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p-artsypants · 5 years ago

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Longest Night (38) Disobeying

So, I mentioned this on my Tumblr, but I guess some people didn’t see it, and left some pretty rude comments on the last chapter. While the world is in quarantine, that doesn’t mean I have tons of free time. I am working full-time remotely, and even more hours than normal. So don’t demand more of me because ‘I have nothing better to do’. Trust me, I’d love to write more.

For those of you who are always very patient and kind: Thank you, my little angels. I write for you and you only.

Ao3 | FF.net

—

“How are you today, Adrien?” Dr. Boucher asked.

‘Much better!’ Past Adrien would have said, considering he was off the ventilator. But today’s Adrien was much less enthused. He just laid there, staring at the doctor, before flicking his gaze to stare at the wall.

“The good news is, you can drink as much water as you’d like. We’d actually prefer if you drink as much as you can.” The doctor set the styrofoam cup down on the side table.

To Gabriel’s dismay, this also didn’t get a response from the boy. Adrien was listless, hollow, and a dull husk of his old vibrant self.

“So, since we’ve got you off the ventilator, I’m going to check something. We’ll sit you up, and then we’re going to perform a Laryngoscopy on you.”

Adrien at least looked at the doctor at this point.

“It’s a pretty painless procedure. From what I observed from the stream, I believe you may have developed vocal nodules. They’re little calluses that form on the vocal cords and cause the voice to became horse and raspy, as well as neck pain and exhaustion. Though I’m sure you’re exhausted for other reasons too.” He grinned. “So what we’ll do is, we’re going to fish a small camera in your nose down the back of your throat to look at the vocal cords. We’ll keep you awake for it. If you do have vocal nodules, we can perform surgery on them, depending on how big they are. Does that sound okay?”

Adrien didn’t answer. They were going to do whatever to him anyway, why would he have to consent to anything?

“Let’s just take a look first and see what we can do.”

Adrien really was a model patient. He did exactly as he was told during the exam, and even made some noise to move his vocal cords.

“Yep,” said the doctor. “He’s got a pair of matching ones. Big. These will have to be removed before he’s able to talk normally again.”

“Is that why he’s not talking now?”

“Could be. They are painful. But it can also be a psychological problem. Only Adrien has the answer. I’m sure he’ll communicate eventually, though patience is the best medicine for him right now.”

Adrien rolled his eyes at the conversation. Gabriel was never known for his patience before, especially when it came to him. Why would he start now?

Dr. Boucher fished the endoscope out, and let Adrien relax. “Great job, Adrien. That didn’t hurt too bad, did it?”

He shook his head.

“That’s a good boy.” He rubbed his hair.

The rest of the day passed slowly and in boredom. There was no TV in his room, and Gabriel hadn’t let him have a phone or tablet to look online. So he spent his time passing in and out of restless sleep.

The clock on the wall showed it to be around seven when Gabriel stood and stretched. “Son,” he stated, waking him a little more. “I’m going to go home tonight. I’m really happy with the progress you’re making, and I’m confident enough I can leave you in the doctors care until I return in the morning.”

He could have just left. Either way, Adrien didn’t really care.

Gabriel held the ring up in front of him, pinching it between his fingers. “Now, I’m going to leave this with you. Because it rightfully belongs to you. But you have to promise me you won’t use it.”

Adrien reached for it.

But Gabriel pulled it away. “Promise me.”

With a sigh, Adrien nodded, and held out his hand patiently.

Considering it good enough, Gabriel dropped the ring back into his hand.

“Ahhhhhhh!” Plagg stretched from where he had been sleeping on Adrien’s stomach. “It’s good to be back where I belong!”

“You can feel through the ring?” Gabriel asked, astonished.

“It’s a spiritual thing,” the cat drawled, nuzzling against Adrien’s hand. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “No, I suppose not. Adrien, I’ll bring you some pajamas in the morning so you can change out of the gown.”

Adrien didn’t bother responding. Instead, he slid the ring on his finger, watching as it shrank to adapt to the weight loss.

He hadn’t noticed how naked he felt without the ring on. But having it back felt like a piece of him was falling back into place.

Just right.

Gently, he rubbed his thumb over the band and just savored the feeling of having control back in his hands. He closed his eyes, and just reveled.

Plagg watched this with concern and a touch of curiosity as the hours passed. Adrien’s eyes twitched, and his brow creased in concentration. He remained this way long after the nurse came and turned off the light to sleep.

He wasn’t just admiring the feeling of the ring, he was thinking.

But the moment Plagg realized what he was thinking about, by then it was too late.

“Kid, you prom—!” Was all he could say before being sucked into the ring.

Like a drug addict finally getting a fix after being sober for days on end, the power rushed over Adrien and filled him with strength and adrenaline. The pain waned, and his focus sharped razor sharp. All his cords and tubes became disconnected and alarms started blaring.

He flung the sheets off of him, and rolled onto the floor, lacking the finesse to slide and stand. The police standing guard were already coming in the room, begging him to drop his transformation.

But Chat Noir refused, withdrawing his baton from behind his back. He let the staff do the work, extending it to hit one man in the balls, and the other in the jaw. Then, with a little work, he was up on his feet and staggering passed the guards.

Though gifted with superhuman strength, his body wasn’t used to moving. He shuffled and wobbled down the hall, frustrated with his own body for not working properly.

“Chat Noir?” A nurse asked in horror.

He hissed at her.

“Chat Noir!” She shrieked. “Wait!” Then she bit her tongue as she remembered training. She held her hands out at her sides, palm up. “Hey, it’s okay. Relax. What do you need? What can I do to help you?”

He shrieked at her, his voice cracking painfully.

“My name is Sam, okay Adrien?” She took a careful step forward as several staff members approached quietly from behind, intent on subduing him. “Do you want to see Ladybug? We can make that happen, okay? Let’s just get you a wheelchair, and you can transform—“

He shook his head violently. He was done waiting. ‘Oh you’ll see her soon’ they said ‘just wait a little longer’ they said. Well, he waited. And no one was letting him see her. He was sick of it. He extended the baton to knock her in the stomach.

“Move!” Someone shouted from behind, before a pair of arms hooked under his arms and pulled backwards. He was pulled off balance, but managed to stomp the person’s toes to let him go.

“Someone prepare 2 mg of lorazepam, we’re going to need to administer it the second we subdue him!”

But Chat wasn’t about to let that happen. He broke into a run, the best he could, and took off down the hall.

He had no idea where he was going, but looked into every room he passed, catching the attention of a lot of staff members.

It became a hospital wide game of tag.

Chat really didn’t want to hurt anyone, but if they were standing in his way, he was using force. At one point, he had gotten pinned by two robust men while a female nurse prepared to administer the sedative. He thrashed wildly, getting one arm free to scratch the woman in the face. One of the men attempted to recover the dropped syringe, only to loosen his hold on Chat, who then wriggled himself free and threw the other man off of him.

“Someone get John! He plays flag football on the weekends!”

“John’s off today!”

“Son of a bitch!”

As the chase went on, Chat grew more and more frantic and feral. He hissed at patients and staff alike, his eyes darting out and around, trying desperately to find a clue to his lady.

Then a little mousey nurse stood in front of him at the end of the hall. She looked shocked to see him barreling towards her, and froze like a deer in the headlights.

If Chat had to run her over, so be it. He wasn’t stopping.

Coming out of her shock, the little nurse held up her hands and shouted at him. “Third floor, room 308!”

As he came upon her, he grasped her by the shoulders and spun her out of the way, unharmed.

Just beyond her were the elevators, and he sprinted in one as the door was closing.

Inside, there was already a passenger, an old man with a bouquet of flowers. “Would you mind hitting the button for the fifth floor? My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

As Chat heaved a breath from his sprint, he looked curiously at the man, and then hit the button as the man asked, as well as his own.

At the third floor, he was off in a sprint again. Counting down the room numbers until he reached the end of the hall. The police officers standing guard should have been a clear sign.

“Chat Noir, we can’t let you in.” One said firmly.

He hissed in response.

“Did you say Chat Noir?” Marinette’s sweet voice called from inside the room.

His ears dropped and his eyes dilated. Chat trembled and walked forward, ignoring the protests of the officers. Vaguely, he heard Tom talking to them, reasoning with them to leave him be.

But none of that mattered now, because she was here. His lady.

Like seeing the sun finally rise, or taking the first breath of clean air, Chat felt goosebumps settle down his spine as his body relaxed. A hand settled on his back to keep him steady, but his legs still wobbled.

She was so beautiful. Unbathed, bruised, and crusty, but still so beautiful. Those bluebell eyes that remained unchanged, and bored into him with a passion. It set the tips of his fingers tingling with the ache to have her, to touch her.

It was only a second as Marinette digested what she was seeing as real, before she flung her sheets off and hurried to him.

Her steps were weak and wobbly, and she almost fell. But she reached him, just as he started to slide to the floor. Her arms hooked under his and they dropped to the ground.

“Kitty…” she breathed.

In a voice so quiet it was barely audible, Adrien released his transformation. Once the strength was gone, he hissed in pain, and curled closer to her.

“Rebuke him,” Plagg huffed. “He promised he wouldn’t transform, and the second he was clear, he went ahead and did it.”

Marinette raised a hand to his head and brushed back his bangs back to kiss him. “My sweet, reckless kitty.”

He closed his eyes, exhausted from his excursion. But now he could rest, because he was with her.

Marinette leaned her forehead against his, soaking in his warmth. Oh how she missed him. His touch filled her soul with a quiet calmness she hadn’t felt since that final night in the catacombs. Back then, she was holding him as he was dying, but now?

Now he was living. And it felt so right.

There was a clamor at the door as several staff members finally caught up to him.

“He just wants to be with Marinette,” Tom explained. “We can’t separate them.”

“Did someone tell Dr. Boucher Adrien escaped?”

“He went home for the night, but I’ll call him.”

Now that no one was trying to tackle him and tranquilize him, Adrien actually allowed a smile to grace his face.

“That can’t be comfortable down there,” said Tom, knelling. “Let’s get you kiddos on the bed, hm?”

Adrien didn’t fight the man. He was right, it was extremely uncomfortable on the floor.

Tom and another nurse helped them stand, and then sit on the bed, only for Adrien to lean on Marinette. In turn, she raked her nails over his scalp, eliciting a purr from his chest.

The doctor who had left to make the call to Dr. Boucher returned. “Dr. Boucher will be back in a little bit. But he said it’s best if we move Adrien’s bed up here.”

“Is he stable enough for that?”

“Doesn’t matter if he’s going to run away every chance he gets. Dr. Boucher says it’ll be alright since he’s off of a ventilator now. He and Marinette have a team assigned to them specifically anyways.” The doctor came to Adrien and touched his knee. “Alright, you got what you wanted. You get to stay with Ladybug. But please, on behalf of the staff here, Don’t. Do that. Again.”

He rolled his eyes, but understood.

“Seriously Mr. Agreste,” The doctor continued. “Protocol demands that if patients show excessive violence towards staff, we are to put them in seclusion. I don’t want to do that to you. Especially after everything you’ve been through. So this is the only warning I’m giving you.”

Oh, seclusion didn’t sound fun. So he nodded in agreement.

“Good. I have to get back to my patients, but your team will be bringing the bed and equipment up soon. Please try not to move.” He sighed, and left the room.

Tom rubbed Adrien’s head. “You crazy kid.” There was no rebuking, no scolding or judgement, though he deserved it. Tom just didn’t see the point in it.

Before too long, a pair of nurses moved his bed into the room, moving Marinette over to make room. Then they moved Adrien into bed. “Don’t get too comfortable,” said one. “Dr. Boucher is going to need to examine you, and you’ll probably have your drains and catheter replaced.”

Adrien grunted in protest.

They had him lean on his side to check his stitches all the way down his back to his calves. “Despite your little stunt, your sutures look to be in good shape. I don’t see any pulls or tears.”

Finally, Dr. Boucher arrived, dressed in casual clothes. “Adrien, you teleported!”

Adrien hunched his shoulders slightly in shame.

“Dr. Kranken told me he gave you a thorough scolding, so I’ll skip that part. Instead, I’ll just check your wounds and make sure you didn’t add any time to your recovery.”

“His stitches look good,” said a nurse.

“Good, good. That’s the thing we are most concerned about.” He studied the labyrinth of stitches that made up Adrien’s back, prodding and poking as he went. “Sorry, I know this is so uncomfortable. But loose stitches can mean infection and infection with a skin graft like this can lead to necrosis or MRSA.”

“What’s that?” Asked Marinette.

“Necrosis is dead flesh. When the graft has poor blood supply, the skin will turn black and fall off. MRSA is a flesh eating bacteria, which can then lead to necrosis. So it’s very very important that you both follow our instructions.” Then he said a little quieter. “And stop freaking transforming into superheroes.”

Okay, the threat of turning into a zombie with flesh eating bacteria was a little more persuading than just “it’s not good for you.”

“Let’s see here...when you transformed, you forced your drains out, so that has to all be redone. And...” he held his arm out, inspecting the inside of his elbow. “And removing the IV the way you did blew out the vein. So we’ll have to wait until it heals before we can insert another one in this arm.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and a little in exhaustion. “Alright, we’re going to get you settled in here. Please promise me you’re not going to pull anymore stunts, huh? At least not tonight. My wife and son had to pause the movie.”

Adrien looked over to Marinette meaningfully, and then back to the doctor.

“I’ll make sure everyone knows not to move you from this room.” Then he looked at Marinette. “How are you feeling, darling? Anything new? Any symptoms that we talked about?”

“I have another headache. It’s not that bad though.”

“The nurse gave her some ibuprofen at 6:00.” Sabine added.

Dr. Boucher checked his watch. “I’ll let them know you can have some more in an hour. Think you can last that long?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Good,” he breathed. “Then Adrien, let’s get you some tubes.”

Adrien growled.

