And then it cycles right back to Ellie, where Abby becomes her monster.

It’s just some grade-A storytelling as far as I’m concerned, and I’m someone who usually prefers happy endings. LoU always leaves me feeling bittersweet but goddamn do I love this series. I’m kinda hoping for a DLC, to be honest? Like LoU part one, where you found out about Ellie and Riley. I wanna see what happens to Ellie; I get the distinct feeling she returns to Jackson and hopefully scrounges out some semblance of a decent life there, after confronting Tommy and (hopefully) making peace with Dina. But we’ll see! uwu

[ziracona]

Not That Kind of Person Who

[My half of an art trade with @speckeltail , who requested a fic for the time Joey went to Lerry’s between trials and found Quentin there completely blitzed on morphine he’d taken accidentally, and helped him get back to the campfire that has been refferenced from Quentin’s pov in his lovely ask blog @badham-bedhead (Speck, I want you to know this pic of Joey you did on the blog is directly responsible for much of what you’re about to read >: D .)]

  This was always fun. Fucking with Herman.

A top twelve pastime, here in the fog. There was training, and bumming around with the gang, stealing shit from the Clown, spying on whoever was new, collecting cool new stuff for the lodge, but going to Lerry’s was up there. Honestly, it would have been higher if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d been caught doing it before, and while you got in some real trouble if you killed a survivor or another killer outside of trials, it uh, it sure as hell wasn’t enough to deter everyone from doing it. And Joey had been on the receiving end of that with Herman once.

Still, that was a long time ago, thought Joey, ducking under a fallen chunk of what had once been wall, and slipping deeper into the institute. Herman didn’t scare him.

A noise somewhere down the hall he was creeping along startled Joey, and he jumped on impulse, and then cursed himself silently, placing the noise as he watched a crow that had gotten in take flight far up ahead, and tried to slow his heart back down. …He doesn’t! I’m being “wary”—that’s just smart. I’m not fucking scared of him. If I was, I wouldn’t be here.

Herman was fun to annoy. Because he got angry over the weirdest shit, and had big reactions, and also because if he did catch you, it wasn’t pretty, so it always felt good to win one. And the institute was so big, it really wasn’t hard to get in and out unscathed, so long as you were quiet. If you were quiet, Herman would sometimes even ignore you when he knew you were there—especially if he was distracted doing shit, and had no reason to suspect you were there to ruin his stuff. Joey was sure that wouldn’t have been the case if he was actually allowed to keep anyone he caught, but he wasn’t. If he grabbed a trespasser and strapped them to a chair to see how the inside of their brain worked with barbs sticking out of it, the Entity would make him pay big time.

“Probably has made him pay,” whispered Joey to himself, following the hall and looking for a good place to do what he’d come to do. Library would be choice, but he’d heard what sounded like warning signs of the Doctor himself in that direction when he got here, so he was going to have to settle for somewhere else.

He was willing to bet Herman had grabbed someone back in the day and gotten in a lot of trouble over it. Actually, Joey felt pretty sure that that’s what it would have taken to get The Doctor to not be grabbing someone to experiment on every time he saw a trespasser now. And he was kind of thankful, because the time he’d been killed had been really fucking shitty, even though it had been pretty quick. Honestly, that was part of why he liked coming here so much and fucking with the guy’s stuff. Mini-revenge. That, and boredom. Between trials, there wasn’t so much to do sometimes, and since with…everything really, being the way it was, Joey wasn’t super into sitting down and thinking about how life was going. He needed to constantly be distracted, and if someone else wasn’t there to help, it meant finding something like this to do. Especially after a trial where he’d barely gotten one last-minute sacrifice and been given a pretty harrowing warning about not fucking up again next time. …Shit.

Yeah. It wasn’t great. He was going to be seriously in trouble if he didn’t do a lot better next trial. It was so fucking annoying, too! Stuff always worked out like this for him! He’d gotten Claudette hooked right near the trial’s start, and then literally tripped over her like fifteen seconds after someone had gotten her down, when he hadn’t even been looking for her, and he’d felt kind of bad, even though he knew how stupid that was to do, and how dangerous. They had to hunt, and suck it up, and the survivors would try to live, and if they failed, they failed, and that wasn’t his fault—it wasn’t like he’d asked to be here doing this. It was just how shit was, and it was rough for him too, and it wasn’t his job to feel bad for them. It was him or them. If they couldn’t hack it, and they died, then too bad—that was rough for them, but it wasn’t gonna be his problem. But. He’d been doing well in the trial so far, and feeling confident, and-a-and she had looked so sad—like not even just scared, but sad, because her luck had been so shitty probably, and so he’d been fucking stupid, and felt bad, and left her on the ground instead of sacrificing her, and chased off the person he’d been going for originally instead, and in return for answering that stupid impulse to show a little mercy, he’d lost her completely after that, gotten run around by Zarina, and then only barely managed to down and sacrifice the newest girl who he’d never heard anyone say the name of yet right by the gates at the last second, and now the Entity was pissed at him, and everything sucked.

That’s why he’d come to do this. To blow off steam. Bad day, friends tired and asleep, need to feel a little better? Go sneak into Herman’s place and deface some of his shit. It always made him feel better to do it.

Oh! Here we go, thought Joey, spotting a nicer section of lab up ahead, hospital beds, one of the storage rooms beyond. He took the can of black spraypaint he’d brought with him off his shoulder strap and primed it as he slipped along the hall towards an open doorway. This would be perfect. Far enough away to be safe and give him time, super noticeable, and a big fuckin’ annoyable to the Doctor when he was gone. Joey carefully cased the area inside, planning what he wanted to do, picked a center point on the floor, marked it, thought for a few more seconds, and then started spraying. It took a couple minutes to do, because he’d picked something a little bit fancy, but when he stepped back finally from his last line, he was surrounded by what looked like chaotic nothing. That was, until you stepped about five feet back right down the middle of the rows in the room to the spot he’d marked on the floor, and the pieces would all line up from that perspective to become a grinning skull. Nice, thought Joey, proud of himself because that kind of tagging was a little tricky to do and he really enjoyed doing it, it looked sick as hell, and also largely because he knew it would make Herman furious. “Okay, what now?” whispered Joey to himself, shaking the can again. He glanced over his image, considering.

“You should be saying something,” he decided, liking the idea very much. He picked out an insult in his head and started to form what would be a speech bubble, when the world’s loudest clang sounded from so close on his left that he almost jumped out of his skin and died with alarm, fucking up the line he’d meant to lay down and jerking back, then ducking and sliding beside one of the cots nervously, heart thudding. He ripped his hunting knife out of its sheath and held it clutched tight in his right hand.

Fuck! What was that? He left the library?

There was no electricity pulsing along the wall though. The Doctor was kind of a walking AOE, so you could at least generally sense him coming, and there was none of that.

Fuck, then, thought Joey, slowly standing up again, cautious but calming back down just a little as seconds went from two to nine and nothing appeared to cause him trouble, What was that just now?

It had been on his left, hadn’t it?

Carefully, Joey slipped out of the partially-tagged room and glanced up and down the hall on the left side. Nothing weird in sight. Just empty hall, debris, doors into other rooms. No movement, no more clangs. Nothing. The sound had seemed like it could have come from the next room over though, he thought, looking back, but that one was just one of the big, open, trashed ones—Joey had passed twenty just like it on his way down. Not nice enough to be worth tagging, because the dude might not even notice. What would have made a noise like that in one of those spots?

I guess…maybe part of the roof just caved in? Or something?

That was a weird thought kinda. In reality, for sure it would be an option—buildings broke and shit fell apart eventually. But he kind of didn’t think deterioration worked the same way here. There was one really annoying broken massive window panel in Lerry’s that was always hanging by a thread and banging against the wall in the wind every trial, and every trip out here, and it had never snapped and fallen to the ground like he wished it would. Nothing in Ormond had ever rotted through or something either, even though the lodge was super old and kind of falling apart. So. So maybe that was what it was, but Joey was kind of unconvinced.

Still, I can’t spend forever doing this, thought Joey, mildly frustrated, but hesitating. Whatever it had been, Herman might have heard it too, and uh, he did not want to be here when Herman showed up to find the fantastic work of tagging art he’d just done all over his hospital beds. He had a cool ‘fuck you’ to add to the skull before bouncing, and whatever it had been—

Thunk.

Okay, what the fuck, thought Joey, freezing again on instinct, and then turning his head very, very slowly to the right. It hadn’t been the big open room—it was the one just past it. He was sure this time. Whatever the noise was, it hadn’t been as loud this time, but it was definitely something. Something alive. That wasn’t the sound of a building breaking—that had been the sound of somebody dropping a kind of heavy object—he was like—was really close to 100% sure.

If he’s playing mind games to lure me into a trap because he saw me sneak in, I’m gonna be so pissed, thought Joey, mildly distressed by that hypothetical but sneaking over slowly anyway, curiosity too strong to be beaten down by paranoia now.

When he reached the room in question, he saw through the open doorway ahead that it was some kind of supply room. Small, and as decrepit as everything else, and Joey took it with a lot of caution, ears straining for sound. There was something in there for sure, he could hear it clearly now, but he couldn’t tell what it was. Feet on linoleum, for sure, and shuffling around—he heard things being moved too, and- Wait, was that a voice?

What the fuck? But no, he hadn’t imagined it—whoever was in there was talking to themselves, and not in a God I better be careful to be quiet whisper either. And it wasn’t Herman. It had to be another killer then, breaking in like he was, because whoever it was clearly wasn’t afraid of pissing off the Doc and getting their ass handed to them, but which one? One of the more powerful ones, had to be—it—

Sliding far enough into the furthest entrance from the noise to get a visual of the far end of the little room, Joey froze. And then just stared. Because it wasn’t a killer at all. It was a survivor. He recognized him instantly, but took a second to remember his name. One of the younger ones, one of the guys—Quentin—that’s right. The one who always came back to try to help a teammate even when it was ridiculously stupid, and was an easy kill. Although kind of an exhausting one at the same time, because he fought hard as fuck. It was him, though, plain as day, stumbling around the edge of the room with an armful of junk.

Wh. Joey watched the guy take a couple wobbly steps and bump against a wall he just didn’t seem to see in time with extreme confusion. Did he—did something hit him on the head? Whatever was up, the guy kept going on the other end of the room about fifteen feet away, muttering to himself and trying to pick up various scattered items from the floor and replace them in an open drawer in one of the medical cabinets. He was moving around super unsteadily, but he didn’t look worried about it at all—he was actually smiling to himself.

This is so fucking weird, thought Joey, too distracted by the sight to go back and finish his own work or to actually go over and find out what was up, and not sure he’d have wanted to.

“Okay, that’s the last one, right?” the guy asked himself quietly at the end of the room, but nothing like quietly enough for someone sneaking through Lerry’s and hoping to avoid the Doctor’s wrath, evidenced by the fact that Joey could hear him 100% fine from 15 feet away.

The guy held up a little bottle and blinked at it, then looked at the drawer by him. “No…there’s an empty space. Missed…one…somewhere.” He grimaced at the drawer and then looked around himself, turning in a little circle in the hopes of finding the last bottle, and then sighed exaggeratedly when he didn’t see it. “Where the fuck—” he started to ask himself, raising his hands in exasperation, and then he looked down at his hand again and the bottle still in it and said, “Oh,” sheepishly and set it down in the drawer.

The…hell?

“Okay, okay,” said the survivor to himself, drumming his fingers absently on the cabinet, “What else?” He started humming—of all the wild fucking things to do, humming to himself, and Joey just stayed where he was, staring and lost. The guy kept going through stuff, moving on to the next cabinet and swaying unsteadily as he did, still humming.

Okay, that’s just not normal. Is he…Wait, is he high?? thought Joey, watching the uncoordinated movements and completely out of it disregard for his own safety in the person across from him with something approaching wonder, Oh my God, I think he is. He—

“I took the blame,” came the survivor’s voice from across the room, and Joey’s head snapped up and all he could do was gape at the guy as he kept going. “Directionless so plain to see, a loaded gun won't set you free. So you say.”

Holy shit.

He was. He was fucking singing. Singing in Lerry’s Memorial Institute in the wreckage of torture chambers while rifling through drawers and making a huge fucking racket the owner of this little patch of hell might hear. Oh fuck. He’s gonna hear that for sure. This guy’s gonna die. The Doctor’s gonna come storming in, super pissed he’s being loud as hell while he’s trying to concentrate—I gotta go, or he’s gonna find us both—if he even sees me, he’ll know why I was here—I gotta—

He started to turn and book out the side door again, planning an escape route in his head, and then hesitated, and turned slowly, and looked back at Quentin again. Still humming to himself, between verses now, the teenager was opening a cabinet, and then, seeing nothing immediately promising inside, stooped to go throw open a drawer beneath it. It was so weird, watching that, and for a second he got lost just staring at the guy’s face, and forgot what he’d been going to do at all. He couldn’t look away. And for a moment he wasn’t sure why, and then Joey realized that it wasn’t just that this was such a stupidass place to be being loud that was making this whole moment surreal, it was also that he hadn’t actually ever seen a survivor look…happy, before. Like, okay, well, he’d seen them grin or be pleased or whatever if they won in a trial, or pulled off something smart in one, but like, carefree? Normal happy? Happy like this? Never. Not once. Not happy like they weren’t where they were. Like they weren’t going to die horribly in a couple minutes every day for the rest of their life. And the guy looked so…so happy for real, so chilled out and okay, but. He wasn’t. Something was wrong with him, and he only felt that way because how he felt was out of his control and he just didn’t know that yet, or how bad that was gonna be in a minute here when the Doctor heard him. He had no idea. And he wasn’t gonna. He was just humming and absently keeping time with his fingers to the beat of the song between verses, looking so fucking chill and at peace, and he was going to stay that way until the Doctor showed up and. …

Shit.

A few feet away, the survivor started to sing to himself again, nothing but happy in that little moment of being free from the reality of what was really going on in his life. “We’ll share a drink and—”

“Hey!” hissed Joey, listening to what he really wasn’t sure if was his better or worse judgement, and stepping back into the room.

The guy jolted and slammed his head into the cabinet door he’d left open, cursed in pain, stumbled backwards, tripped over his own medkit, which Joey hadn’t even seen on the floor, and slammed into the ground on his back with a muffled yelp.

“Whoa,” said Joey quietly, holding up a hand and stepping closer, “Are you—”

“-Shit!” said the guy, scrambling up to his elbows and looking for Joey, finding him almost instantly. “Legion?” He froze where he was, on one knee, staring at Joey with huge, unfocused eyes. “W. What are you…?” Something seemed to occur to him then, and his expression changed, and got frantic, and he snatched his medkit from the floor and stumbled to his feet and back two steps, clutching it in front of him like a blunt weapon, eyes fixed on Joey still, but wide with tension and mistrust now. “Look—just back off. I’ll fight you if I have to.”

“Relax,” said Joey, keeping his hand up and stepping cautiously a little closer, “Not here to fight.”

The guy looked surprised, and lowered the medkit a little, believing that way too fast for any remotely sober person.

Jesus, how much of whatever you took did you take? If he’d been close to sure before, he was certain as fuck now that the guy was high—and like, almost completely out of it kind of high too. He was already swaying a little, and his kept blinking and working to refocus his eyes like he was having a lot of trouble doing that. Movements just a little too slow, too off, too uncoordinated and loose to be anything but high.

“O-oh,” said the guy after a second, “Why then? You can’t…” He looked over his shoulder at the cabinet behind him, “Need. Medical supplies?”

“No,” agreed Joey, holding up his can of spraypaint, “I came here to tag. And then heard you sounding like a fucking elephant in here and came over to get you to quiet down.”

“What?” said Quentin, offended, “I’m not—”

“—Yes you are!” argued Joey, taking another step closer and lowering his hand, “You’re making a ton of noise. The Doctor’s gonna come and kill you if you keep it up, dumbass, and he’ll find both of us. Keep it down!”

Quentin stared at him for a second, and then looked to the side at nothing and blinked, thinking hard, then back at Joey. “I was making a lot of noise?”

Uh. Yes??? “You couldn’t tell?” asked Joey, exasperated on his behalf.

“I-“ started Quentin uncertainly.

“—You were singing, in here! Why were you singing?” hissed Joey. He’d gotten close enough that he was a quick lunge away from the survivor now. He wondered if it was weird that his mental units of distance now were all related to hunting people down for sport…

“I. ...It was stuck in my head,” defended Quentin a little uncertainly, looking confused, “Does it matter? Wait—were you watching me?” He took a half-step back, medkit gripped like a weapon again.

“No, you were just super fucking loud—I could hear you in the next room,” whispered Joey.

“…Really?” asked Quentin again, shoulders relaxing a little, thoroughly distracted and caught somewhere between being insulted and kind of worried or ashamed about being a nuisance.

Joey nodded.

“Oh,” said Quentin awkwardly, taking his word for it and pretty visibly out of it and having a pretty hard and disjointed time keeping up, but doing his best through whatever the fuck was in his system. “Uh. Sorry, I guess. I’ll stop. –And you’ll go, then?” He double-checked. “–We’re not gonna fight?”

“No,” assured Joey, relaxing a little.

“…Okay,” said Quentin after considering that for a second, and seeming to find it reasonable. Trusting that for the second time way too quickly for anyone with normal judgement, all things considered. If Joey had caught him stealing supplies from Ormond, he probably would have fucked with him a little before trying to scare him off. He didn’t look scared of him at all right now though, just kind of confused and unsteady. Waiting for Joey to say or do whatever he’d do next, or to leave maybe. When he didn’t make a move, the guy blinked a few times, and then just went back to trying to dig through supplies in the cabinet by him, movements shaky and uncoordinated. Like he had no depth perception or balance or focus at all, even though he was clearly trying really hard to focus. And getting back to his scavenging the guy just—just turned his back on him—on a killer, in a killer realm, in easy melee distance, like that wasn’t a stupid and dangerous thing to do, even if Joey genuinely did have no plans to bury a knife in his back. He couldn’t know that.

Shakily, the guy reached over and pulled open a drawer and started to sort through it, almost collapsing when he took a step to move to get a better view of the contents, and looking confused by the failure of his legs to do their job more than anything else as he righted himself, Joey all but forgotten the second he was out of sight.

God. It. It was super weird to watch this--to see Quentin this way. Why? It shouldn’t have felt so unsettling to him, right? Joey just—he’d never—well, okay, Joey had been around people high before, but this wasn’t even high, this was like, bordering on blitzed completely out of his mind, and usually even seeing someone at a party who had done way too much of whatever was just chill and kind of funny to be around, but here? It wasn’t that at all. It was like…

Joey stopped moving, lost in a memory he hadn’t seen in ages, and forgot everything else. Thinking about a bird in a little wooden pen.

Of all the stupid things to… He tried to stop, tried to re-focus on the present, but he couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t look away. And once he’d remembered that trip a lifetime ago at all, he couldn’t turn off the flood of old images in his head. They just came, and came, and he got lost in them. Once, a-a long, long time ago, there had been a trip he’d gone on, where he’d been driven on a long car ride to go see extended family off in the country away from Ormond, off in a different part of Alberta altogether. Very different. The cousins there were ones he hadn’t seen much before or after, but he’d been excited, he thought. To be doing something new. He’d been a kid at the time—really little, like five or something, and all the cousins out there were all older than him—teenagers, closer to his brother’s age, but he had followed them around everywhere out there just the same, wanting to be included, and they hadn’t forced him to go away so long as he could manage to keep up. It had been new, and exciting, and fun. And the second day he’d been there, they’d gone and met up with some friends, him trailing after, and headed off into someone’s house to play alone out in the backyard with a bunch of other kids they knew, and there had been a chicken. Just a dumb little bird, and Joey had never liked the things, because he was little back then, and chickens were mean, and they’d chase you, and try to peck you, so they’d kind of scared him.

One of the boys had gotten a chicken from somewhere though, and brought it over, and he’d given it something. A sedative maybe, Joey had never found out. But whatever it had been given, it had been disoriented, and confused, and moved slow, and loopy, and he’d watched it as a little boy, hugging the bottom rail of the wooden pen they’d set it in and in a way closer to the action to anyone else there, and seen it suffer. The older kids had gone into the pen and kicked it. They would chase it, and scream at it, and laugh, and sometimes drop stuff like bunches of tangled fishing line or stuff in its way so it would panic, and run from whatever had just scared it, and tangle itself up so bad it couldn’t get free. They had thought it was really funny, watching that stupid little animal try to escape and hurt itself and then forget it was even scared because of how fucked up it was on whatever it’d been given. It would bump into stuff on its own after a little bit—they didn’t even have to help it to get it hurt. Trip around and squak and pull itself up, then run into the same box again head-first. And it hadn’t been funny. He had laughed, before he’d known what was going on, and just thought the older kids were playing some game and gonna run around after one of the mean chickens to spook it, but when he’d figured out it was hurt, and thinking wrong, and never even had a chance, it hadn’t been funny at all.

Things had escalated, bit by bit, while he watched. Gotten worse.

Joey hadn’t done anything to try to save it. Just stood there at five, watching it with huge eyes in silence as it stumbled around in a loopy fashion, trying to avoid old nails the older kids had embedded all over the path ahead of it tip-up in the hope it would eventually step on one, or something else, or simply be betrayed by its own balance while running from them, and fall, and had rooted for it in silence to make it through. It hadn’t. It had made it about two feet.

He didn’t think the boys had been planning to kill it, but they had. And he hadn’t stopped them. Probably it hadn’t been too hurt to save after taking a couple nails through its side. Joey didn’t know—he’d never known—he didn’t know really anything at all about birds. But it had still been very alive when they’d been cursing in a panic and talking about what animal to pin the death on, and a boy had stepped on its head. He hadn’t thought about that day in years, after he’d finally been able to stop thinking about it at all, maybe a year later when the nightmares had finally gone away. He was fucking terrified of chickens. He would never tell anybody that, not ever, but he had been ever since. Which had to be like, the stupidest possible fear a person could have, and made no sense to him at all as a response to that even—he’d seen how dumb and easy to fuck with and little they were! Which should have made him anything but afraid! But. …But any time he saw one, he was always struck by this intense feeling that if he kept looking at it, it would be able to look up into his face with those tiny dead empty black eyes, and see in his own what he’d watched and that he’d just stood there, and that those awful little bead eyes with nothing past them seeing that truth inside him would mark him like a curse forever, and it would only be a matter of time before he met whatever awful punishment the universe laid out in wait for him to make him pay for the judgement it had passed, and as fucking stupid and irrational as that thought was he had never been able to shake it.

Joey hadn’t ever associated doing drugs with that sight from a lifetime ago, not once, but he was seeing it now, and he lost about seven seconds of time doing it, feeling that very specific, long-forgotten fear again, and then he heard a clang and was snapped back just in time to see a drawer the survivor had been using as a foothold to reach a high shelf in the same cabinet must have been pulled out too far to be stable anymore, because it had splintered under the guy’s weight, and as he watched, it ripped out of the cabinet and the survivor went pitching backwards on a collision course with the edge of the heavy desk four feet back with a surprised cry.

Snapped into action, Joey shouted something not very intelligible or useful like “Whoa!” and shot out on impulse to catch the guy and just made it. Knocked to his knees on impact, Joey wrapped his arms around the guy, ducked his head down to minimize damage, braced, and then slid to a stop just shy of the desk he’d expected to ram into breathing hard.

For a second, he held perfectly still like that, listening to things from the drawer go rolling around the floor, waiting for the sound of the Doctor coming to kill them, but the Institute slowly returned to silence. Nothing but the sound of two people breathing.

In his lap, the survivor kind of shakily held out his arms like he was testing his balance, and then tried to turn, and Joey let go so that he could. He moved back and onto his knees to face Joey and blinked, then squinted at him in confusion, like he’d forgotten who he was or that he was there.

“Uhm… Thanks,” offered Quentin. “…Are…?”

Joey didn’t have any idea what to say so he didn’t.

“Uhm…” said the guy, looking to the side and then back at him, kind of at a loss, “W. Where did you?”

‘Where’? Where what? Come from? Learn to do that? He couldn’t even tell if the guy was really recognizing him right now, from the look on his face. God your eyes look glazed over. That can’t be a good sign. How much of whatever had he taken?

Quentin raised a hand like he was going to gesture at something specific, and opened his mouth to speak, and then seemed to forget what he’d been going to say, looked a little troubled by that, and then blinked again and looked to the side, thinking hard, and then back at Joey. “I-I don’t. Uh.” He paused and looked up over his shoulder at the cabinet he’d just fallen from and took in the damage, then back at Joey. “I’m not…sure…why that happened,” he offered unsteadily, “I think—I think it. Broke. Are you okay?”

“Uh. Yeah,” said Joey, not sure how to respond to that at all. It was surreal, because for a moment, the guy looked so genuinely concerned about him, like he hadn’t been the one to almost get brained on a desk. And also because. It. Well. That just wasn’t a way survivors looked at you. Or…anyone did, really. Not in a…long time at least… “Are you?” he asked, trying to tell. The guy didn’t look hurt.

Quentin looked down at himself, and turned his palms over, checking them, and then nodded like that was sufficient to account for any injuries possible. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

He stood up shakily and almost fell again, and Joey half-shot to his feet before Quentin caught himself on the wall. The guy looked surprised his legs weren’t behaving normally, and glanced down at them in confusion, then back at Joey after a second when he remembered he was there, and offered him a hand. Not sure that was a good idea, but acting kind of on impulse, Joey took it and let the guy help him to his feet—which uh, was actually more like Joey standing up with way more leg-muscle-effort than usual so the guy could feel like he was helping him to his feet.

“Look, uhm,” said Joey as he straightened up, watching the guy with something close to concern at this point, “Did you maybe take something in here on accident?”

Quentin looked incredibly confused. “…Uh. No. Not on…accident. I-I told you I’m collecting supplies, right? Medicine stuff?”

“No—I mean, not take like ‘pack up’—take like, did you do any drugs,” corrected Joey, “Like, while you’ve been here in Lerry’s—did you use anything on yourself, or accidentally jab your hand on something—or maybe up, I don’t—inhale some fumes, or?”

“Uhm. Yeah. I. I guess,” he said, very confused.