—

In the morning, Gabriel Agreste arrived at the hospital with a duffel bag over his arm. As he went on his way to ICU, he was stopped by a receptionist.

“Oh, Mr. Agreste?”

He halted, “yes?”

“Adrien was moved to Marinette’s room last night.”

“Last night? I thought he was still a few days away from being moved?”

“He was, but there was...an incident last night.”

Gabriel heaved a disappointed sigh, knowing exactly what happened. “Thank you,” he muttered out as he passed.

Upstairs, Gabriel stormed into the room, to find his son half awake, and looking at Marinette.

Then his gaze shifted to his father.

He had the gaul to look sheepish.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Gabriel shook his head. “You promised me.”

Adrien looked away, towards Marinette. Perhaps for reassurance.

“How am I suppose to trust you, if the first thing you do is disobey me?”

“Gabriel,” Sabine snapped. “He’s already been chastised. He knows what he did was wrong.”

“Does he? Does he know that he was being selfish and stupid?”

“You can’t get mad at him for being irrational.” Sabine stated, calm as she could.

“Irrational? My son doesn’t do irrational! Dramatic, yes. Emotional, yes. But not irrational. He knows better. And he knows how his behavior reflects on me.”

Sabine balled up a fist. “Have you ever seen Bambi?”

“What? What does that have to do with this?”

“Have you seen it?” Her voice took an edge.

“Yes?”

“Do you remember the little bunny? Thumper?”

“What about him?”

“He has this line: ‘If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.’”

He huffed. “Excuse me? Are you trying to use the philosophy of a child’s movie on me?”

“If you insist on acting like a child, then yes. I will.”

Adrien and Marinette watched with concern as the argument escalated, the insults being tossed back and forth like a volley at a tennis match.

“Childish? Trying to raise my child is childish?! Sabine, he’s dangerous! To himself and other people!”

“That’s a real joke coming from you.”

“As if I had anything to do with this!”

“Keep running your mouth, and I’ll tell them what you did!” Her voice escalated. “And trust!? Really?! You can’t trust him, but you expect him to trust you!?”

He sneered at her. “Sabine, I didn’t say a word when your child recklessly transformed. I’m not trying to tell you how to raise your child, so don’t try to tell me how to raise mine!”

Tom stood from where he was sitting. Not a man to be prone to a temper unless it had to do with his daughter, he had let his wife duke it out with Gabriel. But this left him alone to notice the first of the tears.

He hurried over to Adrien, and very carefully embraced him into a hug.

“What are you doing?! Don’t touch him!”

Tom ignored him and petted the top of Adrien’s head. “Hey son, it’s okay. It’s okay, he’s just scared. It’s okay.”

Son.

Adrien relaxed into Tom’s hold, feeling safe and secure.

“Don’t coddle him! This behavior is appalling!”

“That’s enough.” Plagg’s voice boomed, shaking the room with a slight tremor. Everyone went silent as the kwami approached Gabriel. “You took five steps forward and six steps back, you low life.”

“Now you’re going to lecture me too?”

“No, Gabriel. I don’t lecture. I threaten. I will constantly give you second chances, only for Adrien’s benefit. But if you keep treating him like this, getting rid of you will be to his benefit. Do I make myself clear?”

Gabriel breathed slowly. “I understand.”

“Gabriel,” Sabine spoke firmly, but more gentle than she just had. “Don’t you remember what Dr. Boucher said? We won’t recognize our children. Maybe irrational is what Adrien is now. You need to learn that, and accept it. The sooner you do, the sooner that will stop.”

“Salo talked to him like that,” Marinette spoke. Her hands fisted the blankets. “She belittled us. Told us we were a disappointment. That we were wrong. We were bad.”

She swallowed harshly, tears pricking at her eyes. “If…if the first decisions we were able to make for ourselves were bad…maybe she was right.”

“Oh honey no…” Sabine breathed.

“Gabriel, you shit-stain, you tell them right this instant that didn’t mean it!” Plagg yowled.

Gabriel shook his head and came to stand between the two beds. He reached out both hands to touch them. “I’m sorry.”

Plagg was kind of speechless. He didn’t think that would actually work.

“I gave Adrien his ring back. I knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the temptation…I’m more disappointed in myself for being optimistic.”

Marinette snapped her hand away from him. “Only you could make an apology sound so condescending.”

He pinched his nose. “You know what? I think I’m just going to leave. I’ll listen to that rabbit and keep my mouth shut. Apparently, I’m the bad guy here.”

“You are.” Sabine reminded. “So get it together.”

Gabriel dropped the duffle bag onto a chair and left, taking the coldness of the room with him.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ml #chat noir #ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrinette #adrienette #gabriel agreste #fanfiction #longest night

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anotherdarkiboi · 5 years ago

Link

Warnings: blood, eye horror, medical themes, bandages, blindfold, mild cursing, mild nudity, innuendo and sexual references, references to murder.

Dr. Iplier changed out of his mildly bloody medical scrub shirt and formerly-white lab coat, discarding them onto the floor. His mind has been wandering lately. One of his regular patients seemed to occupy himself in his brain like a cancerous tumor or Taenia solium larvae might. He was frequently distracted and excitable, getting flustered uncharacteristically easily. That and the overall warmth he felt coursing through his body and the achey tightness in his chest concerned him to no end.

What's worse was that the doctor couldn't diagnose exactly what sickness he had. Dr. Iplier knew they could be signs of a heart attack or about a hundred other maladies that could possibly kill him, but he didn't dare imagine the possibility that he was the one who was dying, as painfully ironic that would be.

He wanted to get rid of it, and soon. It was impeding on his work and the credibility of his profession, to the dismay of his business partner, fellow doctor, and best friend, Schneep. Dr. Iplier accidentally dropped a scalpel into Peter during his surgery and caused a bloody mess (literally) because of it. Poor Peter didn't make it. But then again, that's what you got when you ran a medical practice with Henrik von Schneeplestein (the "Doctor" part was debatable): Peter never stood a chance.

But as time progressed, Dr. Iplier found that whatever he had made him feel euphoric. Maybe the disease or parasite released dopamine? He suspected that it had something to do with that patient of his. Maybe they were also the Patient Zero for his ailment? Or were they somehow causing these symptoms through mind control?

The doctor was familiar with the paranormal through his experiences with the infamous Darkiplier, so it wouldn't be too farfetched. He had his suspicions about his patient, but knew that it wasn't really professional of him to comment. Either way, they were forced to interact on a daily basis and Dr. Iplier didn't feel like losing his most loyal customer, so he said nothing of it and ignored the rapid beating of his heart (tachycardia?).

Soon the doctor found himself thinking about his "favorite" patient. Again. Of course. His thoughts always drifted to that quiet, contemplative man. The disease- Illness? Parasite? Whatever it was, the symptoms were getting worse.

Dr. Iplier sighed, picking up his bloody scrubs from the floor. He didn't want to further lower the reputation of his business by leaving his bedroom and private clinic messy.

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

The Host opened the door to Dr. Iplier's bedroom and makeshift clinic with a faint creek. He considered knocking first, but what he needed to ask the doctor was urgent. Well, maybe not urgent per se, but he had been thinking about it for a while now and had finally come to the conclusion that today was the day he would ask their resident doctor out.

What the Host didn't expect was to find was said doctor shirtless. The Host can't see, not in the physical sense anyway, but he has the ability to narrate his surroundings to get a vague sense of what's going on. So when his internal monologue started describing in excruciating detail exactly how lean Dr. Iplier's exposed upper body looked like and the faintest hint of his V-line peaking over the elastic of his thin blue scrub pants, the Host became overwhelmed. Of course, the Host doesn't say this aloud: for once, his narrations remained in his head in a loud, frantic monotone. The Host couldn't hear himself think, let alone focus from the mental barrage of stimuli. Shit.

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

Dr. Iplier tosses the bloody clothes into the hamper. He turns around to find the Host, propping himself up by the doorway looking like he was on the verge of collapse.

"Oh! Uh, you're here awfully early... Are you alright?"

"The Host, um, I- fuck."

The doctor's eyes widen in concern. Blood streaked down the Host's bandages like tears. It was rare to see him shocked into using first person and it was usually was damaging to his physical health. And this was the first time Dr. Iplier ever heard the Host stutter.

The Host makes an attempt to step into the room and falters. Dr. Iplier is quickly by the Host's side, holding the trenchcoated man up by the waist to guide him to the bed (which served as both a hospital cot and the doctor's actual bed). The Host sits on the edge while the doctor hangs his stethoscope around his neck, putting on his lab coat and head mirror out of habit: all without noticing that he still wasn't wearing a shirt.

The Host can't help but compare the mental image to the intro of a low-budget porno. He covers his head in his hands and groans in exasperation. Why did Dr. Iplier have to be at the pinnacle of health?

The doctor feels the Host's forehead with gentle tenderness, his cool hand resting against warm skin. He tilts the Host's head up from under his chin, examining how much blood his patient lost. The Host can feel Dr. Iplier's intense stare on him as he attempts to figure out what's wrong. He hopes that the doctor won't notice his face heating up.

The physical contact felt intimate, even though it was practically ritual at this point with the amount of times the Host visits. The Host mentally compares it to heavy petting leading up to eventual smut. He internally screams.

The Host's narrations drift to Dr. Iplier's inner monologue as the doctor checks his vitals. It's something that the Host tries to avoid as it's an invasion of privacy, but it wasn't something he was able to control in his current state. Anything was better than whatever his brain was conjuring right now.

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

Usually he's calm under pressure, but the doctor can't explain is why he feels irrational, seething anger for whatever caused the Host's predicament. Dark maybe? Or Wilford? Probably someone with a great deal of power for the Host to essentially overload.

The doctor rarely gets angry: Annoyed? All the time. Cranky? Every morning before the caffeine hits. But Dr. Iplier felt, for the first time, homicidal. How dare they? The Host's health is delicate to say the least: the other egos know that. Yet Dr. Iplier is well aware that the blindfolded man can take care of himself. Then why does he feel so protective of him?

He knew, in great detail, at least 50 different ways to kill a person and had the means to do it. Injecting air into the bloodstream and facilitating an air embolism, constricting the windpipe and suffocating them while they sleep, utilizing any number of lethal drugs he had on hand: the list went on. If anyone ever hurt the Host again, he'd have to...

He takes a deep breath. The Host needs a doctor now, not an emotional wreck. The doctor checks off his mental checklist and goes through the familiar motions of proper medical procedure for his patient. It was his job to help people, and he'd be damned if he did just the opposite: at least on purpose (accidents happen).

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

For some reason, imagining Dr. Iplier attempting to murder the infamous Dark and Wilford duo calms the Host down. The Host had an especially violent streak during his Author days, so he understood the feeling well. But the fact that the doctor would feel so passionately about him was... endearing. Maybe this could still work...

The doctor grabs his glasses from his desk and pushes them up the bridge of his nose. They were rectangular ones reminiscent of Mark's old trademark, which the Host imagined made Dr. Iplier look more distinguished and erudite. He reads off his clipboard with concern.

"Elevated heart rate, irregular breathing, flushed but no fever, dilated pupils... Host, do you know what -or who- caused this?" The Host notices how Dr. Iplier clenches his jaw at "who". How cute.

You. "That doesn't matter, Doctor. I can assure you, I'm fine. I've been experiencing these 'symptoms' for a while now. I know they're not fatal." He casually fails to mention the overload he just had.

"And you didn't bother to tell me? We see each other every day!" Dr. Iplier gasps with a look of genuine horror on his face. "Have you... have you been seeing other doctors?!"

The Host stifles a laugh. "Of course not. Dr. Schneeplestein may be 'zhe good doctah', but you are the best one."

"Oh, I know," Dr. Iplier asserts, the flirtatious remark flying over his large ego. "Trust me, you wouldn't believe how many lawsuits we get every week. It's a wonder how our business stays afloat."

Something that the Host said triggers something in the doctor's mind. He checks his clipboard again. The Host had been experiencing this for a while now, minus the almost collapsing part. And so had he. It can't be... can it? The symptoms were the same as his own.

"I'm sorry, but I think we're both dying."

"...We?"

Dr. Iplier sets down his clipboard and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He never liked being the bearer of bad news, but the burden seemed to be part of his job.

"I'm afraid we both have the same illness- same symptoms and everything. Yours is probably later-staged, which would explain the fainting spell. We should warn Dark and the others to quarantine the area or something."

The Host starts laughing, loud and unabashedly. Dr. Iplier looks on in confusion and finds himself unable to speak. This was the first time he saw the Host laugh this much. Creepy sadistic grins? Sure. A wry smile after making a snide remark? Rare, but certainly rewarding. This crazed fit of giggling however? Unheard of until now. The doctor liked seeing the Host happy, even if it was due to the thought of their own deaths. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. He wonders how much time he had left to hear it again.

The Host slowly calms down, wiping the blood dripping down his face as if he was wiping away tears of laughter. It doesn't have the same effect: Dr. Iplier grimaces at the red smear on the back of his patient's hand.

"I assure you, those measures will not be necessary. Tell me Doctor, when do these 'symptoms', as you call them, tend to occur?"

"All the time since a few weeks ago, but it gets worse when you're around: no offense. Is it that Hanahaki disease Yandereiplier was telling me about?"

The Host resists the urge to facepalm. For someone who supposedly went to medical school, Dr. Iplier was surprisingly dumb. He completely went against the stereotype of glasses-wearers being the most intelligent.

"No. What you- we have is not an illness nor disease, at least not in the traditional sense."

"You know what it is then? Is there a cure?" Dr. Iplier replies in all seriousness.

The Host sighs. He still didn't get it. "Doctor, are you familiar with the concept of love?"

"Obviously", Dr. Iplier retorts, his ego kicking in again. The Host sincerely doubts it. "There are tons of books on the subject and Wil talks about it all the time. It's a combination of dopamine, serotonin, and adrenaline."

"In scientific terms, yes. And the physical indications?"

Dr. Iplier thinks for a moment, going down the list. It clicks.

"Oh my god, I love you."

A pause. The doctor starts to realize what he blurted out loud. He covers his face in his hands, not daring to make eye contact (or whatever was closest to that) with the Host/newfound target of affection. He opens his mouth in an attempt to amend his spur of the moment confession until he hears the Host's muttered response:

"...The feeling is mutual".

The two of them are both blushing messes and the silence is impenetrable. Dr. Iplier doesn't know how to respond. What was he supposed to say? How does one typically proceed from here? How does this work?

He breaks the silence with a hastily stammered excuse to grab a damp hand towel and a fresh bandage for the Host's bleeding eye sockets. The doctor gently wipes the blood off the Host's face, dyeing the towel pink.

The Host knew better than to argue about being able to do it himself. "It's my job!" the doctor said every time the Host commented on it, even though he knew it wasn't necessary. Whether it be the simple action of bandaging his face or wiping blood off it, Dr. Iplier was always gentle. The doctor was one of the only ones who knew what happened to the Host: what happened to his eyes, what he had done, who he'd hurt. And still, still Dr. Iplier treated him with curtesy and kindness. But why? It was one of the things about the doctor that the Host found intriguing- captivating even. And to think that Dr. Iplier liked him back...

"You are..." the Host pauses, searching for the right word to say next. Although he's a writer and self proclaimed linguist, he can't find another word that conveys the same emotion and feeling. "Beautiful. The Host wishes that he could see you".

"Host, you don't have to. I'm really not," the doctor asserts with a half-hearted chuckle. He tries to focus on helping his patient instead of the burning sensation on his cheeks. At least the Host was stable enough to phase out of talking in first person.

The Host's head tilts to the side, frowning slightly. "You are the kind of doctor and person that others like the Host need, but not necessarily the one they deserve. The Host understands if this is something you aren't comfortable pursuing yet, or ever."

Dr. Iplier scoffs, setting the now bloodstained towel down. "Hold on, you deserve all the care and support in the world, medical or otherwise. Sure you've done horrible things in the past, but that doesn't make you any less deserving of happiness now."

The doctor gingerly unties the Host's bandage to expose closed eyelids caked with dried blood. "Because you're 'beautiful' too. And this-," Dr. Iplier pauses, taking the Host's hand in both his own. "This is something that I want too. If you'll have me".

"Of course," the Host says with a rare smile. It's sweet and small, but the doctor's heart palpitates anyways. "The Host would even like to ask if you were free for coffee or a beverage of your choice later, if you are interested."

"Are you... asking me out?" The Host was always taken aback at how dumb his doctor sometimes was.

"The Host says yes".

"Neat!" Dr. Iplier exclaims a little too enthusiastically, "Um, I'll be there."

He carefully ties the new bandage over the Host's face. The doctor knew the pristine cloth would only stay white for so long until it got stained red again and his patient would have to return. The Host slides off the bed to face Dr. Iplier.

"The Host would like to thank the doctor for his help and for accepting his proposal. The Host also implores Dr. Iplier to put a shirt on." The Host's gaze (if one could call it that) drifts to the floor to try and avoid having his thoughts veer into dangerous territory again.

That explains why the doctor felt so cold. He tries to ignore the sharp spikes of embarrassment stabbing his insides. You know it's bad when a legally blind man points out your dress code infringement (or lack thereof of said "dress").

"Well that's unprofessional of me. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"The Host says it's more than fine, just distracting. The Host will leave to let the doctor finish changing."

"Oh."

Dr. Iplier is still unused to all the compliments and to seeing this slightly flirty Host. Not that he was complaining though. He had so many questions and cursed his lack of experience. The Host was halfway out the door when the doctor calls out after him.

"Hey Host, how do you know all this stuff?"

Dr. Iplier knew with 100% certainty that the Host never brought any partners back to the manor (his medical questionnaires tend to be extensive, if not a little insensitive), and he was sure that the Author's experiences didn't really count as the Host's own.

The Host grins mischievously. "You don't know half of the things I write. Maybe I'll show you one day, if you're up to it."

A spot of crimson spreads through the Host's bandages as he shifts into first person. On that note, the Host leaves and the doctor is left with more confusion and a piqued interest.

The doctor grabs a clean shirt, bunching it up and covers his face, groaning. What does the Host write? Where the hell did he get "neat" from? What happened to the less awkward (but not nearly as fulfilling) doctor-patient relationship they used to have?

The doctor finally puts the shirt on and his lab coat over it, falling facedown onto his bed. The headmirror presses uncomfortably against his skull. He didn't know when "later" was for his little date, nor where. Where they going to meet there or were they going together? And holy fuck, what was he going to wear?

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

Host smiles to himself, walking down the familiar path to his room. For the first time in a long time, he felt content: he finally asked the flustered doctor out, though he didn't expect getting "distracted" or the doctor actually accepting.

He turns a corner to sense some of the other egos crowding the hallway with conniving looks directed towards him. How did they find out so fast? The Host mentally prepares himself for annoyance.

"I hear that someone has been trying to make a move on our good doctor here," Dark announces with a smirk. "I congratulate you Host, I hope the two of find happiness."

Dark sighs wistfully. The others can't tell if he is joking or not when he mutters "they grow up so fast" like a proud parent.

"So~?" Wilford teases in a singsong voice, slinging his arm around the blindfolded man's shoulder and whispers conspiratorially: "didya fuck?"

The others respond with similar curiosity, loudly talking over one another. The Host can sense an imminent migraine at the multiple dialogues and camera panning he has to keep track of. But he appreciates their support nonetheless.

"Can I just establish the fact that I am still the gayest one here? Just saying," Bim affirms as an afterthought.

"The Host asks all of the egos to stop blocking the hallway."

22 notes · View notes

kiruuuuu · 6 years ago

Text

Doc/Lion oneshot in which they kiss and make up after a fight. And, uh, other things. (Rating E, utter filth + fluff, ~5.2k words) - written for the ever so wonderful @icezero09 (and welcome back to tumblr!) 💖 Thank you so, so much for commissioning me again :) You’re a joy to write for! Find my commission info here ♥

It’s rare for Lion to hesitate in front of his own damn apartment, keys jangling forlornly in his half-raised hand and a dull, empty feeling in his stomach.

The first time he did so lies a while back and was entirely self-imposed: following one of the most memorable nights in his life (and with his past, this means a lot) as well as a terrifying confession, he announced a trip to the nearest bakery for croissants and fresh coffee, knowing full well he was allowing for an escape. Upon his return, he rested his forehead on the cool, off-white lacquer of his door, hoping to affect reality by repeating a mantra in his mind, over and over again. Please be there still. Please be there still. Please be there still.

When he was greeted by Doc, in his underwear, subtly complaining about his fridge being worryingly empty, he could’ve burst from the pure joy exploding in him.

Another time he wavered because of a question he was about to pose, a question which had occupied his thoughts for weeks by then. The prospect of not being refused was thrilling with how much he wanted to turn his regular visitor into a permanent resident, yet they’d only been together for a few months by then. It might’ve been too early, too much of a commitment to move in together, too much to ask to share their living space. Lion had gotten lucky with his flat, snagged one with large windows, evening sunlight, spacious enough for a dedicated office and both a bathtub and a shower, and picturing Doc becoming a part of it all filled him with giddy anticipation. Regardless, the possibility of being turned down remained and so he gathered his courage in front of the very door which would become their door after a dizzyingly short amount of time.

Right now, he’s also mentally preparing himself for a potentially difficult conversation, though there are entirely too many ways it could go. The backpack dangling off his shoulder is not getting any lighter and neither are the memories of red dust, large tents lined up one after another and helplessness etched into faces. He’d volunteered for the deployment despite knowing it’ll leave him without closure – diseases will always rage on somewhere and their efforts might make a difference in one town, one city, one region, one country, but ultimately it’s like trying to fill up a swimming pool using only a cup. What he needs now is a hug, a little bit of peace and no responsibilities other than buying groceries. He loves his job, it gives him purpose and direction in life, and yet he can’t deny it drains him sometimes until there’s no energy left.

Definitely no energy to continue arguing.

“I’m home!”, he announces into the quiet once he’s discarded his shoes and hung up his jacket, receiving no response. He was looking forward to coming home throughout the entire flight, picturing a warm welcome, an apology, something along those lines and is genuinely annoyed to encounter none of it. The kitchen is empty and so is their bedroom where he drops his backpack onto the mattress he’s missed dearly (among other things), but in the living room he finds Doc in his usual armchair, sipping coffee with a book in his lap and looking up once Lion appears in the doorway.

He’s gorgeous.

It shouldn’t come as a shock but does nonetheless, two weeks of absence facilitate taking a step back and looking at him in a new light; almost as if he’s seeing him for the first time again. He looks… warm, even inviting, his kind eyes making up for the disapproving curl of his mouth, body relaxed and showing off his sculpted arms in the short-sleeved polo he’s wearing. Even casually, he dresses like he’s been invited to an informal business outing; Lion has never seen him just in sweatpants and supposes this is one of the reasons why Doc always comes across as distinguished. And he’s never wanted anything more than to curl up in his lap, cling to him and never let go.

Doc runs his gaze up and down his body, causing a pleasant tingling and maybe, just maybe he’s in the mood for -

“You look like you need a shower.”

His calm words are ice cubes on Lion’s skin. He’s not wrong, a fourteen hour flight will do that to anyone, but it’s far from what Lion has been hoping to hear. “Yeah”, he snaps without meaning to sound this harsh, “I probably do.”

The argument from before he left continues in his head while he’s basking in the heat of the water drumming down on his skull: he was only doing his job, after all. That’s why he got hired – he’s a professional and refuses to let emotions interfere with his work, and that’s a good thing, isn’t it? He nearly drops the shampoo bottle in agitation and hits his elbow on the cool tiles as he proceeds to weave an impenetrable net of arguments in his mind, counters everything Doc could throw at him effortlessly and recalls the things they spat at each other two weeks ago.

Ultimately, it was his jurisdiction seeing as it was a containment issue, albeit a relatively minor one. He planned on taking the necessary steps while Doc undermined his authority along the way, much to his irritation – maybe he did misdiagnose the boy and paint a picture more grim than reality, yet the scheduled tests would’ve cleared it up without a doubt and brought both the child as well as his mother the deserved peace of mind instead of sending them home from quarantine early. In the grand scheme of things it didn’t matter whether she had urgent appointments to get to and the boy was frightened almost to the point of hysterics, not if their staying overnight would’ve ensured they’re good to go, so Doc was entirely out of line by declaring them safe and allowing them to leave.

Even though they were safe. Lion admits that. Everyone knew, but regulations are there for a reason and why allow for making mistakes when there’s safety procedures which benefit literally everyone and hell, he’s getting worked up again.

He curses under his breath and shuts the water off. It’s about the principle of it all. Doc can’t continue being as lenient as he is and it’s bad enough Six and the others are catering to his bleeding heart, Outbreak being only one of the many examples Lion can think of – if they’d lost some of their best ops going on that frankly idiotic suicide mission to save Macintosh, it would’ve been a disaster. The fact that it happened to work out is irrelevant.

Angrily, he shrugs on one of his nice shirts out of spite, buttoning it while glaring at himself in the mirror. He’s going to show Doc what he’s been missing out on these past weeks. Maybe he should casually drop a few names to make Doc really regret not talking to him while he was in Africa. Well. It’s not like he messaged or called Doc, but again. It’s about the principle of it all.

While dressing fully, he prepares an opening sure to grab Doc’s interest while simultaneously sounding dismissive, ends up stomping into the living room to deliver his short speech and is about three syllables in when he realises Doc isn’t even there anymore.

“… Olivier?”

He turns around to an amused-looking Frenchman in the kitchen, lifting a cup to indicate it’s for Lion and he dares to still look utterly irresistible. Lion pushes away the mental image of just tossing the mug into the sink in favour of tracing Doc’s jaw line with his tongue (but fuck, it’s tempting) and instead blurts out something he doesn’t even mean, something which needs far more context than, well, nothing: “I wish people stopped listening to you all the time.”

Doc’s face turns stony and Lion wants to kick himself. “Or we can fight instead of catching up”, he mutters and slams the coffee onto the counter, causing it to slosh over. “That’s fine too.”

Lion has joined his lover in the kitchen now, brows scrunched together. “I don’t want to fight”, he states lamely.

“No. You just want to rehash an argument for which we found no solution while insisting you’re right. Big difference.”

Alright. Maybe he wants to fight a little, if only to get a rise out of Doc who’s infuriatingly composed still. “I met some of your former colleagues from MSF”, he tactically switches topics to hopefully appease his boyfriend enough in the meantime so he gives in once Lion pushes the previous issue some time later. “Martina says hi.”

“I know. We talk regularly.” Ouch. The cutting quality of the remark is not lost on him: Doc is pissed that he didn’t even let him know whether he arrived safely. “She also tells me you got shot.”

This, at least, he can de-escalate. “I was shot at, but not hit.”

“Martina mentioned blood.”

“It was a graze shot on my side. It’s healed already.”

Doc seems thoroughly unimpressed – not undeservedly, Lion has been known to either downplay or exaggerate his own injuries wildly, though he hasn’t told anyone the real reason. Pretending he was worse off than it appeared ensured a trip to Doc’s office, and acting as if everything was fine surely impressed the Frenchman once he was there. A foolproof system. “If you say so.”

“I say it because it’s true. Were you worried about me?”

Brown eyes turn even darker at the teasing question. “Of course. Every day, Olivier. Just because you behaved like a temperamental child doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

Lion sputters in indignation. “I did not. If anything, you were worse, you broke the fucking vase!”

“Only because you implied the lives of my colleagues are worth less to me than those of civilians.”

“I only did that because you said I care more about rules than I do about humans in general.”

“You also slammed the door and actually stomped your foot. I’m not the immature one here!”

“And yet you sat here and pouted instead of checking up on me despite being worried just because you need to be right -”

“I am right. And now show me your stupid wound!”