Okay. Well. That sure track. “Do you know what it was?” asked Joey hopefully.

“Uh. I mean—there’s only two options. The bottle’s here somewhere though,” said Quentin.

“Okay,” said Joey, “what are the two—” WAIT. Oh my GOD. Th—You took it on purpose?! Why! How stupid are you! “-Hang on, are you saying you—you took something, like, you on purpose took a drug? Here, in Lerry’s?” asked Joey, and the guy stared back at him and the incredulity in his voice with such an open look of surprise that he knew for fucking certain without him even answering that he must have. “Oh my GOD you did! You dumbass! What the hell were you thinking! That’s crazy!” snapped Joey in disbelief, gesturing broadly, “Who would do that! Did you even read the bottle first?! No wonder you’re in here stumbling around like a blind rhinoceros. What’s wrong with you!”

“I—what? No—I—I’m not blind,” defended Quentin, confused and looking a little attacked, “—or a—Why are you angry? You said you didn’t need supplies. We do. It’s not like I use them all. I bring most of it back, just, I usually take one or something when I find them, especially if I’m—”

“—WHAT! You go get high in killer realms and do drugs all the time?” exploded Joey in a very angry hissed whisper, some of the sympathy or concern or whatever it had been he’d felt before turning into a surge of blind disbelief and irritation. What kind of fucking dumbass? “Why would you do that! You’re gonna get yourself killed!” he snapped, waving a finger and stepping forward. “You unbelievable dumbass! Do you just not care if that happens?!”

Quentin took a step back as he advanced, looking a little threatened by the sudden burst of anger along with confused now, and he glanced around for where he’d left his medkit, then back at Joey as he defended himself. “No! Of course I do—I do that because I don’t want to get killed out here!” He finally spotted the case back inside the cabinet he’d fallen from and started backing nervously towards it. “The only injectables ever in Lerry’s are adrenaline and hemorrhagics. And I always need both of those! I don’t take too much of them—I use one and take everything else back to the campfire. Or, maybe on a really bad day if I’m out a long time and need it, I use two. Usually if I’m—I’m out scavenging, I’ve been out for a while—and—”

“—And? Why the fuck would need to jam a hemmor—” started Joey, and then he stopped mid-sentence, only just then actually looking at Quentin for real. He’d noticed the blood on his jacket and shirt as soon as he came in, but. …Is…? Joey stopped and looked down at his own arms and hands, and his gloves and black sleeves were wet. He stared at them for a second, then back up at Quentin in confusion as the guy stared back at him with the same completely lost expression he must have had on.

“Are you bleeding?” asked Joey in a totally different tone of voice, stunned.

Quentin stared at him for a second, eyes big and sort of glazed over, but trying to stay trained on him and focus through that fog, and then he looked to the side for a moment, thinking and confused and a little nervous still, and then finally he looked back at Joey, and his expression was completely different when he did, like he was…wary suddenly, for some reason. “…Yeah,” he said really quietly, eyes on Joey’s.

“Why?” asked Joey, totally lost, “Did the Doctor see you on the way in?”

For a second, Quentin was silent again, just watching him, expression unchanging. Then the line of his mouth set a little and he glanced down and away. “I’m always bleeding,” said Quentin very quietly.

“W—you’re always wounded?” asked Joey. Had he been? He’d seen him in trials, and he did kinda always look like this, but he’d thought those were blood stains. Not still-bleeding wounds! Why the fuck would—? Didn’t they heal? He—he could have sworn that— “I thought you guys healed when you got killed and brought back?” said Joey.

“Yeah, but,” started Quentin, and then he stopped. He glanced down, and then up at Joey again and swallowed. “Uhm. Why?”

“Why?” echoed Joey, arms lowering at his sides now that the anger and irritation was gone, and feeling about as confused as Quentin looked, “Because you’re fucked up outside a trial apparently all the time, and that’s not really supposed to happen. Are you okay? Are you dying?”

“…Uh,” said Quentin, looking harried, “No. I just.” He thought for a second and looked out the nearby window at nothing past a far hallway wall, then back at Joey. “You know how…we—all of us, uhm, we go into a trial looking like we look, right? L-like we do naturally?”

“Yeah,” said Joey, nodding.

“Well, if we get hurt outside of a trial, we have to have time to heal right. And. If you die, you get reset to how you were before the trial began. And if you…” He stopped for a second and looked down, kind of sad, and quiet. “…Die. In almost all of your trials. Or all of them. Then…you lose a lot of. Of time. And things don’t. They don’t really have much chance to heal. Not at a normal rate, at least. Because you keep being…set back. So it might take—might take a whole month, to heal like a week should have done, back home. And…the Entity. It. The way it sees us, and ‘puts us back’ when we die. That can-can change, over time. You. You get a little older, in here. Eventually. If you start running between trials, you get better leg muscles—lift weights, better arm strength, that kind of stuff,” offered Quentin, glancing back up, “But other things change too. My uhm. I uh. I die a lot, in trials. And I…get hurt sometimes, out doing this. One time really bad. And. Somewhere along the line the Entity just decided I was, uhm, a little bit older than when I got here, and that I…” His shoulders lowered, and he looked away. “…Just. Spend all of my time. Kind of injured. Because I just kept being injured. All the time. From out here, and for way too long from that one time, and in trials, over and over in a lot of the same ways. More than is uhm.” He risked a glance at Joey’s face. “Is normal. In too many trials. So this uh.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “This is what it th…what it sees as my Default State, now. Hurt become more how it remembers me than…how I…was when I was okay. So. Now it’s how I heal back.”

What the fuck?

Joey gaped at him in a kind of slow building horror. “So…You’re just injured all the time now?”

Quentin considered for a second, and then nodded.

“Is—are all of you like this?” asked Joey.

“Nnnno,” said Quentin slowly, thinking about it, “Uh. Some of us are a little bit. Jake’s leg is always hurt. I think so is Laurie’s arm. Minor stuff. But uh. This whole,” he gestured at himself and gave Joey a kind of smile, like he was making a self-deprecating joke about this situation that Joey wasn’t really finding funny at all, “uh. Mess thing. With like—fifteen injuries and always about to pass out—that’s just me.” He grinned, and then when Joey didn’t smile back, the expression faded and went neutral, and then suddenly looked almost panicked.

What?

“Uh,” said Quentin nervously, suddenly seeming agitated and for the first time since Joey had walked in like he might have some small awareness suddenly that he wasn’t totally thinking straight and was concerned about that, “You’re not gonna use that, are you?”

“Use it?” echoed Joey, lost.

“I-I –I already die so much,” said Quentin, almost like he was appealing to Joey’s humanity or his honor or sense of decency or something. He brought his hand up to his left eye, which Joey had noticed for a long time had slash mark scars across it like he’d been raked by a claw, but was only just now realizing didn’t open all the way anymore too. “I’ve only got like 50% vision on my left side already—please don’t like, start fucking up my other one every trial to try to get it to stick too. I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I see even worse. It took me so long to get used to fucked up depth perception. And I just—I’m so tried, all the time, always, I-I—I know that you—”

“—No!” said Joey, kind of horrified and holding up a hand to stop him there, “I-I’m not gonna—fucking rip out one of your eyes every trial to try to get the Entity to make you go blind—why would you think that?”

Quentin looked at him for a long couple of seconds just a little sad, his deep blue eyes holding Joey’s brown ones, and not saying anything, and Joey felt a kind of sinking feeling in his stomach as he actually thought about the question he’d just asked the other person and the way their relationship—if you could even call butchering someone every time you crossed paths a relationship at all—had only ever been.

“I wouldn’t,” said Joey, lowering his arm when Quentin still didn’t answer, feeling shitty in ways he really wasn’t used to. “I’m not gonna do that. I’m…not that kind of person.”

For a second, Quentin watched him in silence, too unguarded under the influence of whatever he’d taken to be thought of exactly as ‘studying’ him in the way Joey was used to thinking of people trying to read you and sense sincerity, but he thought trying to tell if he meant that, and then he smiled at him. “Okay.”

That would have felt good. It started to, and then Joey remembered it was just the…LSD, or Opium, or whatever the fuck was in him talking.

“You’re not as murderous as I thought you’d be,” offered Quentin like a genuine friendly compliment, giving him another smile before turning back to the cabinet, and then looking down at all the scattered supplies on the floor blankly, lost and distracted immediately in figuring out what to do about them.

Yeah, thought Joey kind of sadly, watching him, Only. I don’t think you’d even be looking at me long enough to know which one of us I was if you were yourself. We’re only having a conversation at all because you’re too fucked up to remember you should be scared of me.

“Uh—you said you did take something though, right?” said Joey, clearing his throat and circling back, needing to say something, and that was kind of important to pin down.

“Huh?” said Quentin, glancing back at him. People looked weird when they were high. Had they always? Or was it just whatever he was on? It was…uncomfortable. Joey hadn’t noticed it before on other people he’d been around, the couple times people had done drugs at parties, or out behind the school late at night, and he’d been lucky enough to be invited to the event. But Quentin’s eyes were glassy, and he was looking at him, and not looking at him at the same time. It made him almost sad for some reason. Why the fuck do I even care? Why am I talking to him at all? I should get out, and fuck off, and let whatever happens happen. I’m not supposed to buddy up to a survivor. If he wasn’t blazed out of his mind, he’d run away from me, and hate me, and there is no way this could possibly go but badly! I don’t need to help him. He can help himself. I’m just gonna get myself in trouble and get nothing out of it if I stick around. It’s not like he’d help me if he found me tripping balls in here. He’d probably kick the shit out of me and steal my knife and maybe kill me like the Doctor did.

“Oh!” said Quentin, remembering and turning back to face him for real, still acting really friendly like he had been a second ago. Whatever had flipped the buddy switch in him seemed to have taken root and stayed. “Yeah—yeah, uh. I didn’t even look to see if it was adrenaline or a hemorrhagic. My shoulder’s always fucked up now, and if I inject adrenaline into the muscle there, it’s as good as anywhere else, so if I find a syringe to use, I just plunge it in half the time, because it’ll work for me either way, and I’m usually in a rush.” He glanced around the room like he was casing it and passing on some little-known information to Joey. “You don’t want to stay around Lerry’s too long. Or any of the killer realms. Gotta be fast and careful.”

Yeah, I know, dumbass, but you’re not being either.

“Do you still have what you took?” asked Joey, choosing to be nice this time because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t sound too smart that fucked up on drugs either.

“Uhh, yeah, I guess—I mean, I don’t have the stuff—I took it, but I saved the syringe. Even when they’re empty, they can be pretty useful sometimes—might need ‘em later,” offered Quentin. He took his medkit out of the cabinet and opened it and took from it a small cardboard package with an empty plastic syringe hastily jammed most of the way back into it from on top of a kind of depressing and meager supply of gauze and little boxes and bottles. It had been such a big medkit case, Joey had expected it to be full of stuff. I guess he brought it to fill up.

“Here,” said Quentin, handing him the syringe, and then as he watched him take it curiously, “What do you want it for?”

“Oh—I’ll give it back,” said Joey, glancing up at him and then turning the syringe in his hand, looking for a label, “I just want to know what you took.” It took him a second, but he found the old faded print on the tiny label, topped, squinted at the decayed words for a moment, and then succeeded and felt his eyes bug out. Ah geeze no wonder you’re a fucking mess. You stupid dumbass! It’s a wonder you’re still standing! 50mg/mL concentration?? Holy FUCK that’s high. Dad was on 10 after surgery! He’s right—the Entity’s fucking with him—goddamn. FIFTY. Jeeze! Poor guy. Damn that’s a lot of opium to take. He’s lucky it wasn’t worse. I’m amazed he’s still standing! –wait, I wonder if that just means it hasn’t really taken effect yet…

“What?” asked Quentin, interested, trying to read the label too, upside-down and from a distance.

Joey held it up for him. “It was morphine.”

“What?” asked Quentin, blinking like that might help him process the news. He took the syringe and cocked his head, studying it.

“You took morphine,” said Joey, “A shit ton of morphine.”

“…Oh,” said Quentin with a note of worry now, face falling. He stared at the syringe without moving for a few seconds reading it, and then exploded and swung a hand angrily at nothing. “Fuck!”

“I don’t think it’s gonna kill you,” offered Joey, trying to dial him back.

“No—it’s not that,” said Quentin, turning to him distressed, “It’s morphine! That’s what fuck’s about! It’s a painkiller. A great one! Do you have—have any fucking idea how rare those are? Finding a bottle of Advil is like scoring a fucking gold mine out. A-and I had a whole syringe worth of morphine and I just used it all? On me? B-because I was too rushed to read the fucking label?” He’d started pacing and gesturing compulsively as he talked, and when he backed up far enough he bumped into the wall by the cabinet, he just slid down against it all the way to the floor and put his arms up over his head and folded in towards his knees miserably. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I wasted that. I-I could have saved it. We should have been able to split it! Fuck! …fuck…”

Not sure what to do but feeling bad for him, Joey watched for a second, trying to think, and then walked over and slid down carefully beside him. When he got there, Quentin glanced over at him from beneath his arms.

“It’s not so bad,” tried Joey encouragingly, trying to think of what might be good to say.

“No, it is,” said Quentin, depressed, and with his voice muffled from his sleeve. He lowered his arms and folded them over his knees instead, then buried his chin and half his face in them. “Morphine’s such a … …. ….fuck!”

“What?” said Joey, confused.

“I can’t think of the word,” said Quentin, visibly distressed.

Yeah I’ll bet. I’m amazed you’re still kind of coherent at all, considered Joey, who thought better of saying that out loud and instead said, “…Important? Uh. Useful?”

“No,” said Quentin, hung up on this, “Not easy to find—like rare—OH! Fuck! Rare—that was the word.” He went right back to overwhelmingly depressed the second the word was found, like he’d flipped an internal light switch, and kept plowing straight ahead down the depression line, gesturing as he spoke and looking miserably over at Joey. “It’s such a rare find! I’ve never gotten morphine before. Or opium, or anything really good for pain. I could have saved it; we could have taken a little bit to make really bad days better when they hit—it should have been for all of us! Or saved for an emergency! I-I –fuck, a, a whole syringe full? A lot of us could have gotten enough to help at least once. But I fucked up. That’s all gone, and I’ll probably never find one again.” He stared forward for a second and then smiled sadly and leaned his head forward against the side of his arm and stared unfocusedly at nothing. “I wasted the whole thing on myself and, I don’t even feel good.”

Joey watched him and swallowed. He had no idea what to say. “…Maybe, since it left some once now, that means the Entity will put more morphine in the realm?” he suggested after a second.

Quentin looked over at him somewhere between a tiny bit hopeful and about ready to cry over how little he thought it was true.

“It might be,” said Joey encouragingly, hoping the one plus side to being absolutely wasted on morphine might be that he’d be easily swayed into avoiding a depression spiral. “You said you never found one before. The Entity adds stuff sometimes. I bet it’s just a sign you’ll find more now.”

For a second, Quentin watched him, expression unchanging, and then he smiled at him and looked a lot better. “You think?”

“Yeah, for sure,” lied Joey.

“…Yeah, maybe,” decided Quentin after a moment, cheering up. He glanced over at Joey and smiled at him again and then started to uncoordinatedly pull himself back up. “You’re right. I’m being stupid and just wasting time feeling bad for myself like an idiot—I should keep looking.”

“Uhhh---I don’t think that’s such a good idea!” said Joey quickly, hopping up after him.

Quentin gave him a confused look.

“You heard what I said, right? –Before the more morphine thing. You’re super fucked up,” said Joey, “You’re on like, a fuck ton of morphine and making a bunch of noise in the Doctor’s home base. If you don’t leave, he’s gonna come find you.”

Quentin waved the concern away with a hand and turned back to the mostly ransacked cabinet. “Nah—I’m fine. Just don’t feel pain right now.”

“Dude, you are not fine,” argued Joey, following after.

“I really am,” said Quentin in the voice of someone who was definitely not not 80% out of it on drugs. He turned around and put a hand on Joey’s chest, started at it for a second, and then moved it up to the shoulder he’d been trying to aim for and missed, and patted it reassuringly. “I’m good. Thanks though.”

Joey just stared at him as he turned back to the cabinet. Quentin looked down at the drawers and noticed the broken one and its scattered contents and blinked at it in surprise.

“Oh yeah,” he said to himself after a second, “I guess I should pick that up.”

He took a step forward, lost his footing, and rammed headlong into the cabinet. Joey winced as Quentin bounced off it and fell to his knee, and then looked at the big wooden thing in confusion. The guy held up his hands and watched them shake for a couple of seconds, and then, looking supremely lost by all of the things happening, made it to his feet again and tried to get his wobbly body to stay still, confused and clearly trying to remember or figure out something in silence as he did, and having a hard time doing it despite the absolutely complete focus he was giving to the task.

“See what I mean?” asked Joey.

At the sound of his voice, Quentin glanced over with a look on his face like he’d completely forgotten Joey was there.

“You’re not fine,” said Joey again.

“I’m good,” promised Quentin, not even really responding to what he’d said in a way that made complete sense. He looked even more fucked up now than he had when Joey had come in there. More than a couple seconds ago even. Shit, I was right about it having not totally set in before, I think.

Joey stared through the floor for a second, trying to guess how long he had before the Doctor had them both, and to figure out what to do. He felt something bump his chest and looked up.

“Hey, Joey, could you hold this?” asked Quentin, holding out the broken drawer.

How the…fuck? Where did-? I’ve never said my own name in a trial, so who did he hear it from?

“Uh. Why?” said Joey, taking it anyway because he didn’t think not to, still kind of stuck on the fact that apparently at some point Quentin had learned his name.

“I can’t get it to go back in, and I don’t know where else to put it,” said Quentin as if that made perfect sense.

“You want me to hold it forever?” asked Joey in disbelief.

“Can you?” asked Quentin, surprised, taking that for some reason as a 100% genuine and doable offer.

“No!” said Joey.

“Okay,” said Quentin, seeing the choked back urge to laugh on Joey’s face and grinning in return, even though he pretty clearly didn’t get what had been so funny to him, “Then just find somewhere good to put it, I guess.”

As soon as Quentin turned his back, Joey hocked it onto a nearby hospital bed to deafen the thump.

Over by the cabinet, Quentin opened the second-to-bottom drawer, and gave a tired sigh. Joey scooted a foot closer and saw it was completely empty. He watched as the survivor tried again with the last one, and got the same results.

“Is stuff usually empty?” asked Joey, genuinely curious. Other than stealing alcohol from the Deathslinger, he’d never like, actually really gone somewhere looking for supplies.

“Uh, kinda,” said Quentin, glancing up, “I mean. There’s always good stuff somewhere, but it can take a long time to find it.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” asked Joey, watching and then following as Quentin made it shakily to his feet and took several swaying paces over to a little desk about six feet to the right and started to go through its drawers too. “I mean—don’t people usually find you and…” He made a slashing motion over his throat, but Quentin turned away just as he started to do it and didn’t see, so he added, “uh—kill you? Or. I know we’re not really supposed to kill you if we find you out here, but. I’m sure some of them do. Or at least fuck you up.”

“Hmm?” said Quentin, auditory-processing on a delay, and then before Joey actually had a chance to repeat himself, “Oh. Yeah—they do.” He picked up what looked like an empty can of something and gave it the world’s most displeased look, then kept digging. “Uh, I mean, it’s risky. But if we don’t come get good supplies where it’s dangerous between trials, we’ll only have shitty ones in the trials to use when we get hurt. And I’m kind of a medic, so it’s my—” He paused, holding up a little package and turning it over a few times trying to figure out what it was, seemed to recognize the object that was completely foreign to Joey, opened his medkit on top of the desk, dropped whatever it was inside with the other meager supplies he’d collected so far, and went back to searching. “—Uh, my responsibility kind of, to have stuff to help people,” he finished, “Sometimes you die out here and lose everything, or you get hurt, and slowed down in trials for a bit because of it, but.” He shrugged. “The alternative is…”

“…Not great?” offered Joey, seeing him struggle to recall a word again.

Quentin glanced up at him and nodded, then flashed him a little smile and kept going.

It still felt so weird to get smiled at by a survivor. It…made him feel guilty, like he was tricking someone into doing what he wanted while they were fucked up. Which he didn’t—he wouldn’t have…

“Hey, gauze. Not great, but I’ll take it,” said Quentin to himself, taking a big roll of gauze from the last drawer on the desk and putting it in his still mostly empty medkit. He stood up and swayed, then caught himself on the wall, looking almost too blitzed to even be confused or surprised by that this time, and glanced over at Joey. “You see anything good on your way through here?”

“Uh—” he actually tried to remember. Had there been? I didn’t look in anything. I have no idea. “Dunno.”

“Okay, well, good luck tagging,” said Quentin, words friendly and a little slurred, coming in at the wrong cadences as he started to walk past him. “You know—Nea really likes that. I bet you two would have fun doing that sometime,” he offered, pausing to glance at Joey again. “You should ask her.” He stepped on past then, heading for the hall, and almost immediately his foot hit a little jut at the place the floor of the hall and the floor of the room met and didn’t quite connect right, and that was enough to take him down again, but Joey shot forward and caught him this time, saving him from crashing headlong into an old cart out in the hall.

“Whoa—” said Quentin, trying to get his balance back a little. And then, flashing him a smile, “Thanks.”

“Dude, you have to stop,” said Joey urgently with his voice hushed, “You’re gonna—”

“It’s okay, really,” said Quentin with great assurance, thumping him on the shoulder again as he tried to straighten back up. “I feel fine.”

“You are not fine, dumbass!” hissed back Joey.

“Wow. Rude. Seriously, though—I’m pretty sure I’m good,” said Quentin, not worried at all. He started to walk again, thoroughly nonplussed, and began humming to himself, a melody Joey had never heard, swaying a little as he walked, and seeming about the most happily contented Joey had seen somebody in years. Joey stayed frozen, gaping at him as did a few really bad what Joey was pretty sure had been dance steps crossing to the next room, and started singing, “Oh my God we’re back again. Brothers, sisters, everybody sing—gonna bring the flavor, show you how. Got a question for you, better answer nooow.”

He made it into the far room and started getting louder. He’s lost his mind! thought Joey in a panic, breaking out of his initial shock and sprinting after him.

When he made it through the doorway, the dude was still kind of uncoordinatedly bobbing while he turned in a circle and scanned the room for potential storage areas, blissfully carefree as fuck. “Am I original? Yeeeah. Am I the only one? Yeaah. Am I s—”

“—What the fuck are you doing!” hissed Joey, bolting in and catching the surprised teenager by the arm.

“Uhm. I—wait. Didn’t we have this conversation before?” asked Quentin, like he was genuinely trying to parse some surreal deja-vu.

“Yeah! And you said you’d stop singing!” said Joey.

“…Oh yeah,” said Quentin in surprise, remembering. “Huh.” He immediately started to sing again, eyes focused on nothing at all like he’d gotten so lost in his head in the 0.4 seconds since agreeing that singing was off the table that he’d forgotten Joey was even there. “Am I sexual, ye—"

“—No you’re not!” shot back Joey, and Quentin stopped singing and looked at him kind of betrayed.

“It’s—that wasn’t a question—it’s a Backstreet Boys song,” said Quentin, a little hurt.

“A what?” said Joey. No idea what the fuck he was talking about.

“What?” asked Quentin with a huge amount of intense incredulity in his slightly slurred tone. “Y. You don’t know them?”

Joey just have him a disbelieving look.

“Everybody? I Want it That Way? As Long as You Love Me?” When Joey said nothing, he tried, “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart?” like it was the last bastion on earth and Joey would just have to know that one. Quentin waited a second for an answer that didn’t come and took in the completely lost look on Joey’s face. “Holy shit, really?”

Joey made a hopeless gesture, not even sure which part of this to respond to.

“Ah, that sucks!” said Quentin with incredibly genuine sympathy, “I wish I had an album. I guess it’s kinda fun though,” he added with a grin, like something amazing had just occurred to him, “because that means you get to hear them for the first time now.” He looked up at nothing, thinking. “They’re not really the kind of music I listen to, but Everybody and I Want it That Way are catchy, and I’ll give them that, and I wouldn’t usually tell people this, but I actually really like Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.”

“Dude, you have to stop singing,” pleaded Joey.

“Well, I will now,” promised Quentin, “Sorry—didn’t know I was spoiling the song. I thought everybody’d heard it.”

“That’s not really the problem!” whispered Joey.

“It’s—that’s cool,” decided Quentin, not listening at all. He looked off at nothing and then back at Joey, smiled, and slung an arm over his shoulder. “I like people who want to hear songs for real the first time they hear it—man, music’s so fucking cool. I have a record player back home—there’s just nothing like hearing a vinyl for the first time. Really! It’s like, magical what a difference it makes! I wish I could show you—”

Joey pulled Quentin’s arm back from over his shoulder and moved back a half-step. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“W…” Quentin looked at his arm, and then Joey in confusion. “It’s a friendly gesture,” he offered. “You were nicer than I thought, and we were talking about music, so—”

“—Yeah, we’re not friends,” said Joey, crossing his arms and feeling a way intenser reaction to this than he’d expected. His heart was thudding. Why the hell did you just blow up at him? He doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

“… I know,” said Quentin, drawing back his arm slowly and smile fading, looking kind of genuinely hurt for a second, “I said ‘friendly’ gesture, not a friend one. Like. When you meet a nice classmate and you’re hanging out the first time. So people can tell you don’t want to stab them in the back.”

“What?” said Joey.

“Yeah well, maybe not at school,” said Quentin, following his own logic path, “But you know. Here people are…harder to be sure—because half of them are always trying to kill you. Well. If you’re one of us.”

I guess, thought Joey, saying nothing.

“You know,” said Quentin, glancing up at him and smiling again, earlier hurt forgotten, “I’m really relieved, actually. I thought when you showed up, I was gonna have to fight you off with my medkit and probably get killed again.”

“Does every killer you’ve ever met out here try to kill you, even though we’re not supposed to outside trials?” asked Joey, genuinely surprised, and un-crossing his arms.

“No,” said Quentin, thinking about that, “But I figured you would. You hate me.”