“There is no wound, Gustave!”

“We both know you’re lying, come on.”

“Do you really trust me that little?”

“Have you given me enough reason to trust you?”

And that does it. That is it. Lion is seething at this point, all the pent up frustration and worry boiling over as a result of Doc’s consistent nagging, his denial of Lion being right concerning protocols, the silence during the previous weeks and his insistence on being always correct, it’s too much. He snaps.

With one swift motion, he rips his shirt open, presenting his naked torso to his lover, and growls: “Does this look like I’m fucking injured?!”

Doc stills.

And during the brief silence which follows the animalistic gesture, Doc’s eyes are glued to Lion’s chest, sun-tanned and skin smooth with only the faint hint of a scar on his ribs, a mark which will completely fade in months. Around them, torn-off buttons plink and bounce on the floor.

Lion knows what he looks like, knows his lugging around heavy equipment paired with fewer meals and small portions has made his muscles stand out, contoured him flatteringly and harmonises with his slightly bleached auburn hair. He probably smells like sunlight.

Maybe this ended up a little too dramatic.

“You need to fuck me right now”, Doc tells him, tone serious, “we can argue later.”

… or maybe this had just the right kind of flair.

Before he’s even processed the words, Doc’s hands are already pulling on his belt and fuck, getting with the program has never been this seamless. He angrily swats his lover’s hands away to complete the task himself, flinches involuntarily when soft lips latch onto one of his nipples and presses out a groan upon feeling teeth on the sensitive skin. It’s all a little too sudden so he’s only half hard when Doc yanks his trousers down, but watching him sink to his knees without hesitation and lick his way from the base to the tip does wonders to remedy this.

Lion threads his fingers into dark, wavy hair, still reeling from what on earth just happened, is still happening, yet he couldn’t be further from complaining once Doc wraps his glossy lips around the head and flattens his tongue against it. His mouth is hot and wet and Lion feels himself swelling inside the cavern, blood rapidly filling his stiffening shaft while Doc mercilessly sucks him into full hardness. He makes for a beautiful picture like this, more submissive than he usually lets himself be, especially in context, though when he glances up at Lion, there’s still something defiant in his dark gaze.

So that’s how it’s going to be.

His grip tightens and he begins guiding Doc’s movements, pulling him further onto his cock with each bob and causing first a strangled moan and then a warning hum which he disregards entirely. There’s some residual anger still and it bleeds into Lion’s motions, makes them a little rougher than normal. Doc’s tongue is slowly driving him insane with the way its tip seeks out all his most sensitive spots almost out of spite, how it massages the underside, swirls over his slit and curls around the glans, and the sweet pressure of his lover sucking on him only adds to the dizzying mix of stimulation. Not only does it feel mind-blowing, it feels like triumph.

Idly, he debates leaving it at that, interpret this phenomenal blowjob as a concession of defeat from Doc and never bring up their earlier argument again – it would certainly be worth it, Doc always looks so beautiful after he’s swallowed Lion’s come, dazed and proud and like his reading glasses would be askew if he put them on. Doc’s slight resistance might be just for show but Lion relishes it nonetheless, keeps dragging him in while testing out the limits, lets up a little when Doc pinches his thigh after a particularly deep swallow – and then he notices Doc palming himself through his trousers.

He seems to be enjoying this just as much as Lion is.

Inside Doc’s mouth, his cock gives a vicious throb at the sudden surge in desire and earns a helpless moan in return. Lion pictures it briefly, him fucking Doc’s throat while his lover pleasures himself, trapped between focusing on Lion’s dick and his own erection, and his hips involuntarily thrust forward at the mental image. Doc, not expecting it, withdraws while gasping, robs Lion of his delicious wet heat and glares. The hand between his legs, however, is not stopping.

Belatedly, Lion realises this isn’t a submission, if anything it’s an act of war – Doc is taking what he thinks is his, rendering Lion useless in the process. He’s furious but unable to keep his hands off Lion. And if that isn’t the hottest thing he could’ve hoped to encounter today.

“Get up”, he orders hoarsely, throat dry, and doesn’t waste any time undressing his lover as soon as he’s obliged. All his clothes are quickly discarded and tossed somewhere, and with every new bit of skin revealed, Lion’s impatience grows: he wants this man, and he wants him now, wants to show him without a shadow of a doubt how much he desires him… but also make him admit Lion was right.

Doc’s skin is warm under his palms and his tongue slick against Lion’s own. Their making out is almost desperate and not at all befitting a loving reunion after a prolonged absence, but neither of them mind while their lips glide over each other, hands roaming over bodies. Doc moans into his mouth when Lion grabs a handful of his ass, and refuses to break the kiss even as he’s lifted up and set down on the table. His legs wrap around Lion’s hips and he pulls him closer, ankles locked, the gesture possessive but encouraging, and both of them voice their pleasure when their erections rub against each other, Lion’s spit-slicked and Doc’s just as hard now.

“Missed me that much, Gustave?”, he teases in between ravenous kisses and almost loses his balance when Doc’s legs shove him a little in protest.

“Don’t be so smug and get the lube.”

“Why don’t you get it yourself if you want me so much?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

They glare at each other and it’s tough not to allow the challenging expression to melt into an amused smile over Doc’s visible frustration. He’s clinging to Lion still, resistance clearly written in his features – if it was for him, he’s not going to give up any time soon. The realisation of what he’s going to do next makes Lion’s dick jump in anticipation and he turns out to be right: if Lion has leverage over his lover due to how horny he is, he just needs to level the playing field. And so he lightly sinks his teeth into Lion’s shoulder, grabs his cock and drags the nails of his other hand over Lion’s ribs. The faint pain is transformed into roaring want immediately upon Doc lightly jerking him and holy shit, why have they never had angry sex before?

He curses quietly, whispers Doc’s name and earns a sharp nip to his jaw; if he wants to keep up, he needs to act. Blindly, he reaches behind him and fetches the bottle of olive oil from the counter while thrusting into the unforgiving grip. The feeling is divine, almost as good as Doc’s mouth and he hears himself groan in bliss after his lover has spat into his hand and eased the slide considerably, producing a whole other kind of friction. He’s got something better, though.

As soon as his oiled-up fingers curl around Doc’s thick shaft, the Frenchman pauses. Takes a deep breath. And expels it again with a sound akin to a whine when Lion begins stroking him leisurely, thoroughly enjoying the way his lover relaxes into him before being aware of doing so. And once he notices, it’s back to struggling.

They relentlessly exploit each other’s weakspots, Lion sucking a purple bruise onto Doc’s neck, right below his ear, and Doc massaging his balls, nearly causing his knees to give in, fingertips brush over nipples, lips latch onto sensitive patches of skin, and all the while they’re simultaneously pushing each other away and pressing closer. Breath mingling, they’re becoming one already, pawing and kissing and attempting to dominate. They’re both worse for wear by now and so Doc doesn’t even protest when Lion orders him to lie back and spread his legs. Fingers generously coated in olive oil, Lion runs them over his lover’s entrance teasingly before inserting just one.

And oh.

Doc’s cheeks darken when Lion adds a second finger without hesitation, finding his insides pliant and wet already – or rather still.

“Couldn’t even wait until I’m home”, Lion tuts and watches, full of wonder, as Doc swallows even a third digit easily.

“If you hadn’t given me the silent treatment, you might’ve gotten some photos”, the other Frenchman retaliates through his teeth, though his grimace slips a little when Lion strokes over his prostate. Being this familiar with his body pays off more often than not.

“And if you hadn’t given me the silent treatment, I’d have talked you through it.” Lion’s own dick is rearing to go, pulsing impatiently at the sight of Doc’s hole stretching around his fingers, and yet he resists the temptation to enter him and instead goes back to jerking him with his free hand. Doc looks like he’s going to start drooling any second now, his resistance forgotten in favour of grinding against Lion’s hands. “I would’ve told you that you’re doing so good, that you look beautiful, that you can take even more fingers than that. How much I want you. That you should imagine it’s me pushing inside you.”

He’s putty in Lion’s hands now, was shoved over the threshold by overwhelming need and has turned malleable, soft, desperate. Lion has won, and victory has never felt sweeter than right now: the person with whom he hopes to spend the rest of his life all laid out in front of him, blinking up at him dazedly and with so much love obvious in chocolate brown eyes that Lion’s heart threatens to burst for a moment.

“Please”, Doc says quietly. And Lion doesn’t make him say it twice.

Slicking up his own cock already forces a moan out of his throat, so he doesn’t expect to last long – not with how long he’s had to wait for this, not with how tight the ring of muscle was around his three fingers. It doesn’t matter, he’s sure they’ll be having a second round later. Carefully, he lines up the tip and pushes in with minimal resistance, both of them moaning when the head slips inside, and once he’s fully bottomed out, he takes a moment to revel in familiar feeling of Doc clenching down on him. Oh, how he missed this. How he missed the disbelief written all over Doc’s face when Lion rolls his hips and brushes over his sweet spot, how he missed the filthy sounds they’re producing together, how he missed the feeling of another body against his own.

Once he slams inside the first time, Doc is already incoherent and the half-syllables he manages only convince Lion to not let up, increase force and speed and intensity to make him forget his own name, to make him forget he ever belonged to anyone else. His lover’s crotch is an oily mess but it’s just perfect for him, allowing him to wank him hard and fast, rapidly building pleasure in time with his thrusts – Doc doesn’t suspect anything yet, thighs trembling already from how deep Lion invades him with every motion, from how calloused fingers run over sensitive flesh. He must think Lion impatient or close to the edge but couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s only just started.

When he ceases his ministrations just as Doc’s abs begin to flutter, giving away his impending orgasm, he expects his lover to react with indignation, possibly take matters into his own hands or at the very least glare at him, but when his eyes open, they’re so full of devotion and acceptance that Lion is momentarily floored. Instead of fighting him, Doc tightens his legs and drags him in, turns the hard thrusts rocking his body even more brutal and unforgiving despite panting already, despite squirming away from the overpowering pleasure. He doesn’t protest when Lion massages his dick once more, struggles to hold it with how fiercely it’s twitching, and even when he stops again due to Doc’s mewling nearly reaching peak volume, the man in front of him tolerates the torture.

Lion keeps up the merciless rhythm of his hips, fucks his way towards a well-deserved climax and marvels at the beauty laid out just for him, but it bothers him how… accommodating Doc has become even though he’s nothing if not stubborn. And yet he rewards Lion’s movements with loving gazes, contracts around his shaft to increase the sweet, sweet pressure, and lets endless, blissful noises drop from his lips. Lion can feel Doc’s toes flexing against his back, so he must be hitting just the right spot and he’s so caught up in his own lust, so focused on the erotic sensation of driving into the person he loves, of making both of them feel good, that it takes him embarrassingly long to understand.

He leaves Doc hanging on the edge again and explores his shapely chest with a slick hand, leaving glistening trails on darker skin, but it clicks when his palm travels all the way up, barely brushing against Doc’s throat. Because he tilts his head back, willingly exposing the vulnerable body part. And Lion gets it.

It doesn’t matter that they disagree on certain topics, their views are unlikely to change and so neither of them will budge, but what does matter is that they love each other regardless. That they accept each other the way they are, and even if they might be angry, their passion and commitment remains untouched. This is why Doc is handing himself over so willingly: his trust is unshaken.

And Lion interrupts his motions to lean down and kiss him, channel all the love and faith and desire he feels for this man into the gesture while burying both hands in Doc’s hair, cradling his face. The smile he feels against his mouth tells him that Doc understands, and when Lion starts grinding against him a few seconds later, both of them gasp.

“I missed you so much”, Lion mutters against parted lips and now everything is pouring out of him. “Fuck, I thought of you every free second. You feel so good, Gustave, you have no idea how good you feel. You’re amazing. I love you so much.”

Doc moves against him, eyes open as he clings to the taller man like his life depended on it. “I love you too, Olivier. And you’re so deep -”

“I even dreamt of you. I still can’t believe this is real, sometimes. You look so fucking hot right now, I want to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

This earns him the very first genuine, absolutely brilliant smile ever since he came back. Doc licks his mouth open and plays with his tongue until they’re both breathless and gasping before whispering: “Do it.”

So Lion does.

He pulls out, half drags Doc off the table and turns him around so his feet are (already unsteadily) on the floor, torso resting on the wooden surface with Lion behind him, and slams home in one fluid motion. From there, it’s a veritable mess, a maelstrom of sensation and want, a barrage of stimulation muddling Lion’s perception entirely. He’s vaguely aware of waves of divine pleasure rushing through his entire body with each thrust, notices Doc looking back at him pleadingly over his shoulder, incredulity lining his features and increasing with every strangled sound. It’s pure heaven, skin slapping sharply on skin, his cock rubbing over Doc’s prostate with every thrust, causing him to whimper and writhe and his legs to almost give in, and all the while he insistently drags Doc’s hips to meet him so he can reach as deeply inside as possible.

The fast tempo wrecks them both, sweat is starting to bead up on Doc’s back and Lion’s forehead, both of them completely lost in their own pleasure, in each other, in the feeling connecting them – and when Lion reaches around to jerk Doc in the same unrelenting rhythm as his motions, another hand closes over his own, squeezes it more tightly and demonstrates just how Doc likes it right now. Knowing how much he enjoys the deep and thorough penetration only serves to cloud Lion’s thoughts further and, in contrast, sharply brings his own desire into focus, steadily building up with every time he invades his lover so intimately until he can’t take it anymore.

When he comes, he folds in half and moans unselfconsciously into Doc’s hair, loud groans wrenched from him with every delicious wave of pleasure rolling through him. The relief is immeasurable, rushes through his veins like liquid electricity and has him shuddering violently in time with his small thrusts accompanying the contractions in his lower muscles. He’s barely aware of Doc’s hand speeding up in desperation but suddenly becomes keenly aware of his lover climaxing below him due to the hard clenching around him all of a sudden, the spasms milking him even further and his own moans mixing with Doc’s. They both shiver, prolong each other’s orgasm with minuscule movements and only come down slowly from their intense high, aftershocks making their muscles twitch and cocks throb.