“What?” said Joey, taken aback, “No I don’t. Why would you think that?”

“W…because you always kill me,” said Quentin, confused, working hard to find the right answers through the fog in his head.

“Don’t all of us?” said Joey, almost insulted. I’m not worse than anyone else! I’m probably one of the nicer killers! I’m not super cruel, or—

“Yeah, I mean, none of you are really merciful or anything, you’re all kind of monsters,” answered Quentin very serious and sincerely, “But most of you let the last one go at least sometimes. All of Legion does. But you’ve never let me take the hatch. Julie lets me take hatch sometimes if I did well in the trial and she’s in a good mood. Susie lets me take it. Even Frank’s let me go before if I’m the last one. But you never have. Not even one time out of so many trials, so you must really hate me. I’ve never known why you do. …Did I do something? That I just don’t…remember? If I did something really bad to you to make you hate me, I’m sorry.”

“I—” Joey stared at him, kind of bowled over by a feeling it took him a second to realize was a mixture of distress and horror. “No. No, you—I don’t hate you—I. I do that because you’re so easy to catch,” he tried to explain, stepping a little closer. Quentin watched him take the step and didn’t back up, but he wasn’t looking at him like he had been before anymore either. Not at all. “That’s all. You come back in at the end in trials if anybody else is still in there—always, no matter how stupid it is, or how obviously it’s a trap. Even if you know you’ve got no chance of saving them, you’ll try. So when you’re there, even if I have a really bad trial, and no sacrifices at all by the time the gates are up, I always know I can get at least two kills if I can just manage to down even one person before you’re all out, because you’ll always come back for anybody I get, no matter how suicidal it is, and then I’ll be okay. Free kill. It’s like a safety net. I can always count on you to try to come sacrifice yourself to save someone, and I pretty much always get both of you, too. I don’t kill you all the time because I hate you, I just do it because it’s…easy.”

He lost steam on the last word, thinking for the first moment for real about what he was saying.

Even with the haze of drugs in his system, Quentin was working hard to listen, glassy eyes fixed on his, and Joey could tell that he’d heard it all and understood what he’d said, but the guy didn’t say anything at all. Just looked at him in silence. Looking kind of sad, or wounded, or some other emotion Joey didn’t even know the name of that was hurt and sad and lonely and a lot of other quiet, painful stuff all at the same time, and he just held Joey’s gaze with that emotion in his eyes and said nothing. Just looked at him.

Fuck. Fuck! I—

After a few long seconds, Quentin looked slowly away and nodded.

What did I say? I—shit. I. Joey had thought it would make him feel better—why the fuck did you think that? Fuck! Idiot! He wanted to say he was sorry, but there was no way he could. He didn’t even know if it was true. It—it was just practical, killing him. Joey was alright, but he wasn’t the best at hunts, and sometimes shit went south in trials. He liked getting Quentin in his trials, because that always made them easier. Even a worst-case scenario was pretty much always gonna be a 2-kill for him. But he-

“I’m gonna go back to searching,” said Quentin very quietly, finally glancing his way again for a moment, but he was barely looking at him anymore, “You can go back to tagging now. I’ll be quiet. …Thanks for…giving me a warning, instead of murdering me this time.”

“Quentin-“ started Joey as the survivor turned and began working towards the other end of the room unsteadily, using the back of a long bench for support, but he stopped, and let him go. What would he have said anyway? Joey looked at the ground for a second, not seeing the dirty carpet at all. Shit. Shit! Why-? I didn’t. It’s just—I-I don’t have a choice—I. Fuck! Why did I even follow him in here? Why did I talk to him at all! I should just go back, and finish up if I have time, and then get lost, or book if I hear him making noise again. If he wants to get found by the Doctor and tortured for a couple—

He stopped, mind flashing him images of a death he had been working hard to repress since the day it happened. That had been the first time Joey had ever died, and it had been awful. Usually he could just not think about it so much, and just be angry it had happened, but he was feeling electricity run up his backbone like a shiver, remembering the way that smelled, and burned. He had thought he knew what the sound of his own voice screaming sounded like before that, but he hadn’t. Not a real scream. He just hadn’t known how different the sound could be. Joey felt sick with the memory, seeing the Doctor’s grinning face in his head and shuddering involuntarily at the sight of it so close to his face in his mind’s eye, and then hating himself for doing that like a fucking coward—like the guy was better than him, or stronger, or anything. He’d just gotten lucky that last time—they were all strongest on their own turf. But, fuck. It—

Joey turned his head and looked for Quentin, and saw him easily, walking unsteadily towards the far end of the room. Something more off about the walk than before. He was moving…it was almost like he was nodding off on his feet or something. Quentin made it to the end of the bench, though, and behind a big secretarial area against the wall near it, and started to try and look through shelves, and Joey heard him start singing again, very quietly this time, words barely decipherable from where he was about fifteen feet off.

“…step outside. An angry voice and one who cried, ‘We'll give you…everything and more. The strain’s too much, can't take much…more.”

Oh come on, thought Joey desperately, You’re gonna go sing a sad song now? You’re doing this on purpose!

“…Oh I’ve…” Quentin stopped singing and took a couple deep breaths like he was short on it before he kept going again. “Oh, I've walked on water…run through fire. Can’t seem to…feel it. Anymore…”

Wait. Something was wrong.

“Can’t seem to feel it anymore,” whispered Quentin again, staring blankly at nothing, struggling to keep his eyes open. He looked down at his hands and held one of them up in confusion and tried to focus on it.

“Quentin?” asked Joey. He didn’t even glance up, just stayed staring at his hands. Joey didn’t think he was even aware he was still in the room with him anymore. Wait, were you sweating before? What the fuck? What was he looking at?

Quentin didn’t move at all. He just stayed standing there, breathing shakily, eyes fixed on his fingertips. Joey took two steps closer carefully and tried again.

“Quentin?”

He turned this time, surprised—no. Afraid. And found Joey, and his eyes—what the fuck? “Oh no,” whispered Joey. Gaping. Quentin’s pupils were so small he could barely see them at all, like they’d drowned in his huge blue eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone’s pupils that vanished. That was wrong—that was really, really wrong, especially from someone who was scared. Okay-okay—he was staring at his hands—why. Joey looked frantically and saw why immediately. His fingertips were blue.

Joey started to bolt forwards, and Quentin reacted with alarm, stumbling back from him and losing his balance immediately, falling against the back wall.

“S-Stay away from me!” managed Quentin frantically through desperate breathing Joey didn’t think had anything to do with fear. Joey didn’t stop. He vaulted the low wall sectioning off the secretarial area and landed inside it only a few feet back. Quentin tried to struggle up and get away from him, and collapsed halfway though the effort, arms giving out, and rolled onto his back and crawled back on his elbows instead, looking up at him with such intense panic and terror it was kind of sickening. It was like he wasn’t the same person he had been a minute ago at all.

Fuck—fuck—he’s really fucked up—this is really bad.

“Calm down,” tried Joey, starting to go towards him while holding up his hands, palm-out, “I’m just trying to help you.”

There wasn’t even a fraction of belief this time in the person opposite him. He just kept trying weakly and horribly to get away. “No you won’t!” he shot back desperately, pupils tiny pinpricks of black in vacant eyes as he tried to keep away from Joey without the ability to really do it anymore at all.

“I am—I am,” promised Joey, keeping his hands up, “Remember? We were just talking a minute ago—I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“You always do!” argued Quentin, hitting the side wall of the little secretarial area and, with nowhere else to go, desperately reaching blindly for a weapon and comping back with a pen leveled at him like a knife, “Don’t come near me!”

Fuck, he’s getting too loud! The Doctor’s gonna hear that! His impulse was to jump him and get a hand over his mouth to shut him the fuck up before it was too late—that pen wasn’t gonna do shit. But. But he could tell that was exactly what Quentin thought he was gonna do, and he had no fucking idea what morphine did to you if you overdosed, but what if he had a heart attack, and—

…and he’d just come back, wouldn’t he? Like he did any other time he died. So it wouldn’t really matter. Right? What was one more. What were any of the deaths. No, thought Joey, feeling overwhelmed and sick in a way he’d never felt before, remembering the one and only death he had experienced so far, No. What were all of them.

“Okay,” said Joey quietly, stopping about three feet from Quentin, crouched, hands still up. “Okay. I’m just trying to help. I know I’m a killer, but we met a few minutes ago, remember? We’re both in the Doctor’s realm, so we’ve got a kind of temporary alliance thing going. Both have to be quiet, or we’ll both get caught, and we’re both gonna die.”

The shaking teenager opposite him watched him in confusion, breathing raggedly, pen still leveled like he really thought that could protect him.

“W-what?” he asked, searching Joey’s face desperately, “I-I don’t—”

Right. Okay—okay maybe… He held up his right hand, and with his left, slowly pulled his mask off. Quentin stayed still, constricted pupils locked on his face, trying to find some sign of familiarity he wasn’t going to find, because he never had seen Joey’s face before, but at least it was a face.

“See?” said Joey calmingly, hand still up. “Remember me? Joey?”

“…Y-yeah,” said Quentin after a second, lowering the pen a little. He swallowed hard. God, he looked so bad. He couldn’t have been sweating for very long, but he’d sweated so much since it had started that he was soaked in it now, and disgusting. This is really, really bad.

“You need help,” said Joey, gesturing towards him, “Look at your fingers.”

Quentin did, and then looked confused and worried to find them blue again and shaking. “Sh-shit,” he managed. He looked up back up at Joey worriedly. “A-am I dying?”

“I-I don’t know,” said Joey, “You took morphine. I think you must have overdosed. Do you know if there’s a way to fix it? Do you—do you need to throw up or something?”

“Oh. Oh, that’s right,” said Quentin shakily, blinking, “I-I. No, I. I took it in a syringe. I can’t throw that up. It’s in my blood.”

“C-can I help you?” offered Joey, a horrible feeling in the pit of his gut. Fuck. Fuck—I’m gonna watch him die from an overdose. I don’t want to know what that looks like.

“I-I don’t. I don’t. I don’t….I don’t know,” said Quentin, voice deteriorating as he went, like he might cry.

Joey looked around, as if he might spot something that would miraculously help, but there was nothing—he wouldn’t have even known a cure if he’d seen one. He didn’t know what that was! He had no idea what to do.

Quentin was breathing more desperately now, and his arms went lax at his side, not fighting anymore at all. He looked up at Joey and he was scared. Really, really scared. “I,” he tried, struggling to talk through shallow, frantic breathing, “I can’t breathe right. I’m-I’m choking. I can’t. I can’t breathe. And. And I can barely see you at all.” He teared up, and Joey felt sick. “With either eye. Not just my left one. I’m-I’m…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” promised Joey, moving close to him and putting his hands on his shoulders. He didn’t shudder or try to pull away, just kept trying desperately to breathe, and when he looked back at Joey, he was looking at him like a friend, and that just made everything so much more awful, and somehow he was glad for it at the same time as if felt like a knife in his gut. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Quentin shook his head.

“You don’t know anything about what to do?” asked Joey, desperate for the answer to change.

“I…” Quentin swallowed hard, thinking. “I’ve. W-we don’t ever get painkillers. It’s. It’s supposed to come with an antidote, m-morphine, in case you do what I did, b-but I don’t remember any when I got it.”

“Okay! Okay—Where did you get it?” asked Joey.

Quentin tried to point to something, and when he saw that his arm was shaking too badly to obey him, he said, “There’s a—another. Nother room. I…”

“The one I found you in first?” asked Joey.

Quentin shook his head.

Fuck! “Which one? What did it look like?” pressed Joey.

“…A hospital room,” said Quentin in a whisper, eyes filling up. Which had to mean he was too out of it to think right and remember, but still there enough to know that wouldn’t be enough for Joey to ever find it, and failing to remember meant there was no way he could be saved. Which was so fucking cruel.

“Maybe it’s not so bad,” tried Joey, taking his hand and closing his fingers around it, “Maybe it’s not a fatal dose.”

Quentin looked up at him for a few seconds, struggling and sick and shaking, and then looked slowly away at nothing past the floor. “…What does it matter,” he whispered, expression changing. Despairing. He grimaced then and choked back a sound of pain, wincing and pressing an arm to his stomach, and then looked up at Joey again with something between hope and desperation in his eyes. “Y-you have a knife?”

“Yeah,” said Joey, reaching for it, ready to try anything.

Quentin watched him for a second, breathing shakily, eyes becoming increasingly glossy and wincing at pain that hadn’t got bad enough yet that he had to vocalize it, then choked out, “Kill me?”

“What?” asked Joey, horrified, drawing the knife back like he thought Quentin would reach out and snatch it from him to do it himself.

“It. Please,” Quentin managed. So fucked up and out of it and lost. “It hurts so much. It’s getting worse. I. I can’t…I can’t see anything. It’s all blurry. I can’t breathe. I-“ He looked up and took a second to find Joey’s eyes, then held them, fingers digging into the hand Joey had given him to hold. “I’ve died before, but I. I don’t even feel like me. It’s all…It’s all wrong. I don’t—I don’t like feeling like this. I don’t wanna die like this. Please.”

“I-I. I can’t,” whispered Joey, sickened.

“Why not?” asked Quentin brokenly, “You have. But you—?” He looked so hurt and betrayed and hopeless, and Joey felt his grip on his hand slacken. “You won’t? The one time I. I want to…” He started breathing horribly then, like he couldn’t get his body to do it at all, and looked panicked, and started gasping, and then as fast as that had started, he was suddenly barely breathing at all, chest refusing to rise and fall like his brain was only getting the signal to breathe on a delay, picking up one-tenth of the signals he was trying to give it. It would be nothing for several seconds, and then a ragged shallow gasp, and he could see him trying to breathe through all of it, trying so fucking hard, and failing.

“Fuck! Fuck—I want to help!—Isn’t there something I can do?” Joey pleaded, grabbing his hand and trying to think, but Quentin couldn’t answer him anymore. His skin was changing color, and he was shuddering, struggling to keep his eyes open. FUCK! Fuck! Isn’t there something I can do? Anything? He was fine a minute ago! What the fuck!

Joey felt the fingers on the hand he was grabbing close around his, and looked down to see Quentin clutching it weakly. He looked at Quentin’s face and for a second they met eyes and the other guy looked so out of it he was barely there at all, but he was there enough—enough to be aware how wrong it was, and to be terrified.

“No-no, come on,” said Joey frantically, “You said there’s medicine to fix it—right? Just tell me what it’s called! I can—”

Wait! Wait—when he walked in the room—the first time he saw him today—Quentin had been looking for a bottle he was already holding, right? Maybe. No—but that was a pill bottle. No way it’s what he needs. Fuck! No—no wait, but—but he is remembering badly. And maybe if he’s remembering badly. He’s scavenging, right? H-he could have taken it—he would, right? He doesn’t think so, but he f-forgot the bottle, and he forgot me! It has to be there, right? He said he didn’t even check to see what he was taking was, because there’s only ever two kinds of drugs in syringes he finds here, and he keeps both, so it has to be there it has to be, right? He would keep it! Right? thought Joey desperately.

Moving urgently fast, he tore his hand away from Quentin and shot the two-feet over to where he’d left the medkit on one of the shelves in the secretarial area beside them. He felt him try to hang on to his hand when he ripped it away, and thought he tried to say something, but there was no time—he—

“Hang on, hang on,” called Joey without looking, ripping the case open, “I think—” Fuck—fuck. Syringes, pill bottle, gauze, band-aids, thread, thread, fuck! –there—package—no—bandaids again—shit! It would be near the top, it!

Desperate, he snatched the same container Quentin had taken the used syringe he’d given him earlier from, hoping for a miracle, and it had weight to it. Weight he thought might be beyond just the empty syringe Quentin had put back in there, and— Fuck! Yes! There! The top was ripped open, where he’d gotten the syringe out, but there was a partition about 2/3rds of the way though the case, and the last third was still sealed, and Joey ripped it open with a vengeance and snatched up the little syringe waiting inside—there—on the label. ‘Naloxone. 2mg.’ Fuck! Is that the right drug? He had no idea, but it had to be, right? What else would have been in there? There were no instructions on the stupid fucking box or the label or in the container at all, but it had to be, it had to. It is—I know it is.

“Okay,” said Joey, hurrying above Quentin again, ripping the cover off the needle tip and trying to figure out where the fuck to inject him. F-fuck, a vein, right? That’s where doctors do it—in your arm, right? Kinda by your elbow, or up by your wrist? He couldn’t see a fucking visible vein that wasn’t tiny in his wrist, so he grabbed Quentin’s left arm and tugged it straight and readied the needle, eyes on the thick blue vein there on the inside of his elbow, praying to God that he’d do this right. Not too deep not too shallow fuck fuck fuck come on, you can do it.

Below him, Quentin’s skin had gotten tinged with purple and blue, and he was choking but too weak not to be doing it frantically anymore, just weakly, and it was like watching someone drown, except it was so much fucking worse, because he couldn’t just pull him out of the water—there was no water—there was air, and he just couldn’t make his body take it. He was soaked in sweat and looking at Joey with pinpoint pupils and glossy eyes, and he tried to say something, but Joey couldn’t tell what it had been, only how distressed it was making him that he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” promised Joey, sliding the needle slowly into his arm and trying to force his own hands to quit shaking, “I got the drug—you’re gonna be fine.” He pressed down on the plunger, and watched the liquid go in, desperately hoping for a miracle.

Beside him, Quentin stopped breathing.

Joey didn’t register it at first, because he’d been struggling so hard, and he was focused on getting in all of the drug, but when the tenth breath that should have finally gone through and given the teenager a gasp of air didn’t come, and then didn’t come on an eleventh, a twelfth, a thirteenth beat, Joey felt it. He turned his head and stared at Quentin in frozen shock, almost as still as the body beneath him had suddenly gone.

“No,” said Joey quietly, not ready to believe it, watching, waiting for him to breathe again. Fuck. What if it was. What if that’s another pain killer? What if he could have made it through that if I’d just helped him and done nothing. Fuck! I thought—I.

Slowly, he pulled the needle back out of his arm, feeling sick, eyes still on Quentin’s face, and then there was a motion—a—he hadn’t been looking, but he thought his hand had twitched. Wait—

“Are you not dead?” asked Joey desperately, feeling a tiny spark of hope. The body didn’t respond. But he— “No! No way! Fuck it!  I did everything right! I saved you!” argued Joey to the form beneath him he refused to believe was anything but unconscious, “You’re not dead!”

He’s just not breathing! If the drug works, it probably takes it a minute—I can keep him breathing for a minute. Fuck you! You’re not dying now—not after all of that! Come on!

Joey shoved Quentin’s jacket and necklace aside, wincing at the fresh claw marks still there, placed his palms over each other in the center of his chest like he’d learned in highschool, and started compressions.

“Come on come on come on,” he whispered, keeping time to a 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, all the way up to 30. He hit thirty, moved an inch to the right, tipped back Quentin’s head and held his nose, then breathed into his mouth twice. Come on come on. Again. Back—1 through thirty. Mouth open, breathe for him, again. Again. He hit 120 and kept going. Again. 27, 28, 29, 30—breathe. Head back, mouth open, nose closed. Breathe. Take a deep breath, blow in. Breathe for him. Th—

He was halfway to ramming the full force of his palms against the guy’s ribcage, already mentally ticking off 1 in his head again, when he saw it was moving shakily up to meet him, and he stopped, staring. The chest lowered weakly, and rose again, and he looked over at Quentin’s face and saw the tiniest mist in the cold air of Lerry’s Memorial Institute as he exhaled.

Joey fell back onto the floor and sat still, watching, a huge smile spreading slowly across his face, and then he laughed, overcome with relief. He looked at Quentin’s still features and smiled at him. “You scared the shit out of me.”

For a few seconds, Quentin just kept breathing, and then he coughed weakly and groaned, and slowly opened his eyes to little cracks and blinked weakly, trying to make out the ceiling above.

“…Ow,” whispered Quentin to no one and nothing, still out of it.

Joey grinned.

“Hi.”

Quentin heard him this time, blinked again, and slowly turned his head and looked over at Joey. For a few seconds he just squinted, no recognition or emotion attached at all, no familiarity, or fear, or gladness, or hate, just trying to figure out who he was. Then he said, “…Lee.g…J..Joey…?”

“Yeah,” said Joey, smiling at him.

“Did you kick me?” asked Quentin hoarsely.

“What?” asked Joey, trying not to laugh because of the absurdity of that question to him.

“My ribs feel like shit,” groaned Quentin, turning his head and looking back up at the ceiling again.

“Yeah, well, you quit breathing,” said Joey, proud of himself, “Before the antidote kicked in. I had to give you CPR. It’s better to push too hard than too soft if you’re trying to get someone to breathe. Sorry it hurts—I don’t think I broke anything though.”

“…What?” asked Quentin, turning his head to look at him again.

Joey grinned and opened his mouth to echo himself, and then stopped, a sinking feeling stabbing him in the chest all of a sudden. Oh, Joey, you fucked up here. You should not have done this. This was bad.

What the fuck was he doing? And why? Why—I mean—okay, sure, they were supposed to not kill a survivor outside of a trial. Leaving him alone was fine, shutting him up so the Doctor wouldn’t come—totally normal. M-maybe even trying to warn him off—after all—they weren’t supposed to be friends, but like, that didn’t mean he had to like watching them die. Didn’t have to…to not let a guy so fucked up he didn’t even realize he was high know he was going to get electrocuted to death really slowly for making so much noise, right? Yeah. Yeah—that—that was fine. Anybody might have done that. But. But this? He’d been about to die, hadn’t he? Probably? He’d been unconscious, so if he’d just done nothing, Quentin would have just ended up dead on the floor here and gone back to his campfire again without his meager supply of medical shit he’d collected so far, and start over. No harm done. He hadn’t even been—been like, saving him from pain. The painful part had been over. He’d been out. Why did you do this? Why not let him die this time? What did it matter?

Right. …Right, Quentin had. He’d said that too, hadn’t he. Asked what it would matter if he died one more time.

Shit. … Shit! Was it—was it always like that, for—for all of them? He couldn’t…couldn’t imagine watching Frank get ripped up by a chainsaw, day after day—his best friend? While he—he couldn’t do anything, or knew he was about to be next? Trial after trial after trial? Could something like that happen so many times it didn’t even matter anymore? Could you get used to that? And if so, then why? Why do you always come back for the people I catch in trials, if it doesn’t matter if I get them one more time anyway? If death is just—just fucking nothing anymore. God, it couldn’t be nothing anymore, could it? He was scared of it, and he’d died—only once, but. But.

But you were too, thought Joey desperately, remembering the terror in the other teen’s face when he’d been choking to death. You were scared. You were so scared you wanted me to mercy kill you, because it would be quicker, even though you were scared of me killing you at all a few minutes ago. So it has to matter to you, doesn’t it?

But maybe it didn’t. Maybe it couldn’t. And he was suddenly, immensely, deeply afraid of that. Not all the deaths themselves. Joey felt like…like those could only matter. He’d only been killed one time so far, but he didn’t think he’d ever have be able to get used to the way that had felt—there were just some things in life you couldn’t—like getting punched. It didn’t matter if people fought you a lot, or you got picked on and beat up every day at school—maybe you got used to the idea of bullying, but you never got used to the way a fist stung against cheekbone or felt rammed into your gut. You just didn’t. Other things too… But. But maybe this didn’t—hadn’t—not at all. Maybe it couldn’t anymore. Maybe if you died so much, got cut down and carved up and electrocuted and drugged and burned and eaten and ripped to shreds one too many times, it stopped mattering at all if there was ever a time that you didn’t. Because why would it? Death would just be back for you the next hour. So it. It probably hadn’t even done anything at all. Except fucking made him all confused and angry and—fuck! He didn’t even know how he felt except bad. How could it not matter, he thought desperately, still saying nothing, and watching a semi-conscious guy his age who might have been a classmate or a friend or anything at all in another life blink back at him in confusion, still waiting for an answer he no longer knew how to give. How could it not matter that I saved you! It should! It should…

But fuck. It didn’t. And he got that now.

I never should have done this, thought Joey, feeling a little nauseous suddenly and like the room was swaying around him, I didn’t do anything at all for you, and I fucked up my head doing it. I should have just kept walking and let what happened happen. I should never have talked to you at all.

“Are you okay?” asked Quentin. He looked concerned now. Of all the possible stupid things. Concerned. Voice all cracked and dry and weak and scratchy from choking to death, and he was asking Joey if he was okay.

When you think I hate you, thought Joey hopelessly, I didn’t even think I was one of the mean ones, but I’ve been making you miserable for months, and didn’t even see it, because I didn’t have to care or to even know. I could just do anything I wanted, no repercussions, unless I fucked up killing people too much. What the fuck. And.

“What happened?” asked Quentin. Slightly more awake now. Still out of it, but pupils slightly larger than the tiny specks they’d been before, and struggling to focus on his expression. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows and grimaced and stopped only partway there and looked over at Joey again.

“You almost died,” said Joey barely audibly, because he couldn’t keep not answering him at all, and there was nothing else he knew to say.

Quentin looked confused by that, and thought for a second, looking at nothing, brow ridiculously furrowed. “…morphine?” he asked after a moment, glancing up at Joey very unsure.

“Yeah,” answered Joey, no energy in the word.

The survivor thought for another moment, trying to pick up pieces in his head, Joey thought, then met his gaze again. “…You found the antidote?”

“Nah,” said Joey quietly, not looking at his face, “It just wore off.”

For a second, Quentin was quiet. “But…you said you did,” he said after a moment, “You said you…gave me CPR.”

Joey stared at him, feeling cornered. Fuck—I thought you didn’t hear that all the way. Quentin was watching him in unfocused confusion. What am I supposed to say?

He didn’t know, so he didn’t say anything, and Quentin glanced at the ground around him after a few seconds with no response, and saw the syringe and the package where Joey had left it, and picked up the empty needle and shakily brought it towards his face to read the label. “Nal…Naloxone—you did,” said Quentin, glancing back at him.

Joey shrugged. For a moment, they just stared at each other in complete silence, Quentin still only half propped up, Joey maybe a half foot back, sitting above him on the ground. Joey didn’t really know what either of them was waiting for, but he was afraid to be the first one to speak, or move, so he didn’t.