Doc lets out a content sigh which Lion mirrors, but when he pushes against the larger body draped over him, Lion refuses to budge. He’s still coasting on the elating feeling of loving and being loved, of sharing intimacy, and if he doesn’t say it now, he never will.

Lips brushing over warm skin, he murmurs: “I’m sorry. I… rules help me do the right thing and I’m afraid of acting without them. I’ll try to think for myself more instead of blindly relying on general instructions which might not fit the situation exactly.”

His lover huffs a quiet laugh and catches one of his hands in his own, interlaces their fingers to show him he appreciates the apology. “I’m sorry too. I let my feelings interfere with my work which can be dangerous. I’ll try to take a step back and assess situations more objectively.”

It’s such a relief to hear these words that Lion nearly tears up at the realisation that he’s forgiven, that he made a concession only to be graced with one in return, that they’re equals after all, both human and thus flawed in their own way. They’re both wrong if the result is them not speaking to each other, and the insecurity of what their fight might mean for their relationship melts away, leaving behind nothing more than a fuzzy feeling.

This time, when Doc moves, Lion withdraws gingerly and stands up straight, pulling the other man into a tight embrace once he’s turned around. They kiss slowly and sweetly, both of them smiling into it since they can’t help it and when he playfully peppers the side of Doc’s neck in kisses, his lover reacts with a chuckle.

“That was awful”, Doc tells him matter-of-factly. “Let’s never do that again.”

And though Lion has to agree that the past two weeks rank among the worst of his life, he can’t help but clarify: “You don’t mean the angry sex though, right? You looked so incredibly hot, blowing me while furious.”

Doc snorts, visibly embarrassed, and shakes his head slightly. “If you liked that, I… guess we can have a repeat performance. Just without all the nonsense before it.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Lion takes the opportunity to eye up his boyfriend, take in his messy hair, the shimmery smears all over his body, the absolute mess between his legs – and it looks like he did drool on the table after all. “You look like you need a shower.”

The grin spreading on Doc’s face is almost mischievous and has Lion falling for him all over again, not that he’s letting it show just how smitten he really is. “And I do hope you’re going to accompany me, mon amour?”

How could he say no to that? “We have a lot of catching up to do”, he agrees and drops his gaze to see some of his semen running down Doc’s thigh.

Maybe he’ll end up having to shower three times today.

#rainbow six siege #doc #lion #doc/lion #fanfic #commissions #angry doc is my spirit animal #he told his colleague to ask lion about his relationship status #just to hear about how awkwardly he replied #these two are so stubborn

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curlsandinbetween · 4 years ago

Text

Slowly I'm detaching myself from people who are still in Dubai. I'm not sure if I should be happy about the fact that these people are out partying, having gatherings and all these things out and about as if there is no pandemic. I feel so bad for thinking that doing those things can come back to them in a way that they'll catch the virus and be caught for it as well. I don't like how people show it like that. Maybe they really are slowly going back to normal but it's going to take so much time. I'm pretty sure most of them are homesick and are showing off the better angles of themselves in social media. I personally hate the party-going scene back there.

Partying has never been my thing even if I was in a country miles away from home. Unless the party was a cozy one, I'd like that. But clubs or bars or disco environments are just really only a movie scene for me.

At the moment though, my only frustration is the unstable internet connection, power outages, and not being able to full enjoy nor have a nature walk. I kinda hate the fact that we need one more floor upstairs to be able to look past the buildings blocking the views from our balcony.

I miss the higher elevation from the big city buildings... but also, that was only a thing to consider if the country had 0 earthquake activity and had effective healthcare and emergency procedures.

Dubai is rich but sometimes, honestly, it lacks a soul. It's filled with shiny stuff but lacks enough heart to it. It's like everything is just for the eyes. The real heart back there is the way we meet genuine people... but unfortunately in itself is rare.

Why? Because almost everyone else is an expat and their hearts beat fully back home. Dubai is all about being extravagant and instagrammable, but when you experience these things yourself, it's like being rich without a soulful purpose.

Dubai isn't perfect as it consistently makes itself to be.

Ask anyone in the world what they think of Dubai and they'll say it's the rich people and the sheikhs and glamorous lifestyle.

One thing I need to learn now is to love and enjoy where I am now. For what it's worth, I'm sure I was meant to be here at this moment in time. I'd really like to travel again. But after what I've experienced from April up to August this year, I'm more thankful than ever to just be here and be home.

Only my adventurous side stills longs for new experiences with the rest of the world I have yet to visit. But I have a side who feels I need this long setback to keep myself safe and just be still.

The world is still being held back by the pandemic whether we like it or not. I'm not gonna deny I am bored at home and also slightly envious of those who can freely roam around.

That is all because they've never tried being quarantined for weeks with toxic people during a pandemic and never tried lockdown on a weekly basis in not-so-intereting conditions.

If anything though, what happened could've been much worse. I am still grateful for being able to stay alive and be back home albeit the limited activities we can do for now.

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zavalamegan96 · 4 years ago

Text

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prepare4trouble · 7 years ago

Note

Since I just watched a Red Dwarf episode with approximately this premise: the Ghost crew were in a potentially toxic area, and Chopper enjoys putting in quarantine procedures when they get back!

Um… What even is this story?

I might have gone a little overboard.

The problem is, I know that episode (and all Red Dwarf episodes) like really, really well. As in I can almost quote it word for word. And that is one of my favorites. Honestly, I don’t think you wanted an entire retelling of Quarantine, but that’s kinda what you got. I really did try not to take too much from the episode though (note the lack of Mr Flibble and Rimmer’s gingham dress – if the Ghost had a video link in the cargo bay, they might well have made an appearance though! No luck virus here either, but who needs luck when you have the Force?

Also, to Rob Grant and Doug Naylor, you have my apologies!

Ezra wasn’t claustrophobic, not by a long shot. The Ghost wasn’t exactly spacious, and his windowless quarters even less-so. In the past, he had regularly relied on his ability to crawl through small spaces to escape or to hide, it had saved his life on occasion. This, however, was very different. They had entered the Ghost through the cargo bay doors, and found that they couldn’t get out into the rest of the ship.

There was something about being in a place that he couldn’t get out of that bothered him.

It wasn’t a completely unfounded discomfort, considering what had happened to his parents. Or considering the lingering threat of an Imperial jail that had hung over his own head for so much of his life, and still did, if he should be unlucky enough to be captured.

He walked across the center of the cargo bay until he reached the wall, stopped, turned, and walked back again, trying to ignore the feeling of rising panic building inside him. “This is ridiculous!” he complained. “We’ve been trapped in here forever. There’s nothing wrong with us. If we were going to get sick, surely we’d have done it by now!”

Kanan shook his head, a curious expression on his face. “It’s only been half an hour,” he said.

Ezra forced out an exasperated sound and flopped down on the single bunk that Chopper had thought to provide in the cargo bay. His knees and elbows hit an unexpectedly hard surface.

Well, that was just great.

“He does have a point though,” Zeb said. “I mean, not the half hour thing, that’s ridiculous, but how long is Chopper going to keep us prisoner in here?”

“And,” Sabine added, “if one of us does have it, surely locking us all up in here is a great way to make sure we all get sick.

Hera frowned. “Chopper said the incubation period is up to four days. If we’re still healthy then, we’re okay to leave.”

“Great!” Ezra sighed loudly. Four days? There was no way he was going to be able to do this. “I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t get sick. Not often, anyway. And if I was, surely I’d be able to feel it. Nobody we spoke to on the planet was sick, nobody had even mentioned an illness going around. Chopper’s probably just messing with us.”

Sabine glanced around, looking worried all of a sudden. “You don’t think he might be right, do you?” she asked Hera. “You know what Chopper’s like, if there’s any chance he’s just playing some kind of a joke on us…”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Hera promised.

“Yeah,” Zeb agreed. “He knows what I’d do to him if he tried it!”

Kanan shrugged. “Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, it’s going to be fine.”

“Hey,”

Ezra looked up from the space between his feet to see Kanan standing in front of him.

“You okay?” he asked.

Ezra nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be? After all, who doesn’t want to be locked in the cargo bay with four other people for a week, with a porta-fresher and only one bed?”

The corners of Kanan’s lips twitched in something that looked like amusement. “We’ll talk to him about the sleeping situation the next time he checks in.” He sat himself down on the bed next to Ezra, then frowned. “Wait a minute,” His hands explored the surface of the bunk.

“Yeah,” Ezra confirmed. “He ‘forgot’ to put any padding on it too.”

Kanan sighed. “We’ll talk to him about that too,” he said. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Chopper?” Sabine said, arms folded and glaring at nothing, as they didn’t have any kind of a view screen installed in the cargo bay and were relying on audio only to communicate with the outside world. “Here’s a thought. Why do we have to stay in the cargo bay when the only other person on the ship is you? You’re not organic; even if we did have this virus you wouldn’t be able to catch it.”

Chopper explained about the contamination of surfaces aboard the ship. It didn’t sound very convincing.

“Chopper, if you’re lying to us, you’re going to be in real trouble,” she said, her eyes narrowing in frustration.

An indignant sound came over the comms, and Chopper cut out the signal.

“Great!” Sabine said, her voice tight with anger.

“Calm down,” Hera told her. “We’ve just got to get through the next few days, then we can get out of here. Why don’t you draw something, I’m sure I saw a sketchbook and crayons in the box of stuff he gave us.”

Zeb let out a derisive snort from the other side of the room, one that began to make a lot more sense when Sabine opened the box. A brand new, crisp sketch pad, and a box of crayons, every single one broken down so far that they were useless, and no way to sharpen them.

“Damnit!” she shouted, and threw the box across the room in frustration. “He did that on purpose!”

Hera, watching from the corner, glanced at the surveillance cameras through which she was sure Chopper would be watching them. “I think you might be right,” she said.

“What else is there in there?” Kanan asked.

Sabine reached into the box. “Oh, hours of entertainment,” she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “A children’s board game with the pieces missing, a datapad that’s either broken or run out of power, I can’t tell which, and a holovid.”

“Well, at least that last thing isn’t so bad,” Kanan said. “Not as much fun for me, but maybe you guys could narrate…”

“We don’t have a player,” Hera interrupted.

Kanan sighed. “Right.”

“Think he’s gonna feed us?” Zeb asked.

Ezra shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on it. It’s Chopper. Not like eating is a big priority for him, he’s probably forgotten that we even need food.”

“Well, he has one minute to remember, or I’m going out there and…”

“Going out there?” Sabine said. “How are you planning on doing that? Hera’s already tried every single code she could think of on the number lock he set on the door. Do you see any tools around here to break out? Do you see any lightsabers to cut through the door? No. Because the people of the planet insisted we go unarmed. If we could just ‘go out there’ there wouldn’t even be a problem, would there?!”

“I’ll get out there somehow,” Zeb growled. “Just you watch!”

“Guys,” Ezra said, placing his hands behind his head in an expression of nonchalance that he did not feel. “Relax, okay? It’s been five hours, I’ve gone without food for way longer than that, we’re not going to starve yet. He’s given us water, we could easily survive four days with just that. I’ve done it before.”

“Yeah, well we can’t all be as resilient as you, can we?” Sabine said with a scowl. “Some of us need food! And art supplies. And somewhere to sleep at night!”

Zeb folded his arms. “Don’t worry Sabine,” he said. “We won’t really starve. If it comes down to it, we can eat the kid.”

Hera folded her arms. “Stop it!” she said. “I’ll speak to Chopper. In the meantime, sit down and be quiet, we’ve done nearly a day already, we’re getting there.”

Food, when it came, was five ration bars passed through a tiny airlock capsule that Ezra hadn’t even known about. Hera took the box and distributed the food to everybody to prevent arguments. “Sprout flavor,” she said, as she handed them out.

“All of them?” Ezra hesitated before taking the bar. He looked up, at the surveillance camera. “Chopper, you know I can’t stand these, they literally make me throw up!”

Chopper’s voice came through the intercom. No other flavor on board.

“Chopper, I know that’s not true!” Ezra insisted.

Incorrect. All other flavors have been jettisoned due to possible contamination.

“Jettisoned? Chopper, that makes no sense at all,” Hera insisted. “Find something else for Ezra to eat.”

“Why bother?” asked Zeb. “He said himself, he doesn’t need to eat. Keep these coming. They might be disgusting, but if he’s not eating there’s more food for us.”

Ezra rounded on him, only barely resisting the urge to give in to the dark side of the Force. “Fine, if you like that idea so much, why don’t we take your waffle stash when we get out of here? Share it out among everyone else.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t have a waffle stash,” Zeb said. He tore open his ration bar and finished it in two gulps. “This isn’t half bad actually, by the way. A bit to eat really hits the spot.”

Ezra balled his hand into a fist and pulled it back ready to plant it in Zeb’s face. Seeing this, Zeb’s expression spread into an amused grin as he prepared to retaliate.

“Stop it!”

Kanan’s voice from the other side of the room cut through the argument. “That’s enough. Ezra, sit on the bunk. Zeb, over at the other side of the room, now! It’s going to be fine, we just need to…”

All four other occupants of the room turned on him with one voice. “Stop saying it’s going to be fine!”

Kanan backed off a step, and was just about to answer when Chopper switched on the intercom again.

Irritability is symptomatic of the virus. Please stand by for room decontamination.

“Wait, what?” said Kanan. “Irritability is symptomatic of being trapped in a room with four other people for a day with nothing to do and nothing to eat!”

Correct, however it is also symptomatic of the virus. Further symptoms include irrationality and mental instability, followed by eventual system shutdown. Preemptive system shutdown and reboot required for any chance of cure. Stand by for decontamination.

“Reboot? Full shutdown?” Ezra gulped as everything began to click into place. He hadn’t seen anyone that was sick on the planet. He also hadn’t seen any droids. “Chopper, what kind of a virus was it you said they had on that planet?”

Irrelevant. Stand by for decontamination.

Ezra stared wildly around the room. “It’s a computer virus,” he said. “And Chopper’s already got it.”

“Never mind that!” Kanan said. “What does he mean by system shutdown?”

“Nothing good,” said Hera. She was already by the panel at the door, the cover removed and her hands in among the wiring. “I don’t think I can do anything without tools,” she said.

Ezra took a deep breath. Was it his imagination; the panic returning, or was the air getting a little thin? How exactly was Chopper planning on executing the ‘systems shutdown’? “Guys? I think…”

“Don’t talk, save your breath.”

Okay, so they figured that one out already.

Hera’s fingers continued to work at the wires, but with no way of cutting them, even if it were possible it would take too long. “I’ve already tried every numeric code that might mean something to Chopper. I can’t access the wiring properly without my tools. I don’t suppose the Force would help with this?”

Ezra stepped forward. “I guess I could try to guess the number…”

“No, Ezra.” Ezra turned to see Kanan behind him. “I don’t think that’s what she means.”

Ezra turned back to Hera, eyes wide, questioning. She nodded. “Do it. Use the bunk, maybe, that looks heavy enough.”

Standing side by side, Kanan and Ezra concentrated on the single bunk that Chopper had provided them, lifting it and driving it with as much force as they could into the door, again and again until the metal started to buckle and a gap appeared. Air, recycled and stale, but full of precious oxygen, began to enter the room, and Ezra took a deep, thankful breath.

“Keep going,” Zeb called. They pulled the bunk back again, and once again thrust it forward into the door. The metal buckled further.

“I think I could get through there,” Sabine said. “I’ll go find Chopper, make sure he doesn’t try anything else while you guys get everyone else out.” Without waiting for a response, she headed for the door, dropped to her knees and began to squeeze through the small gap.

“Go easy on him,” Hera called as she disappeared. “It’s not actually his fault, and he has told us the way to cure it.” She stared at the damage to the door. “I can’t believe he made us do this to my ship!”

At the other side of the door, Sabine turned and peered through incredulously. “I’ll try not to hurt him too much,” she said. “Well, at least until he’s back to his slightly less murderous self and we see what he has to say for himself.” With that, she disappeared.

“Whatever she does to him, he deserves it,” Zeb said

Ezra thought about that Actually, he wasn’t so sure. If Chopper had been sick without realizing, and his sickness had made him paranoid enough to believe that a group of organics could be carrying a computer virus, then Hera was right, it wasn’t exactly his fault.

Still, there was no way that Chopper wasn’t going to pay for this.

#star wars rebels #star wars rebels fanfiction #red dwarf #I'm sorry #quarantine

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robininthelabyrinth · 8 years ago

Note

Fic Prompt: Coldwave, Zombies.

Fic: Staying Alive - AO3 linkFandom: Flash, LOT, ArrowPairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, Cisco Ramon/Lisa Snart, unproven allegations of Mick Rory/Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: “– as always, this is Ami Dillon, your resident media studies graduate student and totally under-qualified radio host, and your source for the latest updates on the state of Central City during the present Zombie Crisis, courtesy of the Mayor’s office. In addition to life-saving tips and general safety alerts, we also bring you the excellent morale-boosting soundtrack of the greatest hits of the Apocalypse, by which we mean whatever tracks the local radio stations had sitting around and the cover songs played by our dearly beloved cover band, the Post-Apocs. As always, we begin with our theme song: Stayin’ Alive, by the Bee Gees!”

(the great coldwave romance of the zombie apocalypse)

A/N: Have you ever had an idea, gone “heh, that would be funny, I’ve always wanted to try writing one of those” and then it eats your brain? This is it.

…honestly, with the zombie apocalypse theme, I really should have predicted it.

———————————————————————————-

———The End———

“– as always, this is Ami Dillon, your resident media studies graduate student and totally under-qualified radio host, and your source for the latest updates on the state of Central City during the present Zombie Crisis, courtesy of the Mayor’s office. In addition to life-saving tips and general safety alerts, we also bring you the excellent morale-boosting soundtrack of the greatest hits of the Apocalypse, by which we mean whatever tracks the local radio stations had sitting around and the cover songs played by our dearly beloved cover band, the Post-Apocs. As always, we begin with our theme song: Stayin’ Alive, by the Bee Gees!”

———The Beginning———

Consciousness comes swiftly, as it always does, but Len yawns and stretches lazily anyway. He doesn’t have anything serious planned for today: Lisa’s off doing some ‘team bonding’ thing with the new Rogues he’s recruited, by which she means she took them to that Caribbean island resort beach house that Len won in a high stakes poker game against a Family don once to kick back, drink margaritas, and demonstrate to them the value of staying in rather than out. Len’s the vinegar, Lisa’s the honey; they work well together that way.

Naturally, Len is going nowhere near that stupid island when it’s this hot; he would have agreed to go if Mick was going, because Mick would have kept people (Lisa) from badgering him about leaving the air-conditioned house to go swimming or something stupid like that, but Mick had been lured away by a fireworks convention (why are there fireworks conventions? Why? Is it specifically designed to lure in pyrophiliac arsonists? Except no, Len checked it out, it’s apparently legit and just run by fireworks companies, pyrotechnics experts, and people who like things that go boom) all the way over on the East Coast, so Len’s all by himself.

He finds he likes that state so much more when it’s voluntary.

Still, biology can’t be denied: he’s definitely awake now.

Yawning again, he pads over to the kitchenette they’ve set up in the warehouse to make himself a cup of coffee, flicking on the TV as he does.

“Scenes of chaos break out internationally as what can only be described as zombies terrorize cities and towns around the globe,” the reporter says as violence plays out behind her. “No one knows where this plague came from, but the simultaneous outbreak in multiple locations has been definitively determined to be an act of bio-terrorism. Governments around the globe have deployed the military and information is limited. Interstate and international communications are being shut down as we speak. We don’t know how much long we will be able to continue reporting –”

The TV crackled, static-y, and abruptly cut out.

“Well,” Len says, reaching out to flick the coffee maker back off before it’s finished making the coffee. “Shit.”

———The End———

“Mayor Snart! Mayor Snart!”

“I am not the goddamn mayor,” Len says, as evenly as he can, though he suspects sourly that he’s going to lose that fight - in fact, that he may have lost it several weeks ago and no one seems inclined to confirm to him that the fight is lost.

The grins of the media pool seem to confirm as much.

“I’ll give you five minutes to ask questions,” he concedes. “Starting now. Go.”

“Mayor Snart – Scott Evans, Central City Picture News. Now that you’ve opened Central City’s doors to the international community once more -”

“After they go through our quarantine procedures, yes,” Len interjects.

“-the world wants to know how you managed to make Central City the most functional city in North America following the Crisis.”

“You do realize I said I was only giving you five minutes, right?” Len says with some disbelief. “Four minutes, thirty eight seconds, now.”

The reporter seems to realize his error and quickly rushes to the next point on his list. “Mayor Snart, when did you first learn about the crisis?”

“When I saw the news on my TV, just like most of the rest of the world,” Len says. “Next question?”

“Mayor Snart – Ronnie Troupe, Daily Planet,” a black woman says. “What reason did you have for going straight to Central City University in your quest to defend the city? What qualities were you thinking about?”

“The intercom system, mostly,” Len says, then takes half a step back at the sheer noise the media pool is generating at him. He holds up his hands for silence, which he even gets after a few minutes. “Everybody’s got a zombie plan, right? This one was mine. I always figured that the university – any university – has the most important assets you need when dealing with a zombie invasion, and I turned out to be right.”

“What assets are those?” the woman asks. “The library, for information?”

“The cafeteria, with food supplies?” another reporter asks eagerly.

“A well-stocked medical facility?” another one added in.

“All of those are important,” Len says. “But no, I was thinking about its greatest asset: an intercom system, and lots and lots of mostly able-bodied young adults between eighteen and twenty six who are conditioned by over twelve years of school to listen to anything that comes out of that intercom.”

He has to step back again as the media roars, each one yelling follow-up questions and drowning themselves out in the sheer noise. Then, when they realize he can’t hear them, they each start shouting his name – “Mayor Snart! Mayor Snart!” – in an effort to get his attention.

This is ridiculous.

“Lise,” he says to his sister and self-appointed chief of staff, who is perched idly in the chair next to his podium, filing her nails in a purposefully bored manner. “I’m basically the dictator of Central City right now, right? Why haven’t I banned the paps already?”

“Because you always said the only reason you can’t steal speech is ‘cause it’s free,” Lisa replies, not missing a beat. “Sorry, big brother. Suck it up.”

Len looked at his other side, where his personal admin – why does he have a personal admin again? He doesn’t remember agreeing to that – shrugs. “Sorry, boss. She has a point. You should answer some more questions.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happening,” Len says, his internal clock hitting a blissful zero in its countdown. “Sorry folks, your time is up. I’ll be answering questions again on Friday –”

He eyes a smug-looking Lisa.

“– and in the meantime, I’m sure my chief of staff will be happy to answer some questions for you.”

He dashes off the stage, Lisa’s yowl of “Lenny, you bastard!” following him like music in his ears as the reporters turn on her like piranhas in a feeding frenzy.

She’ll make him regret it later, he’s sure.

But for now: freedom!

———The Beginning———

Len makes his way through the entrance of the university, which is filled by anxious-looking undergrads and older students, all gathered in groups and chattering amongst themselves or gathered around the televisions.

Some of them, in what Len can only describe to be the true tenacity of the American K-12 system, are still doing their homework.

Sometimes Len is so happy he’s a dropout.

“Hey, you,” he ask a black kid who’s hovering around watching the crowds with increasing trepidation. “Where’s the AV department?”

“Uh, third floor, I think,” the guy says. “Wait, who are you?”

“I’m the guy that’s going to keep most of the people here from dying,” Len says, and taps the gun strapped to his leg. “By force, if necessary.”

The kid blinks and stares at the gun. “Hold up. Are you Captain Cold?”

“Right now, I’m the man in need of the AV department because I don’t fancy dying,” Len informs him. “You hear that noise in the halls? That’s the student body hurtling towards panic. Panic leads to questionable decision making and stampedes, which in turn lead to –”

“Lots of dead people, no zombies required,” the kid finishes, looking grim. “Okay, on the off-chance that you’re not as bad as everyone says you are, follow me; I’ll show you where it is.”

“You’re very trusting,” Len observes, following him as he barrels down the hallway at double-time pace. "Especially given that I am a supervillain.”

“Not so much you I’m trusting,” the kid says. “Barry says good things about you.”

Len’s eyebrows shoot up. Well, if that’s not a spot of good luck, he doesn’t know what is. He has no idea who the kid is, but if he’s part of the Flash gang, that’s good news for him. “Barry – Allen?”

“That’s the one.”

“And where is Barry Allen, by chance? I’d been wondering that. Zombie crisis everywhere - I thought I’d see lightening every step I take.”

The kid makes a face. “He’s in Starling City. And possibly another universe. He and – uh, a bunch of the others – went to go stop the zombie plague.”

“I’m in awe at his success,” Len says, voice dripping with sarcasm, and then he sees the door he’s looking for and walks in. The intercom set up is immediately apparent and he heads towards that, sitting down and pulling it out.

“What are you going to do?” the kid asks.

“What’s your name?” Len asks instead.

“Wally West.”

“Great, Wally, you can help me with the vernacular.” Len turns the intercom on and summons up all his vague memories of high school and television shows thereof. He puts on his best homeroom announcer voice. “Students and faculty of Central City University, pay attention. This is an urgent announcement regarding the ongoing crisis. In order to deal with this in an orderly manner, I need all of you to head over to one of the big classrooms –”

He pulls away from the mic and looks at Wally.

“You mean the lecture halls?”

“- to one of lecture halls. Once those have been filled up, any remaining individuals should fill up the classrooms near to them. Please fill up all available seats. Once there, circulate a –”

He pulls away again and asks Wally, “What do you call it when they all sign their names?”

“Attendance sheet.”

“Circulate an attendance sheet. We’re going to want to know where everyone is. The next step is going to be splitting you up into groups of five people, so please start organizing yourselves into those groups. Faculty, send a representative of each department, but specifically the history, engineering, chemistry and physics departments, to lecture hall 101 –” Len had noticed that that was the largest one. “– and AV techs, please set up a system by which the broadcast from that room can be sent to all the other rooms or hooked up into the intercom system. Additional instructions as to how we’re going to be dealing with this crisis will be forthcoming in thirty minutes, so be in position by then.”

Len flicks the microphone off. “Think that worked?”

“I mean, yeah, everyone’s gonna do it,” Wally replies, eyes narrowed a bit. “But what’s the actual plan?”

“It’s a university,” Len says. “Gotta keep up with the proud college traditions of 1968.”

“1968?”

“Do you even get taught history here?” Len complains. “I’m talking about barricades.”

Wally’s eyes go wide. “Barricades?”

“Well, yeah,” Len says. “How else are we going to establish a clear zone to use as a base to re-take the rest of the city?”

“Re-take the city?”

Len holds up a finger. “Barricades,” a second one, “clear zone,” a third, “quarantine procedures,” a fourth. “Siege warfare and expansion to fight the zombies. You can’t fight if you don’t have somewhere to fall back to. We’ve got a couple of thousand students waiting for directions right now. You gonna help?”

“Yes, sir!” Wally says enthusiastically.

Len makes a face. “No ‘sir’,” he corrects him. “If you gotta call me anything, just make it ‘boss’.”

———The End———

– in view of the mental and physical deterioration suffered by the individuals afflicted by TX-90 (colloquially known as “zombies”) [see supra, chap. 2], city warfare quickly reverted to the forms most familiarly used in the European social conflicts of the 19th century, most famously in Paris, France during the revolutions of 1789, 1832 (popularized, of course, by the famous novel ‘Les Misersables’ by Victor Hugo), 1848, and 1871.