“…Thank you,” said Quentin finally, and he smiled at him. Like he meant it. And Joey knew it was really the drugs that were still in there that meant it, and not the teenager at all, but the guy thought he meant it so much that it was hard not to smile back, and so he did for just a second before he could stop himself.

Quentin looked at the ground for a second then, blinking slowly, breathing more regularly now, but eyes still glassy and movements irregular and off, and Joey tried to guess from a distance how high he still was. Not dying at least. His skin isn’t blue anymore, so. That’s the big one. That and uh, breathing.

“Why did you do that?” asked Quentin, looking back up. Just curious. No accusation or suspicion, or anything in the tone but the desire to know. “-Save me?”

“…I don’t know,” said Joey quietly, because he didn’t, and he knew that another fifteen seconds of thinking before he answered later, he still wasn’t going to. And he didn’t want to lie. Not here, not to that question.

Quentin tilted his head and watched him for a few seconds curiously, and then laid back down on the dirty floor and smiled at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Well, thanks. I don’t remember all of it, but that seems really good of you,” he offered.

Joey didn’t say anything.

After a second, Quentin shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths, then started mumbling something to himself, hummed a few bars of one of the songs he’d been singing earlier under his breath, and then sat up. He made it this time too, still a little unsteady, and he turned and glanced over at Joey and offered him a friendly smile and said, “Thanks again. I think I can get up now if I go slow, so I’m gonna go ahead and try to get back to searching,” then grabbed the side of the desk by him and started to attempt to pull himself up.

“WHAT?” exploded Joey in barely hissed indignation, shooting halfway to his feet because he expected the other guy to collapse in about 2.4 seconds at most.

“Supplies,” said Quentin, who had made it up to one foot and one knee with the help of the desk, wobbled a little with an arm out, and then glanced back at him once he got his balance, “I should look for some more before I go back to the campfire.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” hissed Joey, losing it, “You—you fucking unbelievably stupid dumbass! No! You’re still high, you just almost died, you’re already making too much noise again, and you’re gonna get caught if you stay! –And you want to keep going? You’re fucking insane!”

“I am not,” replied Quentin kind of indignantly, “I’m okay—you gave me an antidote, so my head will clear up—is clearing, and I’ll be good to keep going.” He started trying to make it all the way to his feet with a lot of arm strength and effort because his legs weren’t super dependable right then.

“Why!” asked Joey, “What’s wrong with you! Why are you so set on killing yourself to get stupid medical supplies! They won’t even help you much anyway!”

Quentin stopped. He turned his head and looked at Joey and he had a look on his face like a friend of his had just smacked him and he didn’t even know why. Shit—I shouldn’t have—

“They do help,” said Quentin quietly, like he was trying to make it more true just by the way he was saying it.

Joey thought about saying nothing, because he was pretty sure he’d sort of hurt his feelings before, but the stupid fucking dumbass survivor was going to stick around and get himself killed, and then come out again the next day and the next, and for what? It just—It wasn’t worth it! He was wrong!

“They don’t,” said Joey, shaking his head, “Not enough. You’re risking your life out here all the time for no reason.” He picked up the medkit from the floor, and Quentin watched him in what was almost alarm, and tried to reach out and grab it back, and just about lost his balance without both arms propping him against the desk, and had to stop to keep himself standing. Joey held up the case, watching the kind of frantic look on the other teenager’s face as he watched him, obviously afraid he was going to chuck it across the room or something, or break it. Like people looked at you if you had their paper and were holding it up above a running sink at school. Like he was going to take this one stupid flimsy fucking piece of nothing the other guy had and break it for no reason. And you would care. That would hurt you—it’d be so easy. Why the fuck do you care? You shouldn’t! God it’s—it’s nothing!

“Joey, please, I—” asked Quentin, eyes still on the case.

“—It’s not worth it,” cut in Joey, shaking his head again, “It’s not gonna help you. Coming out here all the time? It’s a waste. None of this is gonna be enough to really matter.”

Quentin stared at him.

“Come on, Quentin, think!” said Joey, “What’s one more roll of thread gonna let you do? Stitch up your leg a little bit better so it’s fresh for the next beartrap? Extend how long it takes you to bleed to death? That’s nothing! It’s fucking nothing! You could have gotten caught by the Doctor out here and tortured to death—it’s not worth the risk!”

“—It is!” said Quentin.

“Why?” shot back Joey, desperate for him to reassess the situation and just fucking go home. “How is this possibly worth it?”

“…Because… I don’t have anything else I can do,” said Quentin. He didn’t look great. His expression was hurt, and his voice was kind of…broken, when he spoke. “Y-you don’t understand,” he tried, still looking from Joey to the case like the worst possible thing in the world would be for him to take that shitty little piece of metal and crush it under his foot, or hock it out a window into somewhere he would never be able to get it back. “We. We go into trials every day, and you—you can’t get used to that. To being hurt. To-to dying. And it’s not fair—it’s stacked so we can never win against you, even when we try—even if all of us try—not in a fight. We can only live if we run away, and make it out in time, and even on a day all of us have a great trial and all four make it out alive, there is never gonna be a day where there’s a trial where you don’t end up hurt. You can’t save anybody. You can’t. Can’t kill, or hurt, or punish any of the things hurting them. You can’t really escape, or go home, or even have time to recuperate and heal enough for that to actually mean something—it’s hell.” He looked up into Joey’s face and held his eyes kind of desperately. “It’s. It’s not much but suffering, not ever. So I—I always go back in, because I might be able to save somebody, even if it’s a trap, and I go out here to get meds, even though y-you’re right, they won’t ever do much—It’s cause I have to. I have to. I have to try. If I’ve got tape and gauze and a needle and thread, I can find somebody hurt in a trial, and tell them we’re gonna make it out together, and I can help them—I know it’s nothing—I know it is, but I. I can try. I can say that, and I can sew up a wound, and let them know they’re not alone, and if I’ve got good supplies, I can make that a little less painful—I can stitch it up faster, I can—I can go more even, so it hurts less. I can stop the bleeding a little faster. I can give somebody hope, maybe—maybe that at least. I have to.” He was struggling to talk, and the look in his eyes and the way he sounded choked up made Joey feel sick in a way he hadn’t known before. “I have to do that, at least, because it’s all I can. I go back, because it might work this time—I might save them, I c-I can’t do anything else. I’ll attack any killer I see, and I’ll try to make them pay, and try to stop them, try to be the one who dies instead, but it’s never enough. I have to—have to try though. Because the second I stop. … The second I stop, none of it’s gonna matter anymore. And I c—” He couldn’t for a second, and he looked away, and swallowed, and tried again. Tried to look at Joey again. Pleading with him for the little box of rusted nothing in his hand. “I can’t…keep going, once it doesn’t. I need it to. We all need it too. Fuck, it—it’s the only thing we even have left. We can’t run, we can’t hide, we can’t fight, or win, or rest, or go home—if we can’t even matter anymore, we’re just.” That was too much, and some of the tears he’d been choking back spilled over and he stopped, broken down and angry and hopeless and ashamed at not having stopped himself from that in front of Joey, and he looked away again, breathing shakily, trying to pull the emotion back inside where it was livable again.

Joey didn’t look at him, because he could see Quentin didn’t want him to, and he would have felt the same way if he’d been the one crying, so he slowly lowered his arm and looked at the medkit instead. These things always looked the same, pretty much. Basic objects. A few different sizes, and shapes, but with little variance between them. But this one was different. He’d painted over the little Medic + that was always on the outside of these, and put a red heart there instead. Like that might somehow fucking matter too.

“Here,” said Joey quietly, holding the case out.

Quentin looked over at him in surprise, and then took it shakily. Once he had it securely, he glanced back over at Joey and took an unsteady breath and then smiled at him again. Like all of that shit that had just been said and the side of it he was on had just been forgotten. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure you can… Are you sure that the morphine wore off enough you can get it done, though?” asked Joey.

Quentin nodded.

“—Look, I understand you need it to matter, and why you think you have to do this,” said Joey kind of desperately, and he actually did, probably not the same way, probably not really at all, not like Quentin, not like any of the survivors—probably he couldn’t, but he’d at least understood it barely enough that just minutes ago he’d thought almost some of the exact same things he’d just heard Quentin say, and God, the alternative was too fucked to really even understand, but… “—but it really doesn’t have to be today. You’re kind of hurt, you should go home. Try again tomorrow instead.”

“I’m doing much better,” promised Quentin, appreciating the sentiment and trying to reassure him, “I’m thinking fine now; I’m sure.”

“How sure?” asked Joey nervously, watching him test his footing and prepare to take a step on his own again, “You know it-it won’t help you to find more supplies if you get killed on the way back.”

“I know, but I think I’m okay,” said Quentin sincerely, glancing back at him. “The antidote must be working really well, because I don’t think I’m high anymore at all.”

“Really?” asked Joey.

“Yeah,” assured Quentin, “I feel fine now.” He took a step and immediately slammed face-first into the floor on top of his medkit with a surprised cry, and Joey winced at the impact.

“Yeah, uh, you sure about that?” asked Joey, trying not to find that funny just a little bit, and failing somehow in spite of everything. His legs hadn’t even held his weight long enough to buckle.

“Uh,” came Quentin’s muffled voice from the floor.

He stayed there for a second. Joey cocked his head and watched him.

“…If you’re high, while you’re high,” asked Quentin, voice still muffled. “how can one tell?”

Joey rolled his eyes and smiled, then walked over beside him and crouched down. “Hey Quentin?”

Quentin turned his head to the side so he could see him and blew some of his curly brown hair out of his face, then sighed. “Yeah?”

“You’re still really fuckin’ blitzed,” said Joey.

“…Fun,” said Quentin miserably. He pressed his face against the floor again. Joey tried not to smile.

For a moment, he let him just deal there on the gross Institute floor, then tried again. “So uh, how about this,” offered Joey, “We go ahead and get you out of here before the Doctor comes and kills us. Huh?”

“But I barely got anything. All I did was waste a bunch of fucking morphine,” came annoyed Quentin’s muffled floor reply.

“Well, some is better than nothing,” offered Joey.

Quentin made an incredibly unhappy sound.

Joey considered that, thinking hard. “…Okay. What about this. We go back now, and on the way, anything good you see in a cabinet we pass or something, I’ll run and snag for you. Does that seem fair enough?”

“…Really?” asked Quentin, turning his head to see him again.

Joey nodded.

Quentin squinted at him for a second. “Why are you being so nice to me today? It’s weird. I mean. I. I appreciate it, and I don’t know if it’s normal me thinking normally doing it, or the morphine making me paranoid, but I’m also kind of…I don’t know. Expecting you to be pulling some big trick to make me think we were friends before you stab me in the back.”

“What?” said Joey, too many points in that sentence to hit at once and mostly just stuck on the last one. Smiling at the ridiculousness of doing that to him right now. “No.”

“We are then?” said Quentin, propping himself up a little on an arm and giving him a hopeful look when he saw Joey had smiled.

“Are?” echoed Joey.

“Friends,” said Quentin.

It felt like being punched in the stomach. Joey felt himself starting to lose the smile, and was suddenly afraid for some reason of how this fucked up on morphine stranger his age would act if he saw the smile go, and tried to keep it instead. Feeling sick. You are lying now if you say yes. You’re a monster. Don’t do that—I know it’s complicated. I know we can’t stop. But you can’t tell him we’re friends it’s too fucked up—you can’t.

“Yeah,” said Joey, managing to keep his smile.

And Quentin believed it. He smiled back, in a way that, fucked up on morphine or not, was so much more real than Joey’s was, and said, “…Wow. Good. I-I hoped so. Huh. I never thought I’d say that to a…well, a killer. Are you coming over to our side?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” managed Joey, struggle to freeze his smile and keep it there. He offered Quentin an arm, desperate to change the subject to anything else. “Come on—let’s get going before we’re in trouble.

Quentin took the arm and Joey pulled him up. “You should,” continued Quentin, unfortunately not having been distracted into missing a single beat, “I mean—you’re…weirdly cool, and, good, and it’s not like you can keep killing people and, uh,” he gestured to himself and the arm Joey was supporting him with, “This kind of stuff too.”

“…Yeah,” said Joey. He put one of Quentin’s arms over his shoulder to more easily help support his weight.

“I’d—” Quentin started to offer.

“—And uh, maybe actually keep it down a little this time, dumbass?” Joey cut him off, trying to sound jokey, but desperate to stop whatever he’d been about to say, because none of this was fun. It was fucking unbearable. “You do remember there’s a sadistic serial killer somewhere in here, right?”

“You mean another one, right?” grinned Quentin.

“Thanks,” said Joey sarcastically, giving him a look and pretending to be miffed. Losing that and smiling at the rib in spite of himself too then, because it had been kinda funny. He’d really walked into that. “Okay, let’s get you back to the campfire,” said Joey, in position to be ready to help him walk and ready to bear pretty much all of Quentin’s weight now if he had to. They took a first step and started off together then, and it was pretty easy. Quentin was bearing some of his weight fine this time, it felt like—just couldn’t steer on his own. He flashed Quentin a teasing look, “And do you think maybe you could stop ripping me apart at least while I’m being your volunteer taxi service?”

“Wow,” joked Quentin, grinning at him, “I didn’t know you had such thin skin.”

“At least I have the common sense not to jab myself in it with every single drug I trip over,” shot back Joey with a half-suppressed smile, “Unlike a certain local maximum dumbass I know.”

“Owww,” said Quentin, not really hurt at all, “In my defense, every time until now that I’ve done that, it’s worked out really well for me.”

“You’re such a fucking dumbass, you know that, right?” said Joey, shaking his head and grinning, “You’re really not gonna take the two seconds out of your life you would need to read a label, and just play God with your ability to be alive like that, then defend it?”

“Okay, okay,” said Quentin, smiling back at him and starting to get a little bit goofy-high, “I should not have done that. I will be more careful now that I have to, apparently. And I’m sorry for hurting your feelings—it’s not totally true anyway; you’re not sadistic.”

“That partial redaction’s not as nice as you think it is,” said Joey, amused and trying not to grin as he glanced over at him.

“I mean, I feel like all things considered I should get to tell a couple kind of mean jokes at your expense,” said Quentin, “You have killed me before.”

Joey snorted. They made it back into the hall and Joey began retracing his own steps, because Lerry’s was kind of a fucking maze, and going out the way he’d come in like an hour ago was the surest way to not get lost. “Okay, fine—but put a hard limit on the number.”

“…Thirty?” offered Quentin after a second.

Wow, kind of a low-ball if you think about it. “Yeah, okay, thirty,” agreed Joey.

“Thirty,” echoed Quentin quietly as they went through the far end of the room he’d first found the guy in, “…I better think of some really good ones to use that on, then. …Thirty starting now, or am I at twenty-nine?”

“Thirty starting now,” said Joey, not caring either way, “Be easier to remember.”

Back in the room he’d not quite finished tagging, Joey found the center isle between the hospital beds and started down it. At his side, Quentin hummed quietly and turned his head slowly to watch their surroundings go by.

“This is where you were spraypainting?” asked Quentin.

“Yeah,” said Joey, kind of surprised he was lucid enough to notice, the way his voice sounded all out of it and he was still blinking at everything and smiling contentedly the whole time like he was hanging out pretty close to blissfully high.

“What where you making?” asked Quentin, studying one of the squiggly lines on a bed with great fascination as they passed, “A bunch of chaos?”

Joey snorted again, insulted. “No. It’s a picture.”

“Of what?” asked Quentin, looking around them at the completely unintelligible back smudges and lines on things, “It just looks likes you came in here and were mad.”

RUDE. Well. I guess he’s not wrong, but he’s just not looking at it right. “That’s because it’s an anamorphosis,” said Joey.

“A what?” asked Quentin, gaping at him. “An animorph?”

“No!” said Joey, “Dumbass! I said ‘anamorphosis’—it’s an anamorphic picture—only viewable as what it is from like, one specific angle.”

“Oh—a perspective art thing,” said Quentin, excited at getting that, “Can I see it?”

“W—see the picture?” asked Joey, stopping.

“Yeah! I want to see,” said Quentin with incredible interest.

Really? Nobody was ever excited to see shit like that. It was fun to make, and Joey was good at it, and the things never lost their charm for him, but most people, they saw one once, they’d seen them all, or something—he didn’t get it, admittedly, but it was true. For whatever reason, for most people, anamorphic art seemed to be something they lost interest for pretty fast. At least, any of the times he’d made it. But then, I guess he hasn’t seen his one. Joey glanced over his shoulder, trying to tell how far back he’d have to go to be in the right spot again to see it right, and Quentin started to too, and Joey saw him going for it and reached over and covered his eyes with a hand. “Stop!—Don’t do that! It’s cooler if you walk into view from the side than the back,” said Joey.

“Uh. Okay,” said Quentin, “I can shut my eyes on my own, though.”

Joey moved his hand, and Quentin obliged and kept his eyes closed. Joey squinted at him suspiciously. “Yeah, but are you gonna peek, though?”

“Pff—what am I, four?” asked Quentin indignantly, “I don’t want to spoil the art for me either.”

Satisfied, Joey turned them around and walked back, found the perspective point easily since he’d marked it on the floor earlier, and then took a step to the right. “Okay, open.”

Quentin did, and blinked, then squinted at the almost comprehensible shape he was just out of line with. “Oh—you weren’t kidding,” he said, kind of excited, “They—is it a face? It’s almost like one.”

“You’re close,” said Joey, moving to the left again and stopping them so that Quentin was dead center.

“…Whoa,” said Quentin. He stared at the skull with his still morphine-influenced over-glossy eyes and too-constricted pupils, trying through that fog to take it in. He watched it for several seconds, absorbing the lines and detail, and then leaned as far as he could to the right, and then back to the center again, snapping the image in and out of perfect alignment. He turned and gazed at Joey in excited wonder. “Holy crap—I knew it would be cool, but that’s amazing.”

Joey felt his face get hot and looked at the skull picture too, to be looking away from Quentin. It wasn’t bad, for sure—he liked it. A nice skull. He’d never gotten to do the speech bubble though. It wasn’t even finished.

“No, really,” insisted Quentin with conviction, taking that reaction to mean he didn’t believe him, “How do you do that?”

“Uh, the—perspective?” asked Joey. The other teen was looking back at him with huge eyes and so much interest he didn’t know what to do but answer. “Uhm. Well, you pick an area first, and visualize what you want, and you’ve gotta be able to remember that image, and then move the image in your head kind of 3D so you know how to paint it when you look at it from another angle—or—if you can’t do that, you can draw pictures, starting with how you want the end result to go, and work from there. It’s kind of mental math stuff, I guess, but once you’ve done it a bunch, you can mostly sight-read what you need for stuff unless it’s super complicated.”

“That’s…incredible,” said Quentin really sincerely, kind of gaping in wonder at the skull, and looking from it to him with big eyes, and even though the guy was high enough his speech was still a bit slurred, and probably he wouldn’t have been so impressed sober, it felt pretty nice, and Joey smiled. Quentin gazed at the skull for a couple long seconds. “Wow,” he whispered finally. He turned his head back to Joey. “Could you teach me?”

“T—what, to do that?” asked Joey, stunned.

“Yeah! I mean—I’d probably be really bad at it,” said Quentin quickly, probably morphine-induced oversharing a little bit while trying to get to his point, “I did art before, like drawing—drawing type art—uh—took some classes, in high school—I was never super good at it, but I haven’t done nothing—like with art. I could try. I could—I bet I could at least do a shape! Like a triangle. Or a cross, or a circle—or—or like your little smiley face on your pin,” he suggested, tapping the pin on the belt Joey had thrown over his shoulder, “I mean—if—if I could learn,” added Quentin, still talking at break-neck speed, “I don’t know how hard it is, and I haven’t even really used spraypaint before, but I’d like to. It’d be cool to-“ He glanced back at the skull again and smiled at it. “-make something. You know. Something good. If you think you could teach me.”

“Yeah,” said Joey, excited and happy at the prospect, “I could—” He stopped. Fuck. Stupid—you-

Quentin glanced over at him, curious about the sudden pause.

“Sorry. Thought I heard something,” lied Joey, trying to make his voice sound urgent, “Doctor. We better go quick. Stay quiet, okay?”

“Oh,” said Quentin, lowering his voice drastically, super out of it and probably not actually feeling the fear through all that morphine, but doing his best to look and act urgent too and giving Joey a fervent nod. “Okay.”

They kept going, winding quickly back through the room the way Joey had come originally, passing hospital beds and cracked floors, blinking fluorescent lights, on their last leg. Quentin stayed quiet through that room and the next, but Joey also started to have a harder and harder time keeping him upright. Mostly he would do fine walking, but every so often he would just kind of forget to use his legs, or trip over nothing, or something, and they’d both almost go down, and they actually were getting a little closer to the last place he’d heard the Doctor on his way in, so he didn’t want to end up crashing into something. Well, it’s not far, anyway. Joey glanced over, trying to tell how coherent the other guy was. He looked like he was having trouble not falling asleep now—kept kind of slow blinking, and nodding off, then jerking his head back up and looking around.

“Not doing so hot?” asked Joey quietly.

“Mmm? Oh,” said Quentin, “Uh. I don’t know. I’m just tired.”

“You look…more high than a few minutes ago. Uhm. Does the stuff I gave you wear off?” asked Joey.

“For morphine? Yeah,” said Quentin with a thoroughly unworried look on his face, smiling sleepily over at Joey as they went, “It uh—it blocks your head receptors from absorbing the opium, but once it stops, if the opium is still there,” he made what Joey could only guess had been meant to be some kind of gun firing motion with his free arm and a matching Pshooo sound with it. “It comes back.”

“…” Joey stared straight ahead, low-key panicking. Fuck. So. In fifteen minutes or something he’s just gonna start to die again? “Uh. Okay. How long does the antidote last—and the morphine?”

“I dunno,” said Quentin, thoroughly unworried, watching the room they were going through with interest. “Oh—hey—cabinet! Bottles on the top shelf.”

“Bottles of what?” asked Joey, “—Something that’ll help?”

“No—what?—‘help’? I mean, I guess they’ll help somebody. You said you’d get stuff,” said Quentin. He waited a second, but Joey still didn’t get it. “On the way back? If I—”

“—Right, right, right, right,” said Joey, “Yeah—okay.” This might help anyway. He got Quentin against a wall with a windowsill for him to lean on and let go. “Uhm—about the morphine. Is there anything other than naa…naaa-whatever-it-was that I gave you that would help a morphine overdose—something that’d last longer?”

“Uhhh, I guess,” said Quentin, thinking hard, “There’s activated charcoal.”

“There’s charcoal?” asked Joey in disbelief, turning his head to gape back at him.

“No—activated charcoal,” said Quentin, giving him a look, “It’s not the same thing.”

“Then why the fuck do they call it that?” said Joey, going over towards the cabinet to fulfil his promise and check for useful shit, apparently hoping to find whatever the fuck ‘activated charcoal’ was too now. “That’s just confusing. Because charcoal is already a word. What is it, then?”

“Uh. It’s a powder. It’s super porous, and it stops toxins by like, sucking them up in it like a sponge if you swallow some,” said Quentin, struggling to remember, “You make it by burning stuff at a really high temperature—”

“-Wait,” said Joey, whirling on him and incensed at the scientific community at large, “So it is charcoal?”

“Uh. No, it’s—it’s burned way hotter and—” started Quentin.

“—It’s just fucking superheated charcoal?” said Joey, “Superheated fucking barbeque, campfire, burned wood shit?”

“…I. …I guess it is,” said Quentin after a second as if the most mind-boggling realization was dawning. He stared at nothing, and then grinned and looked at Joey like his discovery was the funniest thing in the world.

“Then why’d you look at me like I was a dumbass when I asked if it was charcoal?” said Joey, as he opened the cabinet and took things out to check.

“Because I didn’t think about it,” said Quentin, “I just. But you’re right. It’s just fucking superheated charcoal. I can’t believe it.”

Joey watched him for a second and then smiled too at the mind-blown look on the other dude’s face.

“Medical science in the modern era sure has advanced into wondrous new territory, huh?” said Quentin, grinning at him.

Joey snorted.

“Anything good in there?” asked Quentin, indicating the supplies.

“Uh. Package of medical tape, some old scissors, a bandage that’s super gross and I’m not bringing over to you, and three bottles. We got Aspirin,” said Joey, holding up a fairly large bottle, and he saw Quentin’s face light up and instantly felt guilty as shit because he hadn’t been trying to lead him on in the way he’d phrased the sentence he was saying but he super had, “—which is empty,” he added quickly, trying to indicate he was sorry about that in his tone.

The happy look on Quentin’s face instantly became a disappointed, tired one instead. “Bastard. I swear to God, the Entity does that shit all the time just for fun. Fucking hate finding empty bottles of good stuff.”

“Well—the other two have stuff in them,” said Joey hopefully.

“What are they?” asked Quentin.

“C… Cipro…floxacin?” tried Joey, “It’s a little bottle, and it’s only got two pills left in there, but it’s not empty.”

“Huh. I don’t know what that is,” said Quentin.

“You don’t know?” asked Joey, genuinely taken aback.

“Hey,” said Quentin, “I’m trying my best—I’m not a real doctor or anything. I’m figuring this out as I go. But yeah, I’ll take that—maybe Adam will know what it is.”

“Alright,” said Joey, filing that information away, “The last one says on the bottle that it’s burn ointment. It’s pretty full.”

“Oh—hey—that one’s actually a pretty good score,” said Quentin, cheered up a little, “Burns aren’t the most common wound, but it’s good to have just in case. I’ve only found one of those a few times. Usually if we need something like that, we just have to hope Claudette can make some with whatever plants she has on hand.”

“Cool,” said Joey, walking back over. “Give me the medkit.”

Quentin immediately looked concerned, and did not. “Why?”

“Look I’m—not gonna take it again,” promised Joey, “I’m just gonna put this stuff inside. You try to do it, and you’re gonna drop shit and make noise.”

Finding that believable, Quentin relaxed and handed him the medkit. Joey took it and set it open on the back of a bench and put stuff inside haphazardly, looking for the little box from before again. He found it immediately and picked it up, checking for anything he might have missed, like the package of activated charcoal he was hoping to miraculously find. Shit. Nothing this time.