Early military blockades, composed in the more ‘modern’ style primarily of individuals and high powered weaponry, proved ineffective against the onslaught, particularly in view of the general reluctance of soldiers to aim against such human-appearing enemies, many of whom were still dressed in casual civilian garb. Additionally, the infection of a single soldier on the line caused a severe and immediate drop in morale, leading to regular retreats and ineffective blockades.

In contrast, the revival of the use of physical barricades, accompanied by siege warfare tactics, in the retaking of Central City [see infra, chap. 6] was extraordinarily successful. As the traditional ‘paving stone’ barricade structure was rendered unavailable due to the introduction of asphalt roads, the citizens of Central City – led by Leonard ‘Captain Cold’ Snart [this work, which focuses on the strategic and tactical elements of the crisis, will not go into detail regarding the well-known actions of Mr. Snart; for a full biography, see Roberts et. al, Cold: A Study in Unorthodox Leadership and Lahiri, Divak & Strumm, Supervillains To Superheroes: The Rogues During the Crisis] – resorted instead to a more nuanced form.

The barricades of Central City, which served as the model for the other cities in the United States and, eventually, the world, are created by using elements of the existing infrastructure. Three teams would be sent out on any given ‘building’ expedition: the ‘scouts’, the ‘builders’, and the ‘reserves’. The scouts – a position reserved for individuals of bravery and recognized talents in armed combat, often including criminals of Mr. Snart’s acquaintance which he deemed trustworthy and supplemented by his student army, many of which were obliged to pick up firearms instruction as part of the ‘Crisis Curriculum’ [see infra, chap. 5, subsection 3 ‘Educational Initiatives’] – would be posted at the furthest extent from the epicenter (originally: Central City University) in order to spot any approaching zombie. While the scouts maintained the perimeter, the ‘builders’ would overturn local cars onto their sides and position them in a semi-circular fashion between the buildings on each side of the street. Quick-acting cement, formed in large quantities in the labs of Central City University [see infra, chap. 6, subsection 5; see also Trumbull & Hall, Chemical Manufacturing in the Midwest: The Zombie Revival], would then be poured into the gaps between the cars, creating an immediate ‘wall’ that would serve as a barrier between the oncoming zombies and the defending individuals. The ‘reserves’ were there to supplement the ‘scouts’, should any roving bands of zombies take notice. A certain number of ‘gates’ were introduced in each barricade wall, initially made of doorframes stolen from nearby buildings and later reinforced with additional layers of concrete and steel once the local automobile factories had been reclaimed and their manufacturing capabilities turned to support the barricades.

These barricades were simple, cheap, and brutally effective against the ‘mindless’ zombie attackers, who would simply charge the barricades repeatedly, enabling the defenders to utilize siege warfare tactics, including, but not limited to, burning oil, spikes, ditches, and even simply luring zombies in before destroying a whole set with a grenade while the defenders hid behind their wall. Due to the cheapness of this approach, utilizing existing cars already out on the street, it was possible to continue to expand with relative ease without disrupting the earlier built segments. As each barricaded area was secured, yet another set of teams was sent out to create another barricade further out. It is this simple yet visually arresting barricade system that created the famous ‘concentric circles’ of Central City, leading to the famous images captured by airborne photographers –

excerpt from Military Tactics During the Crisis, pub. 2018, © Columbia University Press

———The Beginning———

“They’re coming!” a panicked cry went up.

Len races down to the gates of the university, which have been barred and sealed by his order. The first barricade line is still being built; he’s pleased to see that his squads are returning back to the relative safety of the university as ordered instead of trying to fight the zombies.

Perhaps a little more “retreat” and a little less “fleeing in terror” would be better, but hey, they’ll work on that.

“Does anyone have a baseball bat?” he calls out.

It’s just weird enough that everyone stops panicking long enough to turn to look at him in disbelief.

“Chair or table legs work too,” he adds, then goes over and hops the fence. “Though I wouldn’t mind having a few guns at my back as well. And can someone call the chemistry department? That work I’m having them do in their spare time regarding explosives will come in rather helpful soon, I’m sure.”

Then Len turns to face the zombies. “Heeere, zombie!” he calls, mimicking every person he’s ever heard talk to a dog. “Heeere, zombie!”

“Is he nuts?” he hears someone ask.

Possibly multiple someones.

But it works – the zombies lurch after him instead of aiming for the university walls filled with tasty, tasty undergraduates, because the zombies clearly have lost whatever portion of their brain involves prioritization and/or efficiency.

They’re quicker than the slow-walkers he might have hoped for in an ideal universe, but he’s even faster, jogging a quick circle around them until they’ve gotten themselves all into one big, giant ravening mob.

One big, giant target.

Len grins.

He hoists up his cold gun and fires lengthwise at full power, freezing the whole lot of them as he slowly moves the gun from left to right over the crowd. As he fires, he moves steadily sideways, echoing his first round around the zombies, careful to ensure he gets every single one of them.

This involves having to climb up on a dumpster to get the last few that got stuck in the middle, but that’s fine.

When he finishes, with nearly forty zombies all frozen, he turns to look at his audience of gaping students. “Baseball bats, chair legs, table legs,” he calls to them. “Any blunt object will do. I want this ice cubes smashed before they even think about starting to melt, you hear me?”

The roar of agreement he gets is most satisfactory.

———The End———

“Welcome back,” the TV show host says with a grin. “Our guest tonight is here to talk about her newest book – the Age of Heroes. Ms. West here is a long-time citizen of Central City –”

There’s a long pause for applause.

“– and one of the first chroniclers of the activities of the Flash, whom many people are calling the country’s first super-powered superhero.”

“Well, it’s something of a race between us and Metropolis,” Iris West says with a laugh. “Thanks for having me. Ironically enough, though, my book isn’t about the superpowers people – especially people in Central City – got, or what they chose to do with in. Instead, my book is something of an exploration of how the whole superhero phenomenon got started: people realizing that they was something to fix in this world, and then going to fix it.”

“A lot of people have been quibbling with your decision to set the start of the Age of Heroes, as you call it, back with the emergence of the Green Arrow, Star City’s controversial vigilante figure. What do you have to say to that?”

“It’s very hard to say exactly when something began,” Iris replies. “Certainly, academically, you could go with any number of options. That being said, I do think that the Green Arrow counts as a superhero – he dedicated his life to stopping evil in his city, even if the way he started out was…more violent than what we’ve come to expect from our heroes.”

“Though, speaking of violent heroes, what do you have to say about the current leadership of Central City?”

“Oh, Mayor Snart?” she says, grinning. “He’s – definitely a special case.”

The host leans forward, eyes avid. “In fact, it appears that your foster-brother, Barry Allen, has attended several events as Mayor Snart’s plus-one instead of his husband. Given the – would it be wrong to say legendary? – nature of that particular relationship, that’s got a lot of people talking. Do you have anything to say about that?”

“Yeah, I do,” Iris says, looking amused. “Weren’t we here to talk about my book?”

———The Beginning———

Len isn’t going to throw the phone across the wall. He is not.

For one thing, he’s a mature adult. Way too old to be throwing temper tantrums, even if there are no impressionable kids around to terrify. It’s childish and irresponsible and stupid.

For another thing, he didn’t work this hard on a reputation for being cool to lose it at the first provocation. He’s Captain Cold, for fuck’s sake. He is not going to go off at nothing.

A lot of nothing.

Several weeks of nothing.

“Don’t throw it, boss,” Wally says, walking in with an armful of paper. “Cell phones are hard to replace.”

Len gives the kid a dirty look. “There’s a knock off cell phone store inside the clean zone now, I happen to know. Anyway, did I ask for your input?”

“Yeah, you did,” Wally says. “When you appointed me your personal aide.”

“Why did I do that?” Len wonders grumpily, but he already knows the answer to that.

“Because you hate paperwork with the fury of a million suns,” Wally says, smirking. “Or would you prefer to say something more like the frozen heart of a dead star being sucked into a black hole of vast emptiness?”

“You were an English student, weren’t you?”

“Engineering, actually. Cars.”

“You missed your calling.”

Wally cracks a grin. “My sister’s a journalist. Iris West.”

“I’ve read her stuff,” Len acknowledges with a nod. “Good writer. Probably gonna murder Barry for dragging her out on adventure when she could be winning a Pulitzer.”

“She insisted on going,” Wally says. “She’ll be okay; I’m sure of it. Barry would fix the timeline if her nail broke.”

Len barks a laugh. “Speaking of the Flash gang,” he says, gesturing for Wally to come closer, “do you have the plan for retaking STAR Labs?”

“No, that’s Axel’s bailiwick,” Wally says. “He’s got this genius for guerilla tactics that you really have to admire; he’s on his way. He’s not that bad, you know?”

“Getting him away from Jesse’s influence helps,” Len allows. “He’s still a punk. You get Rosa’s little sis?”

“Ami? Yeah, she’s still handling communications and having a blast. No word yet on Scudder - he’s probably still in Iron Heights, and that’s still no-man’s-land thanks to the military.”

“Pity,” Len says. “Useful skill set, that. Well, we’ll figure it out when we get there. Have we secured the reservoir? Professor Latham’s lecture on cholera gave me nightmares.”

Wally shudders. “No kidding. Yeah, it’s secure; Singh gave the orders and the CCPD stopped bitching. Well, for the most part. They’re feeling overshadowed.”

Len shrugs. “I have plenty of cops in the ranks,” he points out. “It’s the ones that cling to their need for superiority over the rest of us that are having trouble adjusting. Though really, after we raided the SWAT supply, I don’t see what’s so great about their precious hierarchy anyway. Whatever. I want to see the latest update from the reservoir first thing this afternoon.”

“Right,” Wally says, noting it down. “Now you wanna tell me what’s really bugging you?”

“Do I look like the touchy-feely ‘talking it out’ type?”

Wally cracks a grin. “No,” he admits. “But you wouldn’t be asking about the reservoir three days after declaring the project in progress and leaving it in Jax’s hands - also, on that note, he hates you and would like to remind you that he never actually got into college - ”

“He knows more engineering from his auto repair job than some of the so-called professors,” Len replies with a shrug. “He can learn how to fix a dam. Besides, I assigned him a professor – what’s his name – as back-up, didn’t I?”

“He still hates you for making him a general.”

Len smirks. He likes appointing people as generals, especially individuals under the age of twenty-five. They always freaked out about it.

“He can tell me all about it when I see him this afternoon on the reservoir project,” he says.

"Which is suddenly important again, why?”

Len scowls at his cell phone. “Solar’s all well and good to supplement our generators, but I want some hydroelectric to help boost the phone lines. Why the hell did the military cut them everywhere, anyway? Did they think the zombies were going to tap them or something?”

"I thought you already heard from your sister,” Wally replies, frowning.

“I have,” Len replies. “She has a satellite phone. The military of the island nation she’s on has barred all entrance/exit traffic until they’re satisfied that the crisis is over, so she and the others went back to the resort and are currently debating piña coladas vs margaritas.”

“Wow, really?”

Len shrugs. “It’s an island, and I haven’t seen any indication that zombies swim.”

“…now I’m imagining a swarm of underwater zombies, thanks for that, boss.”

“Me, too, actually,” Len says with a frown. “Get the bio department on that question stat, will you?”

“Sure thing. So what’s the problem with the phones, then? I thought you said your sister was the only living relative you had.”

“She is,” Len says, eyes still stealing to the useless and not-ringing phone. “It’s my partner I haven’t heard a peep from.”

———The End———

“– our next Oscar nominee is 500 Miles, an epic tale of love and hardship set during the events of the Zombie Crisis. This moving film skillfully merges romance, tragedy, action, and, yes, even comedy – yes, a romantic comedy has finally been nominated for an Oscar, and all it took was a horde of attacking zombies –”

The presenting actor pauses to allow the audience to laugh and the camera to pan over various faces in the audience, all smiling.

“As you all know, 500 Miles is based on the amazing true story of current Central City mayor, Leonard Snart, and his husband, Mick Rory, who found themselves located on opposite sides of the country when the Zombie Crisis began –”

The camera zooms in on a group of people in the audience sitting by the far left wall. A tall man with closely clipped salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in a dark blue suit, is slouched down in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s developing a headache; the man by his side, a larger man with a shaved head, has a giant grin on his face. He’s dressed in a tux and he’s somehow obtained a giant tub of popcorn, despite food generally not being allowed into the building.

The young man sitting on the other side of the first man, a lithe brunette with a pleasant smile, punches the first man in the arm and gestures at the camera.

The first man does not show any inclination to raise his head and mutters something that makes the young man blush and the second man laugh, as does the dark-skinned young woman in a lovely dress sitting by the young man’s side.

“– and this film chronicles their epic journey to reunite, despite the many hardships they encountered along the way. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: 500 Miles.”

An orchestral score begins to play as the lights dim and a giant screen descends to the center of the stage.

A vaguely audible “Oh, god, kill me now” can be heard from the position of the group that had been the subject of the camera focus a few minutes before.

———The Beginning———

“What’s all the big fuss?” Mick asks the first group of people he finds climbing out of their cars with duffle bags and a scared expression, poking his head out of the side of the car he’d hotwired. They’d reached the same conclusion as him - the highway, filled with cars, was never going to start moving again.

Mick wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, because he’d been at the fireworks convention for the last few days, slept the sleep of the thoroughly satisfied yesterday, slouched around the house for one lazy day to indulge in the feeling of having been around so many beautiful fires, and today he’d started heading back to the rendezvous point with Len. Same as always.

Except for the bizarre traffic patterns getting in his way. It’s been three hours - they should have moved a little.

“It’s - the radio - they’re saying -” the father of the group is stuttering.

The little girl, about eleven, has no such issues. “There’s zombies everywhere and they’re gonna kill us all!”

“Jessie!”

“What? It’s true!”

Mick blinks. He hadn’t been listening to the radio, though apparently that was an oversight. But really, zombies? That has to be a joke.