He became suddenly aware of another presence very much in his personal space and looked to the left to see Quentin had leaned waaay over the kit from the other side and brought his head right night to Joey’s to try to see in too.

“What are you looking for?” asked Quentin turning his head to look over at him, and suddenly like half an inch from his face.

“Nothing!” said Joey on absolutely nothing but panic impulse, almost smacking his head on the windowsill behind him with the speed he jerked backwards away from Quentin and back into his own personal space again. His heartbeat was running a mile a minute. Oh—geeze, fuck—what? He—the. What had just-? He tried to swallow. Still over the medkit Quentin was watching him with surprise. “Uh—activated charcoal, I guess,” corrected Joey, regaining his ability to think and feeling his heartbeat calming down again.

Quentin blinked at him, trying to process that through the fog in his brain. How the fuck were his eyes so big?

“Oh. Right—you were asking about it,” said Quentin, “I don’t have any.”

…fuck.

There was just nothing, then. He would die anyway, and he’d have to do it twice now, because Joey had tried to help. Fuck. …I…

“Do you need some?” asked Quentin, seeing the distress on his face and looking confused and kind of worried about him.

You are so fucking stupid on morphine bro—like I appreciate it but you’re like the dumbest piece of shit when you’re high—you’re gonna get killed if I look in the other direction for six fucking seconds. How the fuck did this happen to me? Why was he so upset? “Yeah. I kinda do,” answered Joey, subdued.

“Well, I can get you some if you really need it,” said Quentin with concern.

“Wait, really?” asked Joey, hope blossoming again.

“Yeah—Adam has some,” said Quentin, nodding.

Ad—oh—the—okay. “You mean back at your campfire?” checked Joey.

Quentin nodded. “I’m sure he’d let you have some, though. If you need it.” He looked like he really thought that, too. Joey wondered if Adam would, if he’d needed it. If having done them one good turn would be enough for that kind of small favor. If Quentin would have even offered if he’d really been aware enough in there to know what was going on.

…Probably not.

Didn’t matter though. If he got fucked up on morphine again when stuff wore off because the antidote hadn’t been enough, or the overdose had just been too high for it, then his friends would be smart enough to give him the medicine he needed. So long as he got him back to the campfire, he’d be fine.

“Nah—I don’t need it,” said Joey, “I was just curious what it looked like.” That was the beset fucking lie you could come up with??

“Oh,” said Quentin, buying it completely. He smiled at him. “I can show you sometime.”

Joey closed the medkit and got his arm around Quentin again so they could keep moving.

“I could teach you how to patch up wounds too,” offered Quentin as they started off again, “Trade you, for lessons doing spraypaint.”

“Yeah,” said Joey, looking straight ahead, “That sounds nice.”

They were getting close to the edge of Lerry’s now—almost out of the danger zone at least—fucking blessing. Though then he’d have to navigate the fog all the way to the campfire. Or. However close to the campfire he could get. He hadn’t actually tried before. He had no idea how close he would be able to go. I wonder if I actually could go all the way up there? Nah, that was stupid, though. It had been a fun idea, but no way the Entity would make it so killers could get withing range to take a shot at survivors outside trials in their home base at all. And. Well. I am a killer. And I still will be in an hour, after I’ve dropped him off. ...

And then forever after that.

“There.”

Joey had been walking on auto pilot, but he came back out of his head at the sound of Quentin’s voice and glanced where he was pointing. “What?”

“Supplies,” said Quentin, pointing at the desk by the entry way they were coming up on.

Joey looked at the desk. “…Where?”

“There!” said Quentin. “By the—phone thing.”

There was nothing on the desk except the old phone and a Styrofoam cup and some old pens. “…The coffee cup??” asked Joey.

“No. What?” said Quentin, “The—needle….and the—the bottle…it’s…”

Uh. “There’s nothing on that desk but a coffee cup and some pens, man,” said Joey.

“Really?” asked Quentin, staring intently at the desk.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure,” said Joey.

“No. But…I saw them. They were just there,” said Quentin, huge eyes fixed on the desk. “I know they were. I just saw them. They.” He looked up at Joey. “I saw it—I did. I’m so sure!”

“I mean…?” said Joey, relenting a little and walking them closer. Yup. Definitely nothing there. Beside him, Quentin turned his head from left to right, scanning the whole desk with intense, almost frantic scrutiny.

“...Where did they go?” he asked Joey with 100% sincerity, like the most insane thing in the world had just happened and some medical supplies had walked off.

“Okay,” said Joey, turning them back around and making a B-line for the exit, “That’s enough hanging out at Lerry’s for you. Hallucinating’s never a good sign. Its’s time to go.”

“No!” said Quentin quickly, “But I barely got anything on the way back! I-I forgot and I kept almost falling asleep, and talking to you, and not looking.”

“We’re not going back in,” said Joey, pausing in the doorway because Quentin had started trying to go back the other was and was pulling against him and suddenly making it really hard to walk.

“But I can’t go back with nothing,” pleaded Quentin, “I wanted to do a good job.”

“You got some stuff and you didn’t die—that’s a pretty good job,” contended Joey. That argument did not seem to do it for Quentin, who kept weakly struggling to tug Joey back into the terrifying old institute with its long hallways and flickering lights and horrifying owner somewhere deep in the bowels, but he was making about as much headway in that as he would have trying to drag a cement support column. God damn it, you have the tenacity of a bulldog, you know that! You’re really not gonna stop trying, are you? He was certainly showing no signs, despite the impossibility and complete lack of success he was having. Joey sighed. Okay, if he won’t stop, then it’s either find a way to get him what he wants so he’ll leave, or just pick him up and drag him off fighting, I guess. And Joey was pretty sure which of those two options he definitely did and did not want to do.

“—Okay, look. What would be a good enough find to leave?”

Quentin paused in his efforts to get Joey to move and looked at him hopefully. “Uh. I don’t know. Pain medication, a couple hemorrhagics, or some gel dressings? Something we don’t get much.”

Joey considered that, giving the institute past Quentin a dubious look, and then shook his head. “That would take forever.”

“Please?” said Quentin, looking at him with his huge fucking eyes. God, and he was giving him the world’s saddest, most sympathy inducing face too. How the hell was he doing that so well! That look was miserable! It made Joey want to die—he felt like he’d just accidentally kicked a dog—t-the only thing that had ever been able to give him a look as critically effective at pleading as this before had been a dog! This was pressure levels on par with his pet lab putting his head in his lap while he munched on a burger and somehow conveying in its big sad eyes the message that it hadn’t eaten in four years and if he would please just pass some of that burger on down here, even just a crumb, it might live and be eternally grateful, and would cry and sadly starve miserably to death in his lap if he didn’t.

Beside him Quentin was still just standing there, waiting for a response and looking at him like his heart was gonna be crushed to dust if Joey didn’t say yes. Fuck—come on! That’s not fair! How the fuck are your eyes so big? We can’t go back into Lerry’s—I’m not trying to be an asshole!

“You don’t understand,” said Quentin when Joey stayed quiet, fighting an intense internal battle to not be swayed by the most pitiful puppydog eyes he’d ever seen, “I need this stuff to be able to help people. It’s important.”

“—No, I get it,” managed Joey, clearing his throat and looking away because he finally couldn’t take the face any longer, “You explained it before.” He risked a glance back over again after a second, and Quentin still had the exact same expression and it was like getting suckerpunched in the ribcage by a bowling ball. FUCK! “Okay, okay—uh,” said Joey desperately, turning back to him, “Look. Uh.” Fuck fuck fuck—think. “We can’t go back in there—we’ll both die—but you just want supplies that make your people die less, right? And even if you don’t find much stuff, if you get even one or two super rare things that help your people really well, you did good, and you can go home.”

Quentin considered that, a little confused, huge eyes still on Joey’s face, and then nodded.

“Okay. Then how about this,” said Joey. He reached up with his free hand and unfastened the little smiley face pin on his shoulder strap that Quentin had tapped earlier and got it free after a bit of a struggle, then held it out.

At his side, Quentin blinked down at the object, then looked back up at him in confusion.

“It’s a token,” said Joey, “You take that, and then, any trial you choose to give it to me in, I’ll quit chasing whoever I’m on for two whole minutes. Seem fair?”

Quentin stared at him.

“—I-it’s a really good deal!” argued Joey, because it was, “Think about it! Two whole minutes? That’s a lot of immunity in a trial. What’s the best you’d get out of a hemorrhagic? Stop some bleeding faster? If you think about this as a health item, it’s better than a whole pile. You could prevent somebody the pain of a whole bunch of wounds entirely, instead of just fixing them faster.”

“O…okay,” said Quentin, following that slowly. He reached out and took it, cocked his head and looked at the button, and then tried and failed several times to clip it to his jacket, before finally getting it to stick, and Joey tried not to grin watching. Once he had it in place, he looked back at Joey and gave him a reassured smile.

“We can go?” asked Joey.

“Yeah. Let’s go home,” agreed Quentin.

Immensely relieved, Joey lead him out of Lerry’s and to the edge of the surrounding border, where the fog waited. Hmm. I haven’t gone to the campfire before, so it might take me a little while to navigate in the fog. The fog was tricky. It was how they navigated between mini-areas in the realm. Killer home bases, unused trial areas, the campfire. It was this murky patch of foggy woods that was at the border of everything, and it would just kind of, creep up and render in when you got closer to it, leaving somewhere else—like a video game. Once you went into the forest and started walking, you’d get wherever you meant to go eventually, but it was kinda complicated, and it was easier to go home than anywhere else. It was…sort of like swimming in an ocean, to get from realm to realm--if like, walking was swimming, and the fog was the ocean, and the realms were islands, except that ocean was a whirlpool that changed directions all the time and was confusing as fuck, so it took a little bit of work. The actual direction you went in the woods didn’t matter. Maybe if walking was swimming in that analogy, it would be accurate to say there were tethers in the whirlpool too, swirling around and past you, attaching to all the realms and each a little bit different in shape and size and feel, so you could learn to recognize which was which to help you where you wanted to go. Because if you focused on where you wanted to go, you would get there eventually, walking through the fog. Like you were pulling yourself hand over fist along a rope towards where you wanted to go, intent and experience making you get there faster. But it was always easier if you knew the place than if you just like, kinda knew of it. And how long it took you to travel tended to correlate pretty directly to how well you knew the place you were heading. Joey had never been to the campfire before, so he could definitely find it—he’d had to find everything but Ormond for the first time once—but it might take him like ten—fifteen minutes to navigate like that route on his own. I guess I could ask him to lead us. He looked over at his travel buddy. Quentin had his head bent over ridiculously far, trying to look at the pin again and not considering that moving his jacket collar to a different angle would have been the easier option as far as giving him a close up view, and he was humming that Backstreet Boys song from earlier again while he was at it. Yeah, no, that could only go terribly. Me it is.

“Alright, let’s get you home, dumbass” said Joey in the same friendly way he would have said it to Frank if he’d been helping him home sloshed after a wild night, and it felt nice, saying it and seeing Quentin glance over and smiled back in the same amicable way he’d been spoken to, and Joey stopped thinking this time before it could change, and feel rotten, and he stepped into the mist.

After only about three steps, Lerry’s was gone, de-loaded in like it had never been, and they were in deep woods. The massive, ancient kind of deep woods that was so big it was heavy with silence. So dark you couldn’t make out more than about three feet in any direction, and full of fog. It had kind of unsettled him the first time he walked it, but Joey was used to the Fog now, and really, he was just incredibly glad to be out of Lerry’s. This place was much more familiar, and less hostile.

Quentin went down hard with no warning, and Joey had been mid-step, so he lost his balance too and went with him, slamming forward into the hard ground with a cry, and not thinking to let go of the other guy in time to save himself. No idea what had just happened, but fairly unhurt at least, he dragged himself up to his arms as fast as he could.

“What the hell?” he asked the survivor laying on his chest next to him.

“Ow,” came Quentin’s muffled voice.

“What happened?” asked Joey, sitting up.

“Your pin is stabbing me,” came the reply.

“No, to your legs, dumbass—why’d you go dead-body on me?” said Joey, kind of relieved because the fall didn’t seem to have hurt him at all either.

“I don’t know,” said Quentin sadly with a sigh, turning his head and looking over at Joey.

“Like—you don’t know why you did that, or it wasn’t on purpose?” asked Joey.

“Not on purpose,” said Quentin, “They just stopped working. I have no idea why. –Sorry about that. Did I fall on you?”

“L—three seconds ago?” asked Joey, “You don’t remember? No—I—you haven’t moved yet–how could you have fallen on top of me when you’re on the ground?”

“I dunno,” came the muffled reply as Quentin put his face against the earth again, “Can we stop and take a nap maybe?”

“No!” said Joey. He reached over and got him by the shoulders and flipped him over, and Quentin squinted up at him and grimaced, then looked up at him for a couple of seconds with interest and got a goofy grin on his face. “What?” said Joey.

“I just like your face,” said Quentin happily, “It’s not scary at all. And it’s really funny, because nobody at the campfire’s gonna recognize you. They’re expecting a skull face.” He started shaking his head, still smiling contentedly up a Joey, “Not a guy.”

“Oh my God,” said Joey, feeling his face get hot and trying to power through, “Come on—we have to keep going!”

“But I’m super tired,” said Quentin, shutting his eyes, “I’m just gonna take a quick, like, three-hour nap.”

“No you’re not!” said Joey. He tried to pull him up by his arms, and Quentin didn’t stop him, but he was 110% dead weight now, and that was so much fucking harder to lift than anything else. “Come on!” said Joey, “Work with me a little.”

Quentin opened his eyes and looked back up at Joey and started to say something, then his brows furrowed. “…Wait.” Whatever he was thinking, it took some time to make the full circuit with it in his head, but he had sounded almost worried or something when he said ‘Wait,’ and still did when he spoke again—Joey thought even more than before. “Your button.”

“It’s still there,” assured Joey, “It didn’t come off.”

“No. You. Said you’ll leave somebody alone, if I give it to you,” said Quentin, his words spoken with even more difficulty and slurring on the ends than before, eyes still glazed over like and just as out of it as he’d been all day, but still working as hard as he could to connect dots.

“Yeah?” said Joey.

“…W…you’re still…doing trials?” Quentin asked. He looked up at Joey with those huge blue eyes, nothing but open confusion on his face, like he had just said something that just couldn’t make sense. Joey stopped moving.

Fuck.

“…No…” said Quentin after a second, looking away, thinking even harder. “…No, okay. Right. You said we were friends. For sure. We’re good friends now, and we’re gonna do painting stuff. And I’m supposed to show you how to stitch a cut up. So no.” He looked back up at Joey again then and smiled in a relieved way, like everything was fine. “Sorry. I guess I’m still kinda high.” Joey couldn’t say anything, so he hurried to add, “—not thinking right,” trying to explain his actions in case he’d hurt Joey’s feelings by saying the first thing, and looking up at him so clearly worried that he had.

“…It’s okay,” managed Joey after a few seconds, his voice barely audible.

And Quentin looked so relieved. And happy about that. And smiled up at him again. “Thanks.”

“Do you think you can walk?” said Joey, trying hard to keep his mind blank of any thoughts at all.

Quentin tried to sit up, and made it, then teetered, looked confused by that, and started to collapse sideways with 0 attempt to save himself, and Joey shot out his arms and caught him in the nick of time.

Quentin blinked down at his body in surprise, then looked up at Joey. “So that’s a maybe.”

“Okay,” said Joey, trying not to smile, “I’m carrying you.”

“Is that really—” started Quentin, and then Joey got the guy’s arm over his shoulder and hefted him up in a fireman carry, so that Quentin was held up across his back and shoulders, one arm keeping hold on Quentin’s right arm, his other around his legs, to keep him from slipping, and Quentin stopped talking as Joey stood up, using his leg strength to make it to his feet with the teenager slung over his back. “Oh. Okay,” said Quentin, and he gave up and just went ragdoll again on Joey’s shoulders. “Wow,” he observed in a slurred voice, “You’re really strong. Am I heavy?”

“Not compared to a lot of you,” said Joey, starting to walk again, and kind of proud of himself because of the compliment.

“Good. Don’t want to break your back,” said Quentin. He hummed to himself for a second and then said, “This isn’t super comfortable. Did you know that?” like he was sharing a genuine discovery.

“Uh—I’m not surprised,” offered Joey.

“Backsteet’s Back Alright!” sang Quentin loopily to no one, not even listening to the answer to the question he’d asked.

Joey grinned at what he could see of Quentin’s face. This was kinda familiar—like taking a buddy who’d got super plastered home after a party. The fun kind of fucked up—the kind he was used to seeing.

“—Hey—do the verse with me,” said Quentin.

“I don’t know the lyrics,” said Joey.

“It’s super easy,” insisted the thoroughly wasted teenager, “It’s uh—'brother sister everybody sing.’ Uh. ‘Something something, bring the flame’—no wait—‘oh my God we’re back again, brother sister everybody sing, gonna bring the flames and show you now, have a…have’—okay that’s most of a verse.”

“You go ahead,” said Joey.

“Come on,” pleaded Quentin, “It’s…ssuuper. Easy. ‘Brother sister’—no. ‘Oh my God, we’re back again.’” There was a very definitely Now You flavored pause.

Joey gave in. “Oh my God, we’re back again?”

“Yes!” said Quentin ecstatically with all the energy he had left, hanging limp over his shoulders, “Yes! Perfect! Okay, now it’s ‘brother-sister-everybody sing.’ But like sang so it—for rhyming reasons.”

“Yeah, I heard you doing it,” said Joey.

“K. You got it, or need to hear it again?” asked Quentin.

“I think I got it,” said Joey.

“Same time,” said Quentin.

“Brother-sister-everybody sing,” sang Joey with him at roughly the same time.

“Yes!” said Quentin excitedly halfway through the word ‘sing’, “Ah! You learned it so fast! Then just ‘Backstreet’s Back, Alright!’”

“That’s the whole song?” asked Joey.

Quentin thought about that for several seconds. “No. But we’re gonna go one verse at a time.

“Okay,” said Joey, trying not to laugh.

“Everybody sing,” repeated Quentin, setting them up, “Ready?”

“Yeah,” said Joey.

“Okay,” said Quentin, “Backstreet’s-“

“-Back, alright,” sang Joey with him, grinning.

“Yeah!” cheered Quentin happily over his shoulder, “Hell yeah! We’re awesome. Fucking nailed that! That was really good. You’re cool. Cool at…stuff. And singing.” He was losing coherence real fast now.

Joey would have started to feel worried about that, considering the OD had almost killed him earlier, but he had just spotted light up ahead in the distance, and that could only be the campfire. That meant they were close. Almost there. Maybe just a minute now. And with that worry gone, he just took in the compliment and grinned at it. “Thanks. You too,” said Joey.

“Thanks!” said Quentin, mumbling now, “Man. I never knew you were nice.”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone,” joked Joey.

“I’m gonna tell everyone,” slurred Quentin happily in reply. After a second, he asked in the voice of someone who’d forgotten something they were supposed to know, “Why did you decide to walk me out of Lerry’s?”

“Because I thought you were gonna die,” said Joey, eyes on the light up ahead.

“Why?” said Quentin curiously.

“Because you’re super fucked up on morphine, dumbass,” said Joey, “Okay, we’re getting pretty close now. How close do you think I need to get for your friends to hear you if you call?”

“Uhm, I don’t know. Depends on how loud you yell,” said Quentin, smiling and shutting his eyes.

“Hey! Don’t fall asleep on my shoulder!” said Joey, trying not to smile, “Wake up and call your friends.”

“Right now?” asked Quentin, super confused and only half conscious, “Why?”

“To come get you,” said Joey.

“Why don’t you just walk up to the fire,” said Quentin, shutting his eyes again.

“Because I don’t think I—” Joey had been going to say can, but he smacked headfirst into an invisible barrier he hadn’t had any idea was there and pinged off so hard he went ass-over-tit backwards and slammed into the ground with the breath knocked out of him and the fear of God in his heart.

Holy SHIT—what the—oh my God. Ow. Fuck—oh!

“Quentin!” he called, sitting up, looking for where he’d dropped him. He didn’t see—Wait. Joey looked behind himself and saw Quentin laying in the dirt where he’d just landed and realized he’d slammed ass-over-tit hard into the cold unforgiving surface not of the ground but of Quentin. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry—are you okay?” He asked.

On the ground, Quentin let out a desperate wheezing sound, and Joey was horrified for a second thinking he was fighting to breathe again, and then he realized he was just trying to laugh with no air in his lungs. The dude barely had any air in there at all, after Joey slamming the shit out of his ribcage, but he just started wheeze-laughing uncontrollably anyway and didn’t stop for a good fifteen seconds, completely losing it down there in the dirt, and then he looked up at Joey with tears in his eyes from how hard he was laughing, and Joey started to laugh too.

“What!” said Joey with a grin.

Quentin tried, couldn’t get a word out, wheeze-laughed for another six seconds, and then tried, “How d—” He lost it again, and struggled to keep going, “—how did you do that?” He completely lost his ability to speak for another few seconds and couldn’t say anything, tears rolling down his face, then gasped out, “Did God just come out of nowhere and backhand you in the forehead? What the fuck! That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“No,” said Joey, grinning at the sight of absolute merriment on the other dude’s face, and relaxing a little and slumping to a more comfortable sitting position behind him. “I hit your stupid fucking campfire barrier—it’s just invisible. Apparently.”

“So you can’t go over there?” asked Quentin, finally choking back the laughs a bit.

“Yeah, you’re on your own,” said Joey, “Think you can walk it?”

“Uhm,” said Quentin, looking in the direction of the fire. He pushed himself up on to his arms and then started laughing again and collapsed. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” he managed after a second, “I can’t stop now. I’ll get up. Just give me a second.”

Joey waited, smiling. Quentin took a few deep breaths, then tried again, and again immediately started to laugh and collapsed. “Dude,” said Joey.

“I’m trying!” pleaded Quentin, managing to choke the laughter back again, laying on his side, “God—what did you say I took again?”

“Morphine,” said Joey.

“How do you know that?” asked Quentin with curiosity.

“I looked at the label,” said Joey, “You don’t remember?”

“No,” said Quentin thoughtfully, “I remember singing with you though.”

Joey stopped and looked over at him very carefully. Feeling a very, very intense emotion at painful levels that he had no idea how to describe. “…You. But you remember stuff before the singing too, right?”

Quentin took a deep breath and smiled and thought about that, staring up at the sky, and then back over at him. “You called me a ‘dumbass,’ a lot,” he offered in a friendly way. He watched Joey for a second and then smiled at him with those huge fucking blue eyes, all glossy, and not seeing anything, like Joey was realizing for the first time now they hadn’t been all night. “When did you take your mask off?”

Fuck.

“Don’t remember,” lied Joey, not sure he could say more the right way just that second.

“Oh. You too?” asked Quentin.

“No,” said Joey quietly, “Not like that. I remember the rest fine.”

“That’s good,” said Quentin, shutting his eyes. “Why did you help me?”

Joey didn’t answer.

After a few seconds, Quentin opened his eyes and looked up at him again.

Joey met his gaze and swallowed hard, then said very quietly, “I thought it mattered.”

Quentin just looked at him for a few seconds, then gave him a little smile, and said, “Thanks. It does to me.”

“You better get going,” said Joey, “Back to your campfire. Before you get yourself into even more trouble, dumbass.”

“Okay,” said Quentin in a friendly way, “You don’t have to be mean about it.”

Joey offered him a hand, and Quentin took it, and Joey pulled him to his feet. They went forward together again, Joey supporting Quentin with one arm and with his other hand out this time, very careful approaching the place he’d been taken the fuck out before, and when he found it, he stopped, and shoved Quentin gently across the barrier that was only there for him. The guy almost lost his balance when he did that, but managed to keep his footing this time, and glanced back at him in confusion.

“I can’t go any further,” explained Joey. He pointed to the light not far now, past Quentin. He could ear voices coming from there. People talking together. “Get going. It’s a straight shot.”

“You’re not coming?” asked Quentin, looking kind of surprised and hurt, and for a horrible second Joey was sure that he did remember, and he was painfully happy about it, even knowing how stupid that was, and how it didn’t matter, because remembered or not, the little fake friendship they had had tonight was over the second he was sober again. But then Quentin tilted his head and added, “I know you gotta go back to your place, but you could come chill out for a minute first, and I could give you a flashlight or something for walking me back,” and he knew that he didn’t.

“I told you,” said Joey, struggling to smile, and hoping to God Quentin was fucked up enough to see the look on his face and buy it for what it was pretending to be, “I can’t go past your invisible wall. It’s survivors only over there. Now get going, and don’t be a dumbass and get into trouble like that again! Or you’ll die of a morphine overdose or something. I don’t want to have to bail your stupid ass out of a bad trip again—I have my own stuff to get done. And I might not even be there next time! So don’t have one.”

“Okay—I’ll try,” said Quentin, still smiling a little. He gave him an unsteady wave. “Thanks again.” Goodbye said, the survivor turned to go and started staggering unsteadily towards the light waiting for him up ahead.

Joey watched him go for a second, then started to turn to head home himself and caught a flash of moonlight on something, and stopped. There in the dirt by his feet was the little smiley face pin he’d given Quentin as a bribe—it must have come off when they fell or something—must have rolled, and—

He opened his mouth to call out “Hey! You left your button” at the retreating figure ahead of him, and then stopped, and slowly closed it instead. It wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t even know what it was. Besides. It was probably better this way. Maybe definitely better. This way, he doesn’t know I lied to him. I’m still a killer and a monster, but at least I’m not somebody who betrayed him when he thought they were his friend.

Yeah. That was better. It would be better. Maybe things would be normal again. And he could forget about this. It had all been stupid to do anyway. He still didn’t know why he had—why he’d made bad decision after bad decision over and over tonight. Why he’d thought any of it would matter, in the end. The guy didn’t even remember it now. It was hard to think of anything that could matter less than that. You should go home. It’s been a long day.

He took a breath and turned to go, then paused, reconsidering, and reached down to retrieve his pin, and his hand hit the invisible wall he’d already forgotten the location of hard enough to sting. Shit. He took a knee, hoping maybe close the ground he’d have just enough space to reach it, but it had rolled maybe just six inches past where the realm would allow a thing like him to go, and it was stuck there now, just past his fingertips, out of reach, and where nobody would ever find it or use it or want it again, even if it was there, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Hey!” It had been Quentin’s voice, coming from ahead of him, towards the fire, and Joey looked up. The survivor had paused and glanced over his shoulder, still just in sight, and was looking at him. He sounded happy—almost excited. And even from a good twenty feet off in the darkness, Joey could see he was smiling at him like he would have a friend. “I’ll see you around, Joey.”

Joey watched as Quentin turned and headed for the campfire again, and then very slowly stood up, leaving the pin where he could never get it, and watched the survivor disappear until he was well and truly gone, lost to sight through the nearest line of trees, and then he turned back and headed towards his own home, off through the fog, back to the old rotting lodge in Ormond with three other killers where he belonged.

No, thought Joey, No, you won’t.

[chiiquititamoved]

ep 1 of bbc dracula - observations

beginning looks very creepy. am i down? not sure. 

there’s a cool nun! i’m getting some very good badass vibes 

wHEw, okay, i was expecting some queerbait-y type stuff from this show but literally before even the intro, this (AMAZING) nun just goes “mr harker. have you had sexual intercourse with dracula?” 

just. right out of the gate

we’ve established that this nun doesn’t have any faith in god

okay now we’re getting into the castle stuff. (this is right after the intro) 

aw mina (from her letter) seems like a sweetheart so far 

this is very beauty and the beast so far. like when belle’s dad goes into the castle and there’s no one there 

oooh we just met dracula. he’s very wrinkly and old 

“they [people of transylvania] are without... flavour.” “perhaps you mean character?” “ahahahaa.”

i feel like i should clarify that harker is staying in a convent, being cared for by nuns while he’s sick. he’s telling his story to badass nun and this other nun and the viewer is seeing what happened through cuts or whatever 

okay you know just some book stuff is happening - dracula’s being a weirdo, johnny harker notices some odd goings on, etc.

so, this has always struck me - in the book as well - why is dracula always climbing up walls like a fucking lizard? why? first of all, he can turn in to a bat, so if he needs to get OVER the wall then he can fucking FLY. if he doesn’t need to get over the wall then wtf is he doing? harker is going to see or hear him - i mean, god knows he’s acted weirdly/suspiciously enough for harker to be scared/nervous around him - like??? dracula really is an idiot psychopath bisexual  

harker’s having an *ehem* mildly i n n a p r o p r i a t e dream. he and mina are having sex but then mina turns into wrinkly old dracula. yucky yuck. 

now harker sees ‘help us’ written on his window

it’s in english! very convenient for mr harker - so our wonderful nun points out: “you are an englishman: a combination of presumptions beyond compare.” (no hate to englishmen)

harker starts to explore the castle. uh oh. 

he gets lost + dracula finds him

our man dracula is wining and dining johnny!

Dracula looks younger now. :| this is suspicious

dracula is EVEN YOUNGER! glow up!!!!

harker is starting notice there’s NO STAFF IN THE CASTLE... and his health is deteriorating 

wow johnny is actually being very brave!! i must say i am proud

johnny is finding a bunch of old pictures in a wooden bin somewhere in the castle. are these dracula’s previous victims?? WHO KNOWS

FUCK there’s a fucking dead lady in the wooden bin. yuckkk i do not approve 

she just chased him down this tunnel, and now dracula’s there and harker passes out

badass nun (agatha) is telling us about the UNDEAD. explains a lot

drac says he found johnny asleep on the floor in the basement, all the while looking SUSPICIOUSLY young. 

HEY drac is calling him johnny! that’s my thing >:(

now johnny doesn’t recognize mina’s picture! what’s going on?

he’s making johnny write three letters to mina: one saying he’s almost leaving the castle, one saying he’s leaving the next day, and one saying he’s left safely, etc. 

john’s hallucinating that a baby’s crying in the distance. OR IS HE?

harker is willing to sacrifice himself for a baby he doesn’t even know exists. i’m actually proud of how brave he is :’(

AGATHA!! i love her

so harker is starting to plot an escape - he looks for a map to the castle. he knows that drac said that it doesn’t exist but his reasoning is that the architect was an artist and would have wanted his art preserved. he finds the map in a painting of the architect’s dead wife (because she’s the sunlight of his life and he built this place to escape the actual sunlight when she died?? i think?? Sorry that was confusing)

so, the architect made hidden passages through the maze of the castle 

harker finds a passage! yay

okay the passage led to a room, and in the room there’s a lady in a wooden box thing eating rats. she comes out of the box, she’s a vampire, and johnny’s talking to her. she left the message on the window earlier? maybe? this is unclear. 

she bites john

harker askes nun agatha why she’s got no “faith” and she says “I have looked for god everywhere in this world and never found him.” “Then why are you here?” “Well, like many women of my age, I am trapped in a loveless marriage, maintaining appearances for the sake of a roof over my head.” GOD I LOVE THIS WOMAN

eww there’s a deadish baby in the box thing

drac kills the lady in the castle

harker: “you’re a monster!” drac: “and you’re a lawyer. nobody’s perfect.”

okay drac and harker have a suspenseful chat, bla bla bla. drac is trying to REPRODUCE? 

If this turns into some fucking mpreg fanfiction bullshit i’m suing 

drac goes outside onto a balcony thing in the castle w/ johnny and they lay down (drac in the shade and harker in the sun) and drac asks johnny to describe the sun to him?? cool i guess??

drac, about the sun: “But that’ll burn me to dust.” my man john harker: “Good.” “fair enough.” 

i LOVE how johnny is literally on death’s door, and still manages to snark at the man who put him there

okay so john’s still outside w/ drac, it’s established that he’s either going to die (fully) or be stuck in the castle for the rest of his “life”. harker is shaking, bla bla, and he goes “drac! spare me!” and drac’s like “how, dude?” and then we cut to agatha and harker in the convent and it turns out that harker just wrote pages of shit like “dracula is my master!” “dracula will be obeyed!” “dracula is god!” when he got to the convent and it’s like... whew

turns out he thought he was writing an account of his stay at the castle but he really just wrote like 100 pages of that 

oooookay - now, johnny’s begging drac to let him go and drac’s like “how?” and john says he won’t tell anyone about drac’s plans to move to england and kill everybody so drac’s like “sure,” and harker’s like “wait really,” and drac’s like “oooh i’m going to destroy everyone you love bla bla bla but if you swear you won’t try to stop me i’ll let you go.” UM. 

but now harker gives this impressive last hurrah thing where he kinda like... climbs up dracula’s body? like drac pulls him? and he goes “i swear that if you let me out here alive... I’LL DO EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO STOP YOU!” psych 

and then drac kills him and he falls down 

“SO HOW IS HE ALIVE?”, you ask

“HE’S A VAMPIRE,” i say

oh no! he’s not! my lovely agatha reveals that he’s “undead, but not a vampire,”

aggie: “it’s not something that one anticipates asking: but, what happened after you were murdered?”

okay so now johnny becomes undead and he still has a spirit! johnathan harker has a will, etc and he tries to jump off of the balcony thing. drac’s like hey you should stay w/ me! ur kinda like me u kno and john’s like NOPE

then the sun hits drac’s face and johnny falls from the balcony

now aggie reveals that a river, which john fell into, bore him out to sea and a fisherman found him caught in his net. he was brought to the convent/agatha 

agatha: “i am known to have some expertise in the realm of witchcraft and the occult.” johnny: “You’re a nun.” ag: “We can discuss my imperfectly suppressed fascination with everything dark and evil another time.”

oh!!!!!! so - the sun reflected the cross that harker was wearing onto drac!!!! and that’s why drac fell/was hurt whatever 

so basically like minor vampires and shit don’t fear the cross??? but big guy (drac) does?

agatha’s like “i looked everywhere and finally i found god!!!! yay” and she’s happy 

OH FUCK!!! THE SECOND NUN IN THE ROOM IS MINA!!!

basically aggie found out who he was, traced him back to london, and found mina (she mentions a detective acquaintance - sherlock crossover, anyone?) 

mina: “we are to be married, so who you are will always be my decision.”

they have a really touching “i still love u!!” type scene and then a bunch of fucking bats fly in

turns out drac’s at the convent now

mina got bitten (on her face) by a bat and she’s kinda bloody and harker’s like woooh take this stake so you can stab me if i try to drink that

god agatha has SO MANY good lines!!!

now dracula has turned into a wolf and he’s outside the gates of the convent 

mina hugs johnathan and he licks her blood :(

now he backs her into a corner and tries to drink her blood, but then he stops and tries TO IMPALE HIMSELF ON THE WOODEN STAKE

the wolf has this really gross transformation scene and he turns into dracula as a human

OOKAY so a bunch of nuns come to the gates (i should clarify that that’s where dracula is) and they pull out wooden stakes and agatha’s like drac you’re going down. 

agatha opens the gates of the convent!!! and tells dracula he’s not invited in and he can’t come in

agatha to drac: “I expect a beast to follow rules, I don’t expect it to understand them.”

agatha cuts her hand open and like taunts him w/ the blood 

SHE’S AGATHA VAN HELSING OH MY GOD

THEY REALLY TURNED VAN HELSING INTO A WOMAN!!!!!

drac: “who are you?” agatha: “your every nightmare at once. an educated woman in a crucifix.” !!!!!!!!

OH FUCK!!!! johnathan really is dead!!!!! :((( i thought he wouldn’t be but nvm i guess

mina and aggie have a talk and mina says she’ll never love anybody else :’(

oh shit!!! i was right he isn’t dead! drac does that weird lizard wall climbing thing again and goes into his window and tells johnny that “suicide doesn’t work.” great. 

dracula’s like hey bud i can kill you properly! since it needs another person! all you’ve gotta do is invite me in! :))))))

we cut to the mother superior and she’s giving a nice little lecture about god 

and then dracula comes in and cuts her head off

the nuns are obviously terrified BUT they’ve got their crosses and they push him away, whatever, but then drac calls a bunch of wolves 

“I’m undead, I’m not unreasonable.”

the nuns get attacked by the wolves EXCEPT for agatha and mina, who went to agatha’s workshop to escape

harker comes down to the workshop! (which they surrounded by sacramental bread or something) and they’re arguing over whether they should let him in and mina’s like i’m gonna do it! and she almost does but she sees that harker’s eyes aren’t blue anymore, so she’s like hey what’s up with that and then harker starts PEELING HIS FACE OFF and it’s dracula

THE END OF EPISODE ONE 

phewwwwwww. So this is almost 2000 words? And very incoherent. If you’ve had the courage to read this far, thank you. 

IN CONCLUSION: will i keep watching this show? yes. i’m very squeamish so i’ll probably skip some of the gory stuff later on but other than that i will definitely continue.

did i like this show? YES. i honestly started it with very low expectations but so far it’s really good. to be fair, though, i found that in the book the beginning was the best part and i didn’t love it after, so i guess we’ll see. 

did i like it better than the book? so far, yeah. The book was full of bullshit like “ooh you have a man’s brain and a woman’s heart,” to mina, which :/. (obviously it’s not like i could have expected much better from a male victorian author but still.) i love how they made van helsing a woman! I know agatha is going to be wonderful.

[shesawriter39049]

|FAMILY TIES| M| MAFIA AU| 5

SMUT/ ANGST

FT- A lil Joon, Seok, and Yoongi 

2K SNEAK PEEK….(SHIT’S A LITTLE DARK, BUT ALSO KINDA FLUFFY)

AU SUMMARY:  A powerful alliance made up of  4 families spanning over a decade, is suddenly turned on its head when one family has a new leader after an unexpected death. Well, let’s just say he’s not down to follow the somewhat civilized rules your families have enforced. Sooo now, it’s game on…

Yall are all wanna wrap Tae in a blanket after this....

WARNINGS- For the sneak peek just no it’s a little heavy, mentions of death, overdosing, hella emotions, religion is briefly mentioned for all of one sentence! OH  there’s also a hint of fluff 

AUTHORS NOTE-I've decided part 5 will be done in 2 parts because as I’ve mentioned that’s the bridge chapter before everything kinda hits the fan! There's actually another character death planned for part 6 and yes it’s one of the boys. P1...will be around 8k and P2 will be around 6...I’m separating them because there's a lot of info and I don’t want to overload you all in one and you guys get lost! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ENDING ON PART 4 -

One thing leads to another and you found yourselves talking for a good 40 minutes or so, which wasn’t too surprising…considering all you had to debrief within the past 15 hours! Ultimately deciding to bring Henry back with you on the jet, Tae would start trying to slowly detox Henry while on this 15-hour flight. He’s done it before…he can do it again…

This time all four of you walked into the house…still dark, the stench seeming even stronger now, instantly picking up on the running water in the bathroom.

“Henry!!” Taehyung called out as he walked towards the door “Cho!!” Voice a little louder this time as he banged on the door.

Nothing, the four of you glared over at each other, as Tae pressed his ear to the door. “Henry, man open the fucking door before I beak this bitch down! We don’t have time for this shit!”

Nothing, nothing but the sound of running water rattling against the porcelain tub….

 Ramming his shoulder against the door, a  low growl ripping from his chest at every blow, after the third time the flimsy piece of wood ripped from the hinges!

The steam from the shower came pouring flooding into the hallway……The handle still in Taehyung’s hand, as it swung backward, feeling jerk back into his hold. Almost as if something was hindering it from fully swinging flush against the wall…That’s when his eyes dropped to the floor…

Part 5......

“HOLY FUCK!” It seemed to be the phrase of choice as it spilled from numerous lips… as you all fanned the smoke out of the room so you could see a little better! Frantically, Yoongi dropped down to his knees first, snatching the needle from Henry's arm tossing it into the tub, not that it mattered you all knew, and the realization was nauseating! This damn sure wasn’t your first dead body, and unfortunately not your first OD either...he was gone..long before you lot even strolled in there. Hoseok's body slumped against the back of the cracked up bathtub, feet crowning the top of Henry's head as he gazed down at him. Eyes and heart heavy, a string of words whispered low under his breath, and it took you a second to realize he was speaking in Korean. Hoseok may have actually even been praying over Henry’s body, I know, I know, in this line of work it may sound comical to some that there are members within the alliance that have some sort of faith...but some do! 

Taehyung was dead silent, he didn't have a choice, feeling as though someone had cut off every artery to his heart, completely light-headed and the smoke wasn’t helping. Well aware that if he didn't leave he’d possibly pass out, his body did not understand how to process what he was currently feeling. Everything just fucking hurt...physically hurt, it literally felt like he was the one who just shot up and every vein in his body was on fire! What made it even worse, is Taehyung's eyes accidentally graced Henry’s...and for the first time in months, he looked like Henry. Like the man Tae met four years ago that swore on his life that if they didn't kill him, he would get clean, stay clean...do whatever they needed him to do to show his gratitude. Being able to look at Henry and connect on that level should’ve almost been peaceful for Taehyung. The fact that he could see the innocence in his eyes again, as opposed to all the hurt, pain, and hell just dope! But it wasn't it fucking sucked because there wans’t any “innocence” there was no emotion Henry's dead, he’s actually fucking dead! It’s somewhat haunting to think that Taehyung came here with that on his heart, he came here to do what he did not allow himself to months ago. Yet when all the anger subsided all he could feel was hurt, and even thorough Henry’s cloudy tweaked out haze, he still couldn't do that to him. Yet at the end of the day..his body is STILL laying along the tile, cold, lifeless, to be fair Taehyung, would probably sleep better at night if he was the reason Henry sat lied this floor. The Idea that Lau did this to himself just feels like a ragged blade, continuously kneading at his skin. 

The thing that trumped every other emotion, the thing that actually made Tae sick to his stomach, was the fact that he wasn’t even aware if Henry knew why this hurt so much! If he truly knew how much he meant to Taehyung, how rare it is for him to care about some enough to spare there life not only once..but twice! 

He should be angry yet all he feels is fucking guilt, yeah, he’s the one that feels guilty right now, and all he wants to do is break every single thing around him! 

Clearly, he’s damned if he does and damned if he doesn't, he keeps his feelings to himself because he worries everyone's going to despair. Yet he never told one of his friends how much he meant to him and he’s gone anyway so what the fucks the point!? Why has he been working so hard to guard every centimeter of his heart if, in reality, everyone has the same ending regardless!?  Wordlessly Tae stumbled his way out of the bathroom..everything about it just felt suffocating!

Your eyes were burning to the tenth degree as you tried your damndest not to cry, yeah you’d seen a shit ton of dead bodies, caused more than you could count...But when it’s someone from within the “Family” no matter how the scenario pans out shit just hits different. Reallll different..not even realizing you’d crouched down next to Namjoon..who had his arms tightly wound around your waist, both cursing and grieving for Henry all at the same time.

“Guys he’s...” Croaked from his throat and with a slow almost disgusted shake of the head Yoongi cut himself off mid-sentence, there was no need to say it out loud at this point. Leaning down to gently brush the pads of his overs over Henry's lids so they could actually close...maybe have him look like he was peacefully sleeping!

“GODDAMMIT LAU!!” Ripped through Mazda’s chest and felt as though it echoed throughout the entire house as he slammed is fist into the glass mirror. No one even budged upon hearing it start to shatter, your entire body tensed at the impact. Almost as if you were the one who did it yourself, probably because you really fucking wanted too as you subconsciously dug your own nails into your thigh.  Mazda was relatively quiet, always smiling and cracking jokes...much like Taehyung he was never one to yell, seeing him like this was a rarity and it broke your heart. 

Chest heaving painfully hard as he plopped down on the floor, bloop dripping onto his jeans as he sat cramped in the tiny corner, the space far too small to hold all of you. His anger was communivate, that release of pain, aggression, brokenness, it wasn’t for him. It was for his boss, best friend, the man he’s protected since they were in high school …..the man he knew was hurting whether he chose to show it or not!

That’s when it hit you that he wasn’t in the room, his silence was almost stiffening at this point as you broke away from Namjoon and scrambled off the floor. “Tae!!?”  There weren't many places he could be in his box of a house, still trying to be cautious as you maneuvered through the many bags of trash, pieces of glass,and discarded needles. The lack of response had your heart pounding into your throat at this point “Tae!!?? Taehyung!!?” The sense of panic within your voice was more than evident..you hated when he went into shut down mode like this, it scared the living hell out of you! 

The minute your feet landed on the porch and the crisp air hit your nose you almost felt as though you wanted to throw up for some reason. It suddenly hit you how light-headed you were, resting your weight against the deteriorated wood beam. Every inch of your body just felt hot and sticky, it was almost like you could feel Henry on your skin right now, and you just wanted to claw it all off. Suddenly your body just felt almost foreign to you, as if it wasn’t even yours, your first instinct was shoving off your coat! Literally tossing the piece of colored fur into the nearest bush, hoping that would give you some relief, it was probably 20 degrees outside yet you were damn near sweating! Shaky legs wobbled down the steps...slowly moving to the side of the house, “Tae!?” Silence, and you really hate silence.. “Fuckkkkk '' Hastily running your fingers through your hair, tugging slightly against your scalp..wanting the tension as you tried to wreck your brain! 

I mean he could only be so many places and now you were nervous because he’s impulsive and hot-headed and he’d be the type to just take off and walk with no clue where the hell; he was going!

Suddenly you had an idea, something you actually learned from his mother back when you guys were younger and he’d go into shut down mode like this! You slowly started walking towards the back of the house “ Tae-hyung ” This time it was softer as you put emphasise on the proper pronunciation of his name. Then you asked him where he was, and if he was okay, all in the same soft tenor. Only this time you found yourself oh so thankful that you’d picked up the language over the years! 

Opting for Korean since that is technically the first language he’s ever known so sometimes even when he’s not thinking he’ll respond on autopilot! Then,just as you were about to give up, he responded. Tentatively..and slightly hushed, it was clear he was further away than you thought… randomly you started asking him stuff. Nothing intense just random little questions so you could follow the sound of his voice and this man was damn near in the alleyway! 

Sitting in a low squat, you could already see even from a couple feet away that apparently his fist had ran into someone again. His long delicate hands were currently a bouquet of blue, red and purple. As he sat there wordlessly clenching his fist as hard as he could..wanting to amplify the pain that streamed through his veins. Aimlessly gazing straight ahead, as the wind swept through his hair, he actually looked extremely peaceful, almost like you were watching a piece of art. 

You didn't say anything as you approached him, just crouching down beside him, yet to your surprise, he actually made eye contact and fuck you wish he hadn't. You couldn't even read the expression that danced with those dark brown orbs of his...everything was just black! And what wasn’t was, completely bloodshot. Cheeks clearly tear-stained, nose red..yet he just looked empty, not sad, hurt, angry..just empty! 

Reaching up to tentatively stroke his cheek, his hand reaching yours before you could even make contract, not that you were surprised, those Kim reflexes are something else! What did have you surprised was how hard his hand was shaking once it met yours. Attempting to pull away, assuming he didn't want to be touched right now, only he tightened his grip once he felt your resistance. “Tae I-”

“I love you…”

HI, HI lol I know...I know….as I said this will be in 2 parts..I wanna actually finish the full thing before I post it though so that way I can post P2 a week or 2 later! But who knows..I have P1 more than halfway done I may just post that first and have Part 2 come when it comes...if you guys enjoyed and are excited show this some love and come lemme know!  I’m Tech on hiatus until sometimes in January but we shall see....

LOVE YOU GUYS AS ALWAYS,

ROCKI

[isuzukuretsuki]

me before playing blue lions: haha I’m not like ~other girls~ I don’t like Dimitri and I think he’s boring and basic.

me after playing blue lions: I will die for Dimitri.

I finally finished Azure Moon!! Can’t believe it took me 4 damn months to finish this route. Just like with Crimson Flower, I decided to do a very long write up of my thoughts of this route after letting my thoughts marinate for a bit. There will be spoilers for both Azure Moon and Crimson Flower. Also disclaimer: these are just my personal opinions.

Tldr: this route was so fucking good!!!! I jumped ship from being team Edie/BE to team Dimitri/BL faster than Sylvain jumps girlfriends because I enjoyed this route more than Crimson Flower in almost every way possible. The Blue Lions are my KIDS and I will die for each and every one of them. Blue Lions may not be my first route/house, but this is where my heart rightfully lies. 

I guess the first thing I should get out of the way are the negatives. While this isn’t really a complaint about AM specifically and more so the narrative over the entire game... the conflict between Edelgard and Dimitri seems really stupid and contrived. In other games, war happens because the villain is evil. In this game, war happens because the villain is fucking stupid. Basically, I still ain’t convinced that Edelgard’s war was ever necessary LMAO. She straight up nuked the church’s authority and relevancy out of orbit the chapter before the time skip, so she technically already accomplished her goal; why she still feels the need to go on a savage conquest alludes me. 

Speaking of nuking the church’s relevancy out of orbit, that’s exactly what happened to Rhea LOL. Despite all the church goons clamoring every .5 seconds about how they gotta save Rhea, we literally never see her again at all after the time skip, even at the end of the game. It makes no sense why Edelgard would keep Rhea imprisoned and not kill her, especially when Rhea seemingly served no greater purpose to Edelgard and became completely irrelevant in the war phase.

Edie says some mumbo jumbo of “I weighed the victims of this war against the victims of the world and I deem that there will be less victims of war” like bitch, how??? How do you tangibly quantify “victims of this world”. If she means “people who had a shitty life because of shitty society”, then those people are always going to exist because every society has its flaws. Even if you change society, you aren’t decreasing that number because you’re only solving problems by creating new ones (Edelgard’s specialty). Also the mental gymnastics you have to do to be tortured by an evil organization only to team up with said evil organization to take down another organization that, unless I missed something, isn’t even directly responsible for the death of all your siblings??? In both CF and AM, Edelgard comes off as incredibly thoughtless and illogical in her actions and I can’t help but feel that if she had been just a little bit more diplomatic, then maybe, just maybe, she could have found a better solution without starting a bloody war.

This brings me to the god forsaken chat between Edelgard and Dimitri. Dimitri demanding to know why Edelgard started the war only for her to go “it was the only way” has about the same narrative weight as “Riku why did you become one with the darkness?!” “Because I’m the worst”. Instead of bitching about whose ~ideals~ are better, how about y’all sit down and actually discuss what each person wants to accomplish and maybe figure out a way to accomplish these goals without murdering each other over it? Not that I think Edelgard would accept anything BUT murder, but jesus, this is why you don’t leave diplomatic matters to actual children.

Speaking of why you don’t leave diplomatic matters to children, god that Gronder battle. I get that it’s supposed to be an epic showdown between the three houses that mirrored the mock battle pre time skip but... the Kingdom had literally NO reason to fight the Alliance!!! The reasons they provided to justify why the Kingdom and Alliance couldn’t team up at Gronder was so fucking dumb, especially when two chapters down the line, Claude is knocking at our door begging for help. I will say tho, I never knew how much I appreciated himbo in distress Claude until now lmao.

Rodrigue's death was also really poorly done imo. As much as I liked having Dimitri’s father figure be the one to snap him out of his insanity, (I love found father/son relationships...) how on earth are you guys so fucking incompetent that you let this tiny little girl kill Rodrigue??? It doesn’t help that the exact same thing happened with Jeralt and Monica. This... just ain’t it, chief. 

I think the biggest bone I have to pick at AM specifically is... so what the fuck is the truth behind the Tragedy of Duscur LMAO??? They literally blue balled me by dropping the bomb of “Dimitri’s step mom may have conspired in it” ONLY TO NOT DO ANYTHING WITH IT. I assume that the full truth behind the Duscur tragedy will probably be revealed in VW (I hope) because it involves the slithers but it’s highkey ridiculous that the BL goons... never actually find out what really happened, and why. And I get that the story is about them moving on from their trauma and the past, but they should have at least figured out the actual truth behind it so they can get the closure they deserve???

Despite the gripes I have with some of the writing, unless VW or SS is mind blowingly amazing, this route will easily stand as the best route for me, because.... it is kind of is mind blowingly amazing. I wholeheartedly love character driven stories, and this route absolutely delivers in that respect-- the character writing is amazing and is essentially the heart of this story. To think Dimitri and the Blue Lions were the lord/house I was least interested in at first. Even after hearing people talk about what the BL goons and Dimitri’s character arc was roughly about, I was still blown away by just how damn fucking good it was, and this route exceeded my expectations in every way possible. 

When playing CF, I struggled to connect with a lot of the beagles; I didn’t have that problem at all with the BL goons and the route does a phenomenal job at making me actually give a shit about these characters and their problems. Childhood friend squad (+Marianne and Ashe) are easily my favourite characters in this game by a landslide, and the dynamic between not only the childhood friend squad, but all the BL goons, was just so, so amazing. Watching these characters that are seemingly joined by a single tragedy, rise above all their suffering as they grow, heal, and overcome hardship together is just so... MY KIDS... MY HEART..... I really got the sense of not only their shared pain, but also shared intimacy, care, and friendship. Their support conversations with each other had everything; from goofy and fun, to soothing and nurturing, to painful and harrowing. 

The connections that the BL goons have to the pre time skip missions gave part 1 story so much more meaning, and it only gets better after the time skip. I really appreciate that the BL bean boys actually feel relevant to the main story, and that their input and opinions actually mattered. The cast’s struggle to come to a consensus on the best course of action during the war phase made them feel like actual people with opinions, unlike in CF, where everyone was just a mindless passenger to Edie’s not so merry joyride. This also made Dimitri’s arc way more impactful because the narrative actually holds him accountable for the consequences that his behavior/poor decisions had on others. What I also really liked about the war phase is that you could just feel how war torn the kingdom was and how much everything went to shit after the time skip. I felt really strongly to the characters’ sense of hopelessness at fighting a losing battle as they struggled to keep their home land in tact while everything just kept spiraling out of control and deteriorating further. 

So to see the BL goon beans slowly, one battle at a time, turn the tide of the war and push back against the corner they were backed in, was SO fulfilling and rewarding. The battle of Fhirdiad is probably my favourite battle in the entire game because it felt like all the suffering and toiling that the BL goons went through was finally worth it, and just watching the kingdom slowly heal after being liberated was just such a good feeling. This kind of payoff is something I think CF sorely lacked, since tbh, I struggled to celebrate Edie’s victories with her. Though I do appreciate how Edie’s a much more threatening antagonistic force than either Dimitri or Rhea were in CF too bad Edelgard’s boss battle was pathetically easy and Dimitri shredded through her armor like swiss cheese... at least Rhea put up a slightly challenging fight.

I could gush about the characters all day, but Dimitri? He makes this game, 100%. This truly felt like his story and he was the star of this route. On a superficial level, I’m a basic bitch as well as a slut for angsty boys who have trouble talking about their trauma because I want them to rail me. I fucking loved his feral personality it was just so fun to watch and interact with LMAO 10/10 would let him use me until the flesh falls from my bones. His dialogue in this state is just so demeaning, belittling and raw that it somehow comes a full circle and becomes charming I promise I’m not a sick masochist.

I’m also a degenerate and dimileth is my otp. The way the relationship between Dimitri and Byleth develops over the game truly felt like a bond forged over time. The way Dimitri admits that he couldn’t trust Byleth at first because he was put off by the way they could “kill without batting an eye”, to being so elated when he sees them smile for the first time that he’s completely mesmerized when they starts expressing emotion... oof, talk about otp material. I think what really sold me is the way he’s their anchor after Jeralt’s death; their emotional support both in a traditional sense, but also in a darker sense when he declares he will kill anyone so they desire it because their enemies are his enemies. Character A declaring they’d die for character B? Soft shit. Character A declaring they’d kill for character B? A+ romance right there, boys. 

On a non superficial level, Dimitri’s character arc of his fall from grace and subsequent redemption was absolutely phenomenal. Just seeing how far he sinks, how far he goes, only to see how far he climbs his way back up after hitting rock bottom, was such a roller coaster and I loved every minute of it. I also probably like revenge stories more than I care to admit. Dimitri has everything; blood lust, cruelty, obsession, but also empathy and compassion so extreme that it’s his very own innate kindness that drives him into insanity, which is what makes him such a compelling character in my eyes. The extremity of his psychosis was absolutely heart breaking, but despite everything, him making the conscious decision to change for the better and rise up to fulfill his role as king was just astounding to watch. 

I will say though... maybe I have a screwed up moral compass but tbh Dimitri brutally killing imperial soldires didn’t really upset me because... this is war??? That he didn’t even start?? Everyone is killing everyone??? Even if he never went feral, he’d still be killing because his bloody kingdom is being invaded?????? But I digress.

While I think just how damn avoidable everything was kind of detracts from the tragedy of his relationship with Edelgard, I still really loved how steadfast and unconditional his love for her was (after he stops going feral), and you can tell just how much she meant to him every time he spoke of her. I also love how the dagger kind of becomes a symbolic motif throughout the story, and Edie throwing the dagger at him in the final cutscene as a sign of her wholehearted rejection of him was just fucking depressing, but also very fitting of her character. 

I adore the whole overarching narrative and themes surrounding grief and death, befitting of a war game. How, as tempting as it is to constantly keep the memory of the dead alive, there comes a point where you have to move on and not let your life be ruled by those no longer around. The way that the characters react to the death of loved ones and grieve so differently was a huge highlight of the BL squad’s characterizations, which just makes them feel more alive and human. Honestly, no words can really describe just how incredible of an experience Azure Moon was.

Anyway my order from favourite to least favourite BL goon bean boys are: Dimitri > Ashe >/= Sylvain >/= Felix > Ingrid > Mercedes > Annette > Dedue. (I love Ashe/Sylvain/Felix almost equally LOL)

tldr my experience with Azure Moon:

tfw my second best girl is childhood friends with all the best boys in the entIRE GAME and she settles for a guy with a dead wife, daughter, and most likely triple her age :|.

I’ll be finally playing Golden Deer next, which I’m gonna do on NG+ Maddening so.... hope that goes well!!

[fox-guardian]

Okay so about the post where they miss Jekyll and you clarified that Jekyll isn't gone-gone, just is currently Hyde, but then mentioned that they know any sip of hj7 could be the last... might.. mightn't we.. get some a n g s t... of The Last Sip and when the gents all realized it's The Last Sip?

((Slight blood and what I think still counts as body horror warning.))

Lanyon and Utterson waited patiently in the former’s laboratory, which he had fashioned over the years into a nice little area perfect for taking care of one specific little problem. A knocking on the window announced said problem’s arrival. 

Lanyon stood up with a huff and opened the window.

“‘Ello,” said Hyde, peeking in, “Sorry to have kept you all waiting, I got… held up a bit at the pub.“ 

"You need not explain, Edward,” replied Utterson, “Your bruised cheek and swollen lip say everything.”

Hyde chuckled as he climbed inside. As per the routine, Hyde would go out every other night to let himself go, and then return to the safety of Lanyon’s lab to change back. He freshened himself up and changed into Jekyll’s clothes, which still smelled of his cologne, and Lanyon handed him a vial of that glowing green formula, the same specific recipe that had been so reliable for several months now.

That formula had always worked well. Very few side effects, the transformations were less painful and random transformations were less frequent, and he always changed back just fine. He swished it around in his hand, watching the little bubbles sparkle. Then, sitting down in a chair for comfort and minimal chance of injury, he took it all down in one gulp. He set the glass aside, and waited.

And waited. 

And …waited.

“That’s… taking a bit long, isn’t it?” asked Utterson, attempting but failing to hide his concern.

“What did you eat?” asked Lanyon, “What you ate could’ve affected the… effects.” He was less articulate than he usually was when it came to medicine, likely due to just a little panicking.

“Nothing I haven’t had before. I hardly ate anything – hardly drank anything!” Hyde was the worst at hiding his fear. He was never good at keeping his feelings inside.

“Now, now,” started Utterson, “I’m sure it’s just taking a bit longer than usual and will… surely start working very soon.”

And so they waited a bit more. Lanyon shifted where he stood, Utterson drummed his fingers on his lap, and Hyde bounced his leg. 

“Wait,” he said, “I think I feel something…" 

Utterson sighed in relief. Lanyon, being a scientist, began questioning him "W-What is it? What do you feel?”

“Uhhh…” Hyde skimmed his mind for the right word, sweeping his hand for emphasis, “I-I feel… something…”

“SPIT IT OUT, MAN!!” shouted Lanyon.

“GIVE ME A SECOND!!” Hyde shouted back.

They waited with baited breath, they’d never been excited to see a transformation before. Utterson sat on the edge of his seat, Lanyon leaned towards Hyde, all were waiting and hoping, but terrified that no payoff would come.

Hyde held up a finger, he shifted a bit… and loudly burped out a puff of green fumes.

Lanyon grimaced at him, “That wasn’t funny, Edward.”

Hyde threw up his arms and glared at him, “I’m not trying to be funny! I’d never joke about this!” He stood up and went for another pre-portioned vial of formula, “I just need a little more, I think-”

“Is that safe?” Utterson cut in, standing up.

“Probably not,” answered Lanyon, lifting the vials out of Hyde’s limited reach, “especially not so soon. We have to wait for something to happen.”

“For what?!” Hyde yelled, jumping up to reach the vials.

“Something more than a burp!” he snapped back, pushing him away.

Utterson sat back down, trying to compose himself. It was fine, everything was fine. Just a small hiccup, he can have a different vial soon, everything will be fine. He’ll change back into Jekyll and… Oh what he wouldn’t give to see Jekyll again. It hadn’t even been a day, but when your dearest friend literally doesn’t exist for a few hours, it makes you miss them a little more than you would normally. He looked at Hyde, still hopping up to grab a vial from Lanyon. He was wearing Jekyll’s clothes, the white didn’t really suit him, or maybe it was the way it all hung from his frame. It was so wrong, so very deeply wrong. This may be the closest to Jekyll he may ever be again.

Utterson tried to push that thought from his mind, but the longer he looked at Hyde, still unchanging, still Hyde, still not Jekyll… it made him feel sick. 

Hyde stopped jumping, he let out a soft gasp, “I think…”

Lanyon started to interrupt him, “If this is another burp I will-”

Hyde doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. Utterson and Lanyon felt only a little bit shameful for being excited about that. Hyde fell over, his veins bulging and turning black as his mouth began filling with green foam – all of this being perfectly normal, nothing strange yet. Blood started leaking from his eyes, nose, ears, mouth – also perfectly normal, nothing to worry about. He coughed, groaned, shook and moaned, his hair started to stick to his now sweat-soaked skin… and then it stopped. The black in his veins faded and the sickening purple returned to his skin. He held out his hairy, clawed hand for a handkerchief, and Lanyon handed him one. He wiped his face and… nothing… nothing had changed at all. There was no bone crunching, no blacking out, no gargling, no actual transforming. It hadn’t worked.

“What…” Utterson stared at him in shock.

“No, no, no,” Lanyon said, his booming voice tense, “you’re supposed to be tall, and old, and less weird looking-”

“Hey!” Hyde snapped, glaring up at him.

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS RIGHT NOW, YOUNG MAN!!”

“WELL, MAYBE IF YOU COULD MIX THE FORMULA PROPERLY THIS WOULDN’T BE HAPPENING!!”

“Let’s not go bLAMING EACH OTHER, NOW” Utterson cut in, startling the others with his sudden yelling. He took a deep breath, “My apologies… Edward, if it would make you feel better, why don’t you mix a fresh vial, hm? To make sure you don’t miss anything.”

Lanyon scoffed, “I am perfectly capable of mixing chemicals, Utterso-”

“This is not aBOUT YOU, HASTIE!!” He shouted back, far angrier than the others had seen him in years.

Lanyon looked down in shame.

“… I’m sorry, Lanyon…” Utterson said, “I’m just… a bit distressed at the moment.”

…Hyde took his supplies and started mixing a new batch for himself. He poured himself a proper potion with precision, and drank it down.

They waited.

And waited.

And it happened again. They didn’t have to wait as long, but the result was the same as before. No transformation, just a lot of pain. No limbs stretching out, no organs rearranging, no hair falling out, no Jekyll. 

Hyde lay on the floor in his own sweat, staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving as he recovered from his non-transformation. “Why isn’t this working…?” He asked, but it didn’t seem to be directed at anyone in particular.

Utterson’s blue eyes grew wide and misty as they darted around the room trying to find something to fix this, but he saw nothing that he could make sense of. Lanyon surveyed the materials on his tables but could only think of trying again, though that could prove deadly if done too many times. Hyde finally sat up, joining them in looking for something, a solution, an instant fix, a sign from god, anything at all… but none could find anything they hadn’t tried before. 

Hyde began stumbling about the room, picking up glass after glass, box after box, turning them around and pushing them aside. He had gone around the room almost three times before the others noticed his eyes had starting welling up. 

“There has to be… has to be something… please… this can’t be… can’t be true… must be something here…” he whimpered. They had never heard him sound so helpless before. For a moment, the gravelliness was gone and he almost sounded like Jekyll again. 

When that thought struck Utterson he let out a sob and buried his face in his hands. He could see nothing but his eyelids but he could hear Hyde growing more frantic, pushing things off of tables and punching walls only to recoil in a fit of frustration and anger. In some sad way, it reminded him of Jekyll, and that only made Utterson cry harder. He remembered when Jekyll started deteriorating while working on his formula, maybe if he’d done more to help this wouldn’t have happened. He thought about those times Jekyll would disappear for days on end and wondered if he should’ve checked on him then, if maybe that would’ve done something. He remembered when Jekyll would change part of himself suddenly after behaving oddly in the days prior, perhaps that was a sign of darker days to come. He thought back to how strange he had been in his youth, how wild he’d be, how free he always seemed, he wished he could’ve brought those feelings back to his dear friend. He remembered in perfect detail the day they met, perhaps if Jekyll had never greeted him so kindly and smiled so sweetly… perhaps it would’ve spared Utterson all this pain.

Lanyon sunk down to the floor, his face pale and eyes staring deeply into nothing. He thought about the past few years, how Jekyll had almost killed him after revealing himself to be Edward Hyde, and how Utterson had brought them together again. He thought about the awful experiments he performed, the successes, the failures, the hugs, the hatred, everything that had gone right and everything that had gone wrong. He thought of his university days, of how he met Jekyll in the first place. He thought of how strange he had been back then, but how brilliant. He thought of the games they’d play, of the secrets they’d share, the bear hugs, the handshakes, the jokes, the gossip, everything that would never again be possible. Not after this, never again.

They wondered if death would’ve been easier to deal with, but knowing that Jekyll was still there somehow, trapped inside the body of this twisted, murderous version of himself, completely erased from physical existence, never to be laid peacefully to rest…

Utterson slid out of his chair and fell into a sobbing heap. Lanyon’s face ran with tears as he let out an enormous scream. Hyde stumbled over the mess he’d made and fell, wailing and crying out in desperation and terror. 

“Please!!” He cried out, choking on his tears, “I want to be Jekyll again!!” He fell over, sobbing until he was too exhausted to move.

“I want to be Henry again…”

[carol-effing-danvers]

where we grew up

this is part two of the series “run long, roam far, return soon” part one: “knock me the fuck out (i dare ya, babe)” (cont.) (fin.) part three: “push me, pull you” 

(click here if you’d prefer to read this in AO3′s format)

Steve assures her that he’s done all the right things, followed all the right procedures. He’s calm, he looks…not relaxed because no one could possibly be relaxed in this situation, but he looks like someone who is collected and has control of the situation.

But Robin knows him, and she can see in his eyes that some piece of him has quietly died – maybe not forever, but this day has wounded him deeply.

So, she tells him he’s got this and when their lunchbreak is over, she goes back to the high school building and immediately goes to the main office. Impatiently, she dials and waits for someone to answer, anxiously hugging herself with one arm.

“This is the 11th Hour,” El answers in her best ‘customer service’ voice. “I’m Jane. How can I help you today?”

“I need you…” Robin sighs, closes her eyes, and puts a hand over her face. “Is Hargrove there with you?”

“Yeah, Robbie, hold on.”

There’s a clattering in the background before Billy’s gruff tone says “Buckley. What’s up?”

“You…you need to pick up Steve from work, today.”

“Car break down? Didn’t sound like it was in bad shape, last I heard,” Billy observes cautiously.

“No, Billy,” she says with quiet pain. “He’s-he might be there late. But he’s going to need you, when it’s finished.”

“Okay, Rob, you need to back up here. What’s going on?”

“Steve had to call CPS, Billy,” she whispers, “One of his kids came in with belt marks all over him, and while the school nurse was looking him over, Steve brought his older sister up and started asking her some questions, and he and the nurse realized very quickly that someone has been beating her around, too.”

Billy’s stomach drops. “But they’re-they’re five year olds,” he says numbly. “Little kindergarteners…”

“Yeah.” It’s amazing how much pain and anguish can be packed into a single word. “They are.”

He is, at this very moment, imagining anyone attempting to do that to his sweet little Lulu and the blind fury that left him for so long suddenly comes back with a fiery vengeance. “What kind of monster beats a five year old with a belt?!”

But the thing is…he-he knows. He was raised by that same kind of monster – Neil Hargrove absolutely beat Billy with a belt, more than once throughout his childhood.  He has no idea how Robin is managing her side of this conversation so calmly.

“Their mom is an addict, and it seems she doesn’t pay a whole lot of attention to how her boyfriend treats her kids. Steve mentioned a couple of times throughout the year that he’d noticed both of them looking a little…unkept, but Rosie is a single mom and times are hard, so he gave her the benefit of a doubt,” Robin says grimly. “Turns out, they were looking unkept because the sister was the one trying to do the laundry and making sure they both got a bath and she wasn’t always so great at it. Not surprising, since she’s only nine.”

Swallowing past the sick feeling in his guts, Billy asks “Okay, so what do you need me to do?”

“I need you to be there when he lets himself freak out. He was acting super calm when I saw him because he has to finish class and wait with them until CPS can contact their aunt, but I’ve known him for a decade – the moment a child doesn’t need him, he’s gonna fucking lose it, Hargrove, and I know you’re the person he wants the most right now.”

Billy’s eyes go wide. “I’ll be there.”

“I know.”

Even with Robin's helpful warning, Billy doesn't really know what to expect when he walks down the Grade K hall. There are no children left in the classrooms here - school let out twenty minutes ago and these kids are too little for extracurricular activities.

He is expecting what he sees in Steve’s classroom least of all.

Steve and the other kindergarten teacher, Melanie Dohr, have rooms that mirror each other – boxy spaces slightly wider than they are long, with a doorway at one end that faces the children’s cubby stations, except that Melanie’s desk and chairs are to the left of the classroom door and Steve’s are to the right. At the very end of this room is a little sofa and an open space where they do story time and nap time and when he leans his head in to check on Steve, this is where he is sitting.

Squished right up against him on that sofa is a little girl with brown hair in two long braids. She’s a little girl, but she’s still too old to be someone Steve teaches. As Steve reads aloud, one arm around her, she listens intently as she leans into his side, a tissue clutched in her fist that she holds near her mouth as she silently cries. She’s heartbreaking and what’s worse – Billy actually recognizes her.

“Something that for lack of any other name might be called friendship existed and always had existed between Marilla Cuthbert and Mrs. Rachel, in spite of – or perhaps because of – their dissimilarity...”

This is Marcy Roberts, Martin’s big sister. He’s seen her many times, because Marcy walks her brother down to the kindergarten hall every morning before she goes back to Mrs. Webster in the third grade hall.

On their very first date, Billy had overheard Steve having a talk with Martin outside the classroom when he hit a classmate who called him names, and it reminded Billy so vividly of himself it was nearly painful. Of course Martin was the boy who’d taken a beating with a belt. He didn’t know why he hadn’t guessed it was Martin in the first place.

Silently, Billy makes his way into the room – he knows when Marcy spots him, because the fourth-grader immediately becomes tenser and tries to shrink into Steve’s side, her big blue eyes watching him wearily. Steve’s arm tightens around her, eyes briefly flicking upward before he serenely continues with his reading.

Old Billy would’ve been furious that Steve was deliberately choosing to ignore him – Old Billy was furious when Steve ignored him. New Billy slowly crept his way around to Steve’s desk while being watched by a little girl, settling back into the teacher’s chair and trying to look as innocent and nonthreatening as possible.

He wouldn’t consider himself a natural with kids, not like Steve was, and he’s definitely never had to interact with a child whose been treated…well, the way he’d been treated, he supposed. Lulu has never been afraid of him, but she also doesn’t really know any better. Uncle Billy is Uncle Billy, and he’s always been Uncle Billy in her eyes. And Justin is a worthless father, but he’s never actively tried to cause his daughter physical pain or mental anguish – though his complete disregard for her existence could hardly be called any better.

Steve is beloved by all of his students, of course, but for Marcy, he may literally be the only adult that she trusts. Marcy and Martin need him and that will hold his entire focus until they can be settled.

For a while, Billy wonders what happened to Martin, and then realizes that he probably had to stay in the nurse’s office. He knows from hard experience that sitting was likely painful and difficult at the moment if Martin got the belt. With any luck, the nurse has given him a light sedative, something to put him to sleep or even just make him a little more comfortable.

When Marcy’s focus is no longer dedicated to waiting for Billy to suddenly attack her, he takes the time to really look at her. Has she always been so small and thin? Is he only really noticing this now because he has some idea of what her home life is like? There’s a wrapping of gauze around her right forearm hinting that Marcy didn’t entirely escape the mercies laid upon Martin. Her hair – brown to her younger brother’s toe-headed blonde – is looking a bit unkempt and her clothes aren’t dirty but they are also certainly not new and Billy knows he wouldn’t have noticed any of this if Robin hadn’t already told him that their mother has been neglecting them.

But Steve had noticed.

Steve has been noticing, maybe the entire year, probably watching with helpless dismay as Marcy and Martin’s condition deteriorated right before his eyes as their home situation got more and more unhappy. Billy wonders what finally led him to the proof he needed to get CPS involved.

In hindsight, Billy now realizes that more than one of his own teachers had tried to get him to open up to them about the way Neil treated him at home, but he had been a scared and angry child and in early childhood, he hadn’t understood what they were asking for. And later on, he hadn’t trusted any adult enough to do that, until he’d become a sullen and violent teenager that everybody wanted to write off instead of an energetic and overeager child.

Marcy is still half hiding against Steve’s side, listening to him read – or maybe just letting the sound of his voice wash over her the way Billy is doing. Her hand is up near her face, fingers reflexively curling but she doesn’t actually put any of her fingers in her mouth. It’s not normal, is it, for a nine year old to still have the urge to suck her thumb?  

He loses track of time, letting the murmur of Steve’s voice soothe him into something like a doze, though his eyes are still open, when there is suddenly a knock on the classroom doorframe. A slim blonde woman with a briefcase wearing a navy blue pantsuit stood in the hall, standing beside a brunette woman with her hair cut into a short bob. “Hello, you must be Marcy!” the blonde says, just a little too bright to be entirely natural. “I’m Mrs. Rhodes, but you can call me Vicki.”

“Uh…okay,” Marcy says nervously, still glued to Steve’s side.

Steve gives Vicki a very charming smile – though now that Billy knows him so well, he can see that it’s a bit insincere. “Can I talk to Marcy for a just a second? Nurse Downing’s office is just down the hall and to the right if you’d like to check in on Martin. He might still be asleep, though.”

“Alright!” Vicki said, though the brunette looked like thrilled about this, she followed her back down the hall to the nurse’s office.

As soon as the woman’s footsteps had dwindled down the hall, Steve gave Marcy the worn down copy of Anne of Green Gables. “Keep that with you,” he tells her quietly. “It has my address and phone number inside. I think your Aunt Rachel will take good care of you, but if someone hurts you again, if you don’t feel safe, or if you just want to talk to me, call me, okay? Even if it’s really late at night, even if it’s not a school day, even if it’s the middle of summer, alright, Marcy? Any time you want to talk to me, call me. Alright?”

“Okay.” Marcy repeats, louder this time but with a wobble in her chin. She clutches the book to her chest like a shield, fingers tightening on the spine now that she knew the truth of its importance.

She surged forward, embracing Steve desperately, which he returns before plucking up her faded purple bookbag. “Let’s go find Mrs. Rhodes and Aunt Rachel. We’ll see how Martin is doing.”

---

The hand off was just as hard as he knew it would be. Martin was emotional and weepy, throwing something like tantrum – or Steve would’ve called it a tantrum if he didn’t know how scared and confused and traumatized he was – but Helen handled it pretty well and managed to calm him down. Marcy practically had a panic attack as they were leaving but Steve could almost see her reminding herself to be the responsible big sister.

Fuck.

Steve has to remind himself for the hundredth time that the state won’t let a single man with his history and his salary have one child, never mind two. No matter how much he loves them. No matter how torn up he is to watch them leave.

Rachel will do a good job, he tells himself firmly. Truthfully, Rachel couldn’t do much worse to them then her younger sister already had. Even after his gentle question of Marcy – something Vicki and Rachel will probably follow up on in more depth later – Steve isn’t exactly sure when Rosie checked out on her job as a mother. What little Marcy had admitted to, beyond the evidence directly on her and Martin’s bodies, left him believing that the real problem had been that Rosie was never checked in.

Rachel had looked unhappy with the development of this whole situation – unhappy, but not at all surprised. Steve thinks that maybe Rachel has long harbored some suspicions of her own.

Steve walks back to his classroom like a sleepwalker. He feels drained, like some kind of vampire has been sucking on his neck all afternoon.

Billy leaning against a corner of the hall, waiting for Steve to return. His eyes, so stark and vividly blue, remind him painfully of Martin and Marcy. Reminds him of a hospital bed, and a monster made of a mountain of corpses and carnage. Reminds him of the way Billy had looked against the starched white linens, and how for the longest time, that was the last image Steve ever had of him.

Deep in himself, he feels sick down to his soul. With time and practice, he’s gotten the hang of dealing with other people’s pain, but Steve has never quite gotten the knack of looking directly at his own. His voice crawls from his throat, falsely bright and without any warmth. “Picked a wild time to surprise me.”

“Wasn’t a surprise,” Billy grunted, watching him closely. The way he always seemed to be watching him. The way, Steve now realizes, the way Billy literally always had watched him. “Buckley asked me to take you back home.”

“I don’t know why,” Steve says, frowning at his desk as he idly tidies up before reaching to shut the lights off. “You don’t have to. I can drive, it’s not like I’m impaired or something.”  

“Humor me,” Billy replies shortly, in a way that tells Steve he won’t be taking ‘no’ for an answer. Not that he ever really takes ‘no’ for an answer. Steve finds it both aggravating and charming, and he knows that combination is going to get him into some serious trouble one day.

Steve shrugs, though even that’s half-hearted. “Fine, I guess.”

Maybe Billy and Robin are right – he doesn’t really remember the drive back to his apartment and he’s sure that he opened the door at some point, but Steve finds himself in the kitchen, just…staring at the cabinets, and he can’t quite recall how he got here. Standing there, with no Billy in sight.

“Billy?!” His voice cracks, his voice going shrill with the same panic that’s making his palms sweat.

“What, what’s wrong?!” Billy shouts from the bedroom. His bedroom. Their bedroom? “Stevie?”

“I-nothing.” Relief suddenly makes his legs so weak that he nearly just collapses right down to the ugly linoleum floor. “Nothing!”

Come back. Come back and hold me and don’t leave me – not now and not ever. Tell you love me and tell me you’re okay. Tell me everything is gonna be okay.

Steve slid down the side of fridge and on to the floor, breathing deeply in and out.

Back when they first began living together, Robin had very quickly caught on to the fact that sometimes Steve was…not okay, so she made him get some time with an anxiety specialist – paid for by the US government, because part of the cause of this condition was a secret interdimensional hole under the town that occasionally produced violent alien entities that killed and ate people, which Steve and Robin were both not allowed to talk about with the outside world. They taught him breathing exercises, meditation techniques for moments like this one.

When he can get his legs beneath him again, Steve hauls himself off of the ground and searches around for the cast iron skillet. They have the ingredients for cornbread around here somewhere.

It will probably still taste like sawdust to him, but the activity will occupy his mind, at least for a little while.

He feels bad that he can’t pretend cheerfulness, even to Billy. Beyond the aching numbness that has penetrated into his very bones, Steve’s anxiety is shrieking at him, telling him that if he keeps acting this way, Billy will leave. A voice in his head that sounds like Robin warns him that his inability to give a shit about even that isn’t a good sign.

They eat dinner, and Steve tries to answer like a normal person would, but he can tell by the way Billy doesn’t quite meet his eyes that he’s not doing a good job. A much less helpful and comforting voice – one that sounds more like his mother or his father – tells him not to be so sensitive. To stop overreacting.

That other voice, his Robin/common sense/better angel voice, won’t shut up. Won’t leave him alone. Tell him. If you don’t tell him, you’re always gonna feel like shit about this. Tell him, dingus.

In the end, it’s Billy himself that breaks that final barrier on his silence.

---

Billy knows how to solve this – or at least he knew how Henry solved this when he found Billy wandering around fucking Silver Lake in the rain. But he doesn’t really want to put Steve in a bath of ice cold water and pour whiskey down his throat until he gags. Lost white boy. Hey, lost white boy! Why you walkin’ round lookin’ like somebody whipped yo dog? Huh?

He never did give him a real answer. What could he have possibly said?

Part of the problem is that if Billy didn’t know him so well, Steve would seem almost normal. But he seems a little extra vacant throughout dinner, while watching television, even while brushing his teeth. Like somebody replaced his boyfriend with a friggin’ Stepford Wife or something.

As gently as he can, Billy removes the remote from Steve’s nearly limp fingers. Steve barely blinks at him – though it would usually garner at least an indignant squawk from him. He tries to think of a way to say it diplomatically. Fail, because he’s Billy Hargrove and he has no diplomacy – and says: “Are you going to talk to me about this or do I have to torture it out of you?”

He’s entirely joking, but Billy flinches when Steve absently replies, “I doubt you’ll have any better luck than the Russians,” blinks, and then says: “What?”

Swallowing down his queasiness – Max has passionately defended Steve’s bravery at Starcourt before he ever even returned to Hawkins – he sweeps back the bangs hanging into his eyes. “Your kids,” he says, still clumsily attempting gentleness. “Do you want to talk about that? What happened?”

Steve smiles weakly, giving Billy a hug that held maybe a tenth of the strength he normally possesses. “No,” he whispers, face hidden away against Billy’s neck. “No, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Billy swallows again, wondering why he feels so disappointed. He doesn’t really want to hear the grisly details – he’s probably got firsthand knowledge of most of it already – but at the same time, it feels like part of Steve doesn’t fully trust him. Though that idea should sound ridiculous, an insecure part of himself – mostly the part that still remembers his dad calling him a fuck-up all the time – wonder if Steve is actually as serious about them as Billy is.

Because Billy is like…insanely serious about them. A hundred times more serious than a heart attack, serious.

If a single pastor in Indiana woulda let him, Billy would put a ring on the long white second finger of Steve’s left hand tomorrow. That’s how serious he is. They’ve been together less than a month, but a part of him has belonged to Steve, with Steve, for more than ten years now.

Beyond even his own paranoia and insecurity though, is just…plain old worry.

He’s pretty much always known that Steve has a heart of hold, but it’s starting to look like maybe this day has hammered it to pieces. He watches Steve brush his teeth mechanically, unaccompanied by any of his usual chatter, moving like someone twice their age.

At bedtime, they usually trade off being the big spoon and little spoon, but this time, Billy stays facing Steve, gently strokes his cheek. A part of him feels a flair of love and hope when Steve leans into the touch. “Take it easy, heartbreaker,” he whispers, sweeping back Steve’s bangs again. “I’ve got your back tonight.”

The streetlights outside spread across their bed in a warm orange glow, allowing Billy to watch Steve blinking in a heartsick daze. Faintly, Billy hears him say “He was just crying. Just crying the whole morning, and I couldn’t understand why. By the time I took him to the nurse’s office, I-I think I already knew.”

Steve is the one crying now – crying and hangin’ on to Billy like he’ll disappear.

Billy’s just stunned, stunned and heartbroken by how utterly devastating this has been for Steve. He’s speechless, and the only thing he can do is hang on and be here for him. So he does.

---

The next morning is one in which Steve is allowed to sleep in, both because it’s Saturday and also because it seems that Billy has already gotten up to feed Angie for him. Normally she wakes him up whether his alarm goes off or not. He felt the mattress move just before dawn, but Billy is in bed with him now, wrapped around Steve’s back. He’s got a lowkey headache from all the crying – or trying not to cry – that he did yesterday, but he feels calmer about the world today. Marcy and Martin are safe, and Rachel will make sure they stay that way. Billy is here.

Relaxing back into the pillows, Steve finds Billy’s hand resting against his belly and laces their fingers together. He can tell that he’s already awake – his fingers squeeze back at his own too readily.

“I thought about you,” he admits quietly, tracing over Billy’s knuckles – rougher than his own, belonging to fingers shorter and thicker than his own. “The head nurse probably thought that I was going crazy. He was just…staring at me, on the bed. And I kept thinking about the last time I’d seen you before you left town.”

“What happened to me…it’s all in the past,” Billy says simply, and the ways his arms tighten around Steve’s body is comforting but the words don’t soothe him.

It’s all in the past.

But it wasn’t. Not for Steve.

“I use to wonder where you were,” he whispers, lifting Billy’s fingers to trace his lips over the scars on those knuckles. “No…not wonder. I use to worry. About you – where you were, what had happened to you.”

And now that the words had were finally coming out, Steve couldn’t hold anything back. “I’d worry myself sick, because the last two times I’d seen you-” He chokes, surprised anew that even with Billy right beside him, those images held just as much power over him as they had before. “-the last times I’d seen you, you were dying or you were-you looked so hurt and lost…”

“I’d wonder if you were even still alive – were you okay? I used to have these-these really vivid night terrors about that night in the mall…” He closes his eyes and swallows past the hard lump sitting in his throat. “Robin made me see a doctor, it got so bad – she didn’t know the specifics, but she did know that it wasn’t getting better.”

And for ten years, he hadn’t been able to say the name of his crush out loud, like there was a terrible curse placed on Steve. He laughs weakly. “I-I remember nearly fainting when El sad she’d seen you at Max’s wedding, and you looked well. You were happier. Calmer. It seemed so silly after that – though I still wondered what happened to you.”

“That’s not silly at all,” Billy murmurs, and he sounds thought, squeezing Steve around the middle and warming him right through. “Was I okay? I wasn’t. Not for what felt like a long, long time.”

To Steve’s surprise, Billy hooks his chin over Steve’s shoulder and continues speaking. “After I tried going back to my mom’s – I was kinda homeless. I mean, I had the truck, but I’d just got out of the hospital and I could barely sleep for more than an hour or two at a time and every little noise made me wanna crawl outta my skin. I didn’t really notice much back then, but I’m sure anybody who walked down the street crossed to the opposite side when they saw me coming toward them.”

“This guy – this random black dude named Henry found me walking around Silver Lake, just wandering around by myself in the rain. I’m still surprised nobody called the cops on me. Anyway, Henry took me back to his apartment, poured whiskey in me until I gagged and threw a bucket of ice water over my head.” Billy chuckles slightly. “Miguel was so mad at him for that.”

“Miguel?” Steve repeats in a whisper, terrified that Billy will stop talking.

“Yeah, Henry’s boyfriend, Miguel. He was a nurse. I called them Harold and Maude just because it drove him crazy. They, um,” Billy took a deep breath in, held it, then exhaled hot air down Steve’s neck. He shivers and Billy cuddles closer, Steve’s heart thump, thump, thumping for him. “They were part of the group of volunteers who like…took care of people with AIDS. A lot of their families just kind of…abandoned them.”

Thrown them away, Steve thought, heart sinking. Just like Billy’s mother had (repeatedly) done to him.

Quietly, Billy says “For my first couple years, that’s what I was doing. Helping Henry and Miguel and the other volunteers. Looking back on it, they probably thought I’d lost someone to it. Most of us had, it seemed to be everywhere.”

He’s silent for so long that maybe Steve thinks that this is it, these tantalizing hints are all he will get of Billy’s past for right now, and Steve continues obviously stroking at his knuckles. He aches at the idea of Billy, still injured and hurting from the rejection of his mother, wandering through California all alone, until a good Samaritan was kind enough to take care of him.

Then Billy says, “Sometimes, I wished…I wished that had it.”

And Steve can’t breathe, he can’t move, he can’t think. With five short words, Billy had wrecked his whole thinking brain. “You…that you had…”

“Yeah,” Billy says, very softly. “I didn’t want to die, I didn’t even want to be sick. But HIV was a concept Henry and Miguel would’ve known how to understand. I know that they saw the bandages, that first night, and the scars later on. I think I spent the first year there wishing that I were sick instead, just so that I would be able to tell someone what had happened to me.”

Steve can’t stand doing this without seeing Billy anymore and rolls to face him. “You shouldn’t have had to do that by yourself,” he says, nose trailing down Billy’s neck. “Nobody should have to do something like that by themselves.”

Willing his anxious stomach to settle, he adds “I hate that you went through that and that you were in such obvious pain that a literal stranger could see it. I hate that it took meeting two complete strangers for someone to finally care about when you were hurting. But more than anything, I hate that I wasn’t there for you when you needed someone.”

Billy’s freckles show in the morning sun, and the light makes his eyes bluer. He leans into the touch as Steve holds his cheeks in both palms. And what he says next makes Steve love him just that little bit more: “Maybe not. But I used to be a little boy, just like Martin Roberts. And you were there when he needed you, when Marcy needed you.” Softly, painfully gently, Billy kisses his mouth. “Because of you, Martin doesn’t have to grow up into me someday.”

Steve caresses down Billy’s cheeks with his thumbs, palms tickled by all the bristle. He whispers, “I don’t see growing into you as a bad thing, Billy.”

Billy huffs out a laugh, long eyelashes falling to his cheeks. Just the lightest of flushes touching the tips of his ears. “You were there, y’know.”

“Hm?” Steve murmurs dreamily, caught in the spell of those freckles and lashes.

“Every pair of big brown eyes were your eyes. Every lanky brunette with a sweet smile was you. I saw you everywhere I went. Trust me, even if you didn’t know it – you were there, heartbreaker.” His eyes devour Steve’s face, gaze lingering at the curve of his lips. “You're here with me right now."

When Steve cuddles closer, he rests his head right above the scars that mark the place where the Mindflayer pierced his chest. He has never been more owned, more possessed by anything than the feeling of his bare hand on Billy's chest. "Wild horses couldn't drag me off."

[imaginedanganronpa]

Can you please do headcanons with the DR1 cast as the Remnants of Despair? I was thinking of the V3 cast in the role of the TTH cast with Tsumugi as the Ultimate Despair and Maybe Rantaro as her Mukuro. While Kaede’s the Ultimate Hope with Ryoma, Shuichi, Kiibo, Miu and Himiko surviving with her.

I love Remnant of Despair AU’s, but I’m going to exclude Junko and Mukuro for obvious reasons. And as for the V3 Cast in the THH roles, I’m not going to write that right now since that isn’t the Request submitted but I guess I could in the future! I definitely think Tsumugi would be the Ultimate Despair, but I’m not as sure about Rantaro as her Mukuro lol. I think it’s an interesting concept nonetheless! 

Warnings for: Su*cide Mentions, as well as Spoilers for the DR3 Anime and Mentions of Violence/D*pression.

Danganronpa 1: Trigger Happy Havoc Cast As The Remnants of Despair!

Makoto Naegi

It’s hard to believe that Makoto would succumb to Despair very easily considering his status as the Ultimate Hope. He would be one of the more difficult individuals to break, especially with his affiliation to the Future Foundation.

But how Despair-inducing would it be to turn the Ultimate Hope into a servant for Despair? If anything, Makoto would be in a hostage situation where everything else started to feel bleak and meaningless, working as a similar Servant to the Warriors of Hope.

Rather than being a voluntary Servant, though, he would be forced into doing so, which would slowly break his spirit.

Junko would break him down and use him for her own personal gain. He would become a bargaining chip against the Future Foundation, and if they did anything to try to stop Junko and the other Remnants then she could easily bring harm to Makoto.

His broken down state of mind would also be used against his class - they would be shown how he has deteriorated and fallen victim to Despair, which would in turn bring his friends onto Junko’s side as well. 

He, similar to Chiaki, would be the main focus in the brainwashing video that brought them into Despair.

Kyoko Kirigiri

It would be quite difficult tosend Kyoko into Despair, and it takes much more than just brainwashing to causeher to switch sides. Junko would trick Kyoko into believing that Makoto wasmurdered and show her the falsified video of his supposed brutal ‘death,’ which woulddo the trick.

After being converted into a Remnant, Kyoko would head to Hope’s Peak Academyto murder her father, Jin Kirigiri, in an act of cold blood. If he was gone,then she would have no trouble destroying his beloved Academy in the process – shewould watch the other Remnants wreak havoc upon the city from atop thecrumbling, destroyed building that once was Hope’s Peak.

She would see herself as the judge, jury, and executor – Kyoko would be able tomurder innocent civilians and cover up their deaths so that they would never besolved! 

She wants children to feel the same Despair that she felt when she took her own father’s life and slaughter families before their very eyes, whichwould eventually lead children into working for the Warriors of Hope.

That, and Kyoko would starve herself until her body was nothing but a skinny husk. Ifshe was brainwashed as much as the others, she may even take Junko’s hands toreplace them with her own, scarred ones.

Byakuya Togami

Byakuya would be one of the mostmerciless Remnants of Despair, feeling his power growing within him and loving the new dominance he has gained since joining the side of Despair; he would become increasingly hostile and greedy.

Since he is the heir to a big company, he would easily be able to send peopleinto a deep depression and Despair by laundering money and sending them intomass debt. It would be just like the Great Depression in the 1930’s America allover again, causing people to commit suicide over their un-repayable debt.

He’d laugh as those around him crumble and watch the world fall into Despair as images of people everywhere jumping from the tops of buildings would circulate.

He would also offer up his parents as sacrifices to Junko - to both feel the Despair of killing them but to also inherit the company; Byakuya would be much more selfish after becoming a Remnant and he would be able to take full control of his family’s company so that his plan to send the country into debt would go smoothly.

And Byakuya would deepen his own Despair by doing something he’d never do in his right mind, and fall in love with Touko Fukawa.

Celestia Ludenberg

The first thing that Celestia woulddo is starve herself and change her entire wardrobe to replicate Junko’s aesthetic, even changing her clip-ins to reflect Junko’s hairstyle and wearing Monokuma pins in her hair.

She would likely revert back to calling herself Taeko as well.

Celestia would set up gambling rings that were rigged and impossible to win, causingpeople to gamble their lives away until they dropped from exhaustion,stealing their money and sending them into mass debt as she did so, similar to Byakuya’s method but in a much more direct way.

She would use Despair as a bargaining chip, sending even the most confident people into Despair. She would beg them to, “Keep playing, come on! You have nothing else to lose, Upupupu!” until her opponents lost everything they had, sending them into depression.

Celestia would laugh like a madman as she watched anyone who tried facing her crumble.

She would also force people to play Russian-Roulette, lying about how many bullets were in the chamber. Of course, they would all actually be loaded so playing her games was a death-wish, but she didn’t tell them that.

Leon Kuwata

Leon would become the face of Despair for athletes everywhere as he works them to death, literally; he ‘motivated’ his teammates to train until they dropped from exhaustion.

Those athletes who survived were brainwashed alongside him, becoming minions of Despair, and would then use their astounding physical abilities in the fight against the Future Foundation as well to slaughter civilians everywhere.

Since he wants to become a musician, he would create mediocre Despair-inducing music that would cause physical harm to whoever listened to it; he would attendSayaka’s concerts to further himself into Despair.

Leon destroys the baseball stadium where he played at, and stands among the rubble after he’s finished to overlook the city and watch the other Remnants spread Despair across the country.

Leon also spreads physical destruction, modifying his bat into a steel weapon, equipped with sharp blades at the top. He would recklessly vandalize the city, letting out loud, unsettling laughter as he did so.

And anyone who tried to stop him would get ruthlessly beaten to death in the process.

Aoi Asahina

Aoi would offer up her brother,Yuta, as a sacrifice to Junko and the Warriors of Hope; he was already a ‘Demon’ that they were hunting so she would just make their jobs easier.

And to feel the most Despair possible, Aoi would drown him. It’s ironic since both of them, especially her, are renowned swimmers - how Despair-inducing it is to be killed by the thing you love the most!

Aoi’s personality would completely change - she would no longer be the positive, optimistic girl that she once was. She would deprive herself of sweets to fuel her own madness and Despair, becoming much less emotional, and more serious.

She would fight alongside Genocider Syo and Sakura Oogami, using her own physical strength to fight the war against the Future Foundation. She would also completely turn against Makoto and laugh as she watched him serve the Warriors of Hope like a dog.

Aoi would be the main ‘motivational’ speaker for the Remnants, encouraging them to continue spreading Despair and develops a sick, sinister adoration for Despair and idolization of Junko.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru

Kiyotaka would become asecond-in-command to Junko Enoshima, self-proclaiming himself as a Leader ofDespair.

He would march around the city with a hoard of Monokuma carrying him on apodium as he waves his hand with a sinister grin and shouts encouraging words about Despair tocitizens on the streets, encouraging them to follow his lead with words.

Kiyotaka would shout at citizens trying to fight back against Junko’s Despair-inducing tactics, using his morality to alter their own morals and values and successfully swaying them onto his side.

Kiyotaka’s voice is programmed into the Monokuma Drones’ systems so that they recognize him, and that way he is able to command them as they march through the streets. He would be the main ringleader in charge of the Monokuma infesting the city, pulling at their strings like puppets as they do everything he says.

Anyone who was not succumbing to Despair was seen as a filthy rule-breaker, and Kiyotaka would promptly order the Monokuma Drones to tear them limb from limb.

Remnant of Despair Kiyotaka is much more cruel and rude as well.

Touko Fukawa

Touko Fukawa would cease to exist andonly act upon her instincts as  Genocider Syo. She would never assist Komaru in a fight against the Warriors of Hope and Junko Enoshima, and would instead lash out against anyone who tried stopping them.

She would work as a tool for Byakuya and Kiyotaka as they order her around, getting off to their insults and harsh commands. She uses her scissors as weapons and superior killing-capabilities to fight the FutureFoundation.

Touko, or Genocider, would be like the ‘attack-dog’ of the Remnants. However, she would also blatantly try to murder Byakuya out of love, to only increase her own level of Despair, resulting in a horde of Monokuma restraining her.

Genocider would make plenty of comments about how Touko was her former self, and how she killed Touko and she’d never return. She was a ruthless killer who slaughtered tons of Future Foundation members.

Mondo Oowada

Mondo would terrorize the city onhis motorcycle, infecting the rest of his Biker Gang with Despair; also having leather-jacket wearing Biker Monokuma Drones join them and ride alongside them. 

He could easily persuade the rest of his Gang members onto the side of Despair and ruthlessly kill whoever opposed him. They would form a fleet of motorcycles that would ride through the city, bringing Despair wherever they went.

Together, they would vandalize and destroy the city, and kill anyone who triedstopping them. Mondo and his Gang would take delinquency to a whole new level, getting in physical fights and destroying property, leaving only destruction and rubble in their path.

He becomes even more physical and hostile than he was before. Mondo would also get Chihiro to reprogram his bike and attach weapons, like machine-guns or flamethrowers, onto them so he can gun down innocent bystanders out of the blue.

He would often speak poorly of his fallen brother Diaya, no longer feeling remorseful over his death and instead calling Diaya a pathetic coward.

Sayaka Maizono

Sayaka would first set an example for her supporters by starving herself until she was nothing but an empty husk, encouraging all of her fans to do the same and insisting that they mutilate their bodies to look more like Junko’s.

But she, similar to Ibuki and Hiyoko, would perform Despair-inducing concerts that were designed to brainwash her audience. A lot of her songs encouraged suicide, murder, or destruction; and at the end of her concerts, she would have successfully diminished any and all confidence or sanity that her fans had.

Sayaka performs something similar to a Siren Song, bringing Despair to whoever listened to it. She would also use the screens behind her on stage to play the brainwashing video that Chihiro creates as she performs.

After her shows, she would hold a Meet-and-Greet where she demanded that her fans murder their loved ones and/or take their own lives; her influence as an Idol could persuade them into doing anything.

And Sayaka would also lure people in with her beauty, similar to Mikan. She would target her male audience and mutilate or torture them just for fun once she finally got a hold of them.

Chihiro Fujisaki

Chihiro would be one of the firstpeople to succumb to Despair since his mindset is already weak and damaged, so he would likely be the easiest person in their Class to convert.

He would use his programming abilities to play the brainwashing video he created all overthe city, hacking into downtown’s technology and projecting the video onto the big screens looming over the streets of Japan. Chihiro could also send this signal through private businesses so that his video plays in the homes of innocent civilians everywhere, unexpectedly catching them off-guard.

It would be a video, similar to the first Motive, that shows your loved ones in peril but also depicts graphic images of violence that would instantaneously brainwash anyone who watched it into Despair and send them into violent and hostile outbursts.

Chihiro would also ditch the dress he previously wore and adjust his wardrobe to reflect that of Junko’s, wearing a similar style to hers.

He is also in charge of programming all of the Monokuma Drones, becoming the main person who creates and develops them.

Sakura Oogami

If anyone, other than Makoto, isable to resist Despair then it would be Sakura – her willpower is far superiorthan that of her classmates and it takes a lot more to send her into Despair.Once she is on Junko’s side, though, she proves to be a formidable ally.

Junko would use her status as a Traitor to diminish her self-esteem, and thenonce Sakura’s emotions were at the lowest of the low, she would be shown a video of herfamily’s beloved Dojo getting destroyed.

In an act of anger, Sakura would slaughter her boyfriend and offer him up as a sacrifice to Junko – once sherealized what she had done is when she would completely fall into Junko’s hands.

Sakura would become a warrior for the Remnants, fighting alongside Genocider Syo and Aoi Asahina against the Future Foundation, easily taking out anyone who stood in her way. 

She would also proudly boast about her status as a Remnant and try to provoke the members of the Future Foundation onto their side.

And if they didn’t listen, then Sakura would simply kill them with ease. Between Genocider’s mastery of blades and her brute strength, it was nearly impossible to fight against these women.

Yasuhiro Hagakure

Surprisingly, the Despair Yasuhiro feels causeshis prediction rates to increase in accuracy – but that was also part ofJunko’s motive for bringing him onto her side, and he fell for it withouthesitation.

Now, to fill others with Despair, Yasuhiro will still read their fortunes butpromise only negative things befalling his customers. He reads their fortunesthat are filled with Despair, misfortune, and heartache to send them spiralinginto depression; this makes them easier targets to either kill or bring onto the side of Despair.

Yasuhiro would be much more intelligent and calm as a Remnant, and less likelyto make hasty choices or comments. His new personality would be much more unnerving and sinister.

He would replace one of his eyes with Junko’s after her inevitable death,insisting that it helped him to ‘see’ into the future.

Yasuhiro would also murder his mother in a fit of blind rage and use her body as a sacrifice, selling her remains for profit.

Hifumi Yamada

Hifumi would also be easy to brainwash, and he’d ditch his ‘heroic’ persona for a more villainous one.

His Manga and Fanfiction would show depictionsof Despair and the characters he has created falling into it, causing hisviewers to model after them and succumb to Despair as well. 

He would likely kill off his most popular and loved characters by forcing them to commit suicide and he would write Junko as a character into his fiction, representing her as an idol that his viewers should look up to and strive to be like.

Hifumi already has a large audience that would immediately be switched onto theside of Despair – his younger audience would follow in the Warriors of Hope’sfootsteps, killing their parents and joining their army, while his older audience would start worshipping Junko Enoshima.

He could easily get his readers to do as he pleases – if he wanted to cause them to commit suicide, kill their loved ones, or destroy their home or city, he could do so with one publication.

- Mod Rantaro