He flicks it on.

“– more sightings of the alleged ‘zombies’ have been reported in every major city and many rural areas. People are advised to stay indoors where possible and to report any instance of contagion to the military hotline, reachable at –”

He flicks it off.

“Huh,” he says. “Zombies. Okay, then.”

He climbs out of the car, because they’re definitely not getting anywhere by car. He grabs the backpack he’d brought along for the trip, which had everything he needed – a change of clothing, the solar generator for his heat gun, a hard-copy map and a couple of snacks – and straps his gun back onto his thigh.

“Guess I’m gonna have to walk this one,” he says, shaking his head at the thought. Cross-country hiking was never his idea of a good time, but he can manage.

“Walk?” the father asks. “Walk where?”

“Central City,” Mick replies.

“What’s in Central City?” the mother asks. “They said the zombie outbreak was everywhere, especially the cities.”

“Yeah, but Central City’s gonna solve the problem,” Mick says confidently.

“Why Central City in particular?”

“Because Central City’s got someone with a plan to handle this,” Mick says. Central City’s got Len, after all; they’ve never actually discussed what they should do in the event of a zombie apocalypse – the few times it came up while drunk and watching movies, they usually assumed they’d be together during it – but Mick knows Len. Len will have a plan. Len will enact that plan.

The zombies don’t stand a chance.

“You think they’ll be able to beat the zombies?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Mick says.

“But how are you going to get there? There will be zombies all the way there!”

Mick pats his gun. “I’m not worried about zombies,” he says with a smirk. “I can defend myself.”

The whole family exchanges looks. “Could we come with you?” the father asks hesitantly. “To Central City, I mean. It’s as good a destination as anywhere else – I don’t trust the military shelters they’re talking about on the radio.”

Mick blinks. He hadn’t thought about taking stragglers, but he guesses there’s no reason why not. After all, it’s useful to have someone to keep watch while he sleeps.

“Sure,” he says. “As long as you keep up, you’re welcome to come with me.”

“And you’re sure they’ll be able to win? Even against zombies?”

“I’m sure,” Mick says.

After all, a zombie crisis is not really that different from any other, and he knows what to do during a crisis.

Get back to Len’s side.

———The End———

“– I mean, man, it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before,” the young man with the long, braided hair said earnestly to the camera. “It was, like, a religious experience, you know? All of mankind, getting together, in all its different shades and complexity, in one group, and we followed our leader to the promised land.”

“It was just like they always said it’d be in church,” a young black woman adds in. Her hair curls in tight corkscrews and frame her face like a halo. “I never really listened, you know? What do they know, they’re all old and boring, that sort of thing. But it was just like they said. I opened my heart, and I felt the truth of it.”

“He led us to the promised land,” the young man repeats. “All the way from the coast to the heartland. He pulled us together when we were scattered. But he wasn’t, like, snooty about it or anything. I wouldn’t have thought that the prophet would’ve been the sorta guy to sit back and smoke a joint with you – I mean, when I was protesting in favor of legalization, I had that sign and everything, you know, Jesus woulda smoked one, but, you know, I didn’t really think it’d be that way. But it was!”

“He wasn’t doing it for fame,” another man adds, a young Korean man, rubbing his eyes and shifting a little away from the first man. “He didn’t even want to do it at first, I think. But he protected us anyway. He was called, and he answered.”

“He just tore his way through the zombies whenever they attacked,” the first man says. “Fire shooting from his hands.”

“It was a flamethrower,” the black woman says, rolling her eyes. “Doesn’t make it any less impressive –”

“A flamethrower that works with no visible source of fuel and can roast a zombie to ash from ten yards back?” the first man says skeptically. “Right. That’s what he wants you to think.”

“Listen, you moron; we already live in an age of miracles, we don’t need to be making up –” the young woman says, leaning forward emphatically.

“Hey, hey!” the second man interjects. “What would Mick think about how the two of you are behaving right now?”

They both look shamefaced.

“You’re right,” the woman says. “He’d tell us we had to get our act together and deal with this shit, because it’s the end of the world and there’s no one else to deal with it for us. Whether we like it or not, we’re all in this together.”

“He’s really profound,” the first man says wistfully. “Walking with him was an honor.”

“It really was,” the woman says, and the second man nods. “Let us tell you about how we joined up –”

———The Beginning———

“Goddamn military,” Len snarls. “Wally, make a note, we’re not ever letting them do anything ever again. And I mean ever!”

“You got it, boss,” Wally gasps, the rain slicking down his hair. He looked rather bedraggled, clutching at his coat in an attempt to keep out the storm. Ami, clutching her tablet in its water-proofed case, doesn’t look much better.

“How many do the reports say?” Len asks, stalking along the wall they’d created.

“They brought a whole Marine battalion,” Wally says.

“How many companies?”

“Last thing we heard before they realized we were listening on their frequency, three, but undersized,” Ami volunteers.

“So we’re dealing with anywhere from a few hundred to nearly a thousand,” Len says grimly. “We can’t assume any of them got out of that hell-hole military base without infection. How goes the building of the wall?”

“Points A through D report that they’re on schedule. E and F are reporting trouble with flooding –”

“I’ll go there now and freeze them a dam,” Len decides, turning on his heel and stalking towards there. “Not that I think the zombies will really give a dam about it…”

“That was awful, boss,” Ami says.

“Let it go,” Wally tells her. “Complaining just makes him worse.”

“No, I actually rather enjoyed it,” Ami says. “But it was awful. Factually.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Len says. “How are our squad leaders doing? Everyone in position?”

“Yeah,” Wally says. “Everyone’s checked in, it’s all good. We’ve got car lights on every wall, so we’ve got visibility for at least thirty feet all around, even with this damn rain.”

“If we had a few more of your cold guns, we’d be golden,” Ami says with a sigh.

“Sorry, my sister took her gun with her,” Len says, not without regret. “And we don’t have enough cryogenic power sources for another gun.”

“The cold grenades you were able to work up are a pretty decent alternative,” Ami assures him. “Also, engineering loves you.”

“It’s called thinking outside the box,” Len says. “Or outside the bomb, anyway. Everyone knows not to activate them –”

“– until we see the whites of their eyes, yeah, yeah,” Wally says. “Everyone knows.”

“Good,” Len says. “We’ll send the runners out as soon as E and F are ready to deal with an attack, if necessary; they’ll lure them in towards where we’re strongest, so hopefully E and F won’t have to fight at all. Doesn’t mean it ain’t a good idea to make sure they’re secure. Wally, go to point A; I want to make sure the runners know that if they try to be a hero, I’m gonna hunt them down and kill ‘em myself.”

“Yes, boss!”

“Ami, point C. I want our electronics team working on getting the goddamn grid back up right away. And if the federal government sends a message, tell ‘em we’re seceding.”

Ami hides a smile very badly. “Yes, boss,” she says. “Anything else I should mention?”

“Yeah. Central City’s a dictatorship, namely mine, and they’ve gotta apply for diplomatic status if they want anywhere near our borders.” He pauses. “Oh, and make up some stupid-ass limbo shit they’ll have to go through to get diplomatic status approval. Check with poli-sci and the D&D foucs groups for ideas.”

“Yes, boss!”

“Stop ‘yes, boss’-ing me and go,” he snaps.

They dash away.

Len stalks forward, mind already busy with plans to protect his city from an armed, infected battalion of soldiers who just couldn’t be bothered to listen to the warnings of a mere criminal.

He’s too busy for it, but he takes a moment to be happy that Mick isn’t here, though he would love to have him by his side.

He hopes Mick’s safe, wherever he is.

He hopes Mick’s near –

But not too near.

———The End———

The chaos raged about the countryside the dead rose from the grave, a stormy sea where every ship was strained and all were tried; surrounded by dread gates, nowhere to flee. The earth was churned by feet worn down to bone and hands that grabbed in a full-swelling tide under a moon that froze the human throne and burned in light those who had died. But as their horde approached our wretched wall, Despair tearing at bricks, we would not bow. These heroes stood so that we might not fall, For Central’s death would not, for them, be now. Our walls did fall, but we–the people–stay, knowing how close we came to death that day.

THE ZOMBIE CYCLE, SONNET. 6 – Harris “H.R.” Randolph-Wells

———The Beginning———

Mick grew up in the country.

Oh, sure, it liked to call itself a suburb of Keystone, but it was so far out in the sticks that Keystone was ashamed to admit to it. He knows exactly how it works, out in the places that are only theoretically tamed; he knows the dirt fields that appear out of nowhere, the hidden dangers in the pleasant pool of water, the way it gets dark.

It gets very, very dark.

And nowadays, there are more things that roam in the dark than just wild animals.

“Follow me,” Mick bellows, but his (surprisingly large, now that he looks at them) band of tagalongs mill aimlessly, panicking, as the groans of the approaching zombies become audible. It’s worse, in the dark - they have flashlights that do nothing, car lights that do nothing but make people claustrophobic - because they can hear them, humanity’s nightmare in its hideous infectious glory, they can hear them, but they can’t see them.

“We’ll lose them when we cross the river,” he bellows. “Just cross the river! Follow me!”

It does no good.

They’re caught in the panic and the terror of the night.

Mick knows that they’ll be safe if they only cross the river - terrifying to do late at night, he knows, fording a river is dangerous even outside of the Oregon Trail games - but it’s the only chance they’ve got. The fucking idiots that left the group to go to the Walmart accidentally drew the attention of an entire zombie horde, then led them right back to the group.

He could go himself. Him, and the others who aren’t crazy with fear, and he’d get father and faster without the stupid tagalongs that joined up with him, most without even asking. They just saw people walking and decided that they’d better follow, because at least someone seemed to know what they were doing. Didn’t even ask, half the time.

They’re not his crew. They’re not his anything. He doesn’t know them, they don’t know him. He could leave them now for the monsters to get.

Mick snarls.

He hates not being the scariest monster out there.

Mick holds his gun to the sky and shoots up.

It’s a waste of charge and fuel, he knows that, emptying his gun in a pillar of fire against the vacant skies when he’d much rather turn it against some zombie monsters, but it works.

All the panicking masses turn and look at him.

“Get sticks,” he orders, lifting his voice as loud as he can. “Big sticks, and whiskey. We’ll make ourselves light and fire, and then all you need to do is follow the fire.”

Weary, dazed, scared eyes look at him.

Shit, this isn’t Mick’s area of expertise. He can’t convince them to follow him; can’t convince them to save their own damn lives. He’s not good with people. Too big, too angry, too dumb - he doesn’t have Snart’s silver tongue or Lisa’s charming ways.

But he does have fire.

“Follow the fire,” he orders them, and backs off, gun held aloft, flames shooting up in a line that can be seen a mile away. “Come on, you idiots! Follow the fire!”

And he’s almost entire sure that it’s not going to work, but it does. The first few people stagger towards him. Then the next few after that, and then little by little the whole group is moving.

“Follow the fire,” Mick bellows, again and again. And then they start saying it too - “Follow the fire,” they whisper, through fear-bitten lips and chattering teeth. “Follow the fire.”

A lot of voices, saying it. Saying it again and again, all together, until it’s a mantra that even the people way in the back can hear and understand.

And Mick backs away the whole time, backs down to the river front and into the river, makes them keep going. He stays in there, even though it’s cold and wet and awful, because they need to see him to keep going. People help each other through the muck, whispering to each other, “Follow the fire.” Those that begin to lose energy are pulled along, even carried, and though they can’t walk, they groan the line along with everyone else.

Mick keeps the fire burning until the last one of them has crossed the river, collapsing on the banks of the other side. Only when each and every one of his stupid follow-alongs has made it does he turn off the gun and fall onto his ass, shoulders sinking with exhaustion.

“Like in Genesis,” someone next to Mick mutters, voice dull with exhaustion and the remnants of terror. “Follow the pillar of fire to the promised land.”

“Fire,” someone else agrees. “Fiery fire.” And then another someone starts laughing, and that does it. They’re all laughing, even Mick, and he has no idea why.

When the laughter dies, someone turns to Mick and asks, “What do we do with Alex and Mikhail?”

Mick just stares, because he has no fucking clue who that is.

“The fuckers that brought down the horde on us,” another guy clarifies, looking like he’s considering being angry but he’s a bit too tired to be totally sold on it yet. “We need to punish them.”

“No, we don’t,” Mick objects, and weirdly enough they all look at him. “They were just being dumb,” he says. “You’re all going to be dumb eventually, and when you are, you’ll be glad for it.”

He has no idea what he means - he knows he doesn’t want to be part of any ‘punishment’; he’s been in too many prisons to ever trust mob justice - but he knows he can’t let it happen.

“No shame in being dumb,” he tells them, and they even seem to be listening. “We all start that way. Way I see it, it’s our job to get the dumb ones the rest of the way there.”

“Carry them through the water,” someone says. Mick’s not sure who. It’s dark.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like that.”

And then, even though he wants nothing more than to sleep right where he’s lying, he stands up. It’s more bravado and sheer pig headed stubbornness than anything else driving him now.

“Get sticks and whiskey,” he says again. “We’re going to have torches - tonight, and every night. We’re gonna follow the fire all the way there.”

He only means that it’ll be easier for such a large group to stay together if they have something bright to follow, but people start muttering again - “follow the fire,” they say, again and again, like it’s some sort of lifeline - and Mick’s not entirely sure what to do with that.

But it makes them stand up, the ones who still can, and that’s all that matters right now.

He’s going to Central City, to find Len, and Len can take care of whatever it is that’s growing right in front of Mick’s eyes. He’s sure Len will be able to handle it.

There’s nothing Len can’t handle, given time.

———The End———

– and of course his story is well known – and growing rapidly in popularity.

No one knows where the term 'Archon’ was coined for the enigmatic leader of America’s newest religious movement. Some say it came from his refusal to accept the name of 'prophet’, it being weighed down from a dozen other religions; others claim that there was at one point a serious debate as to whether Mick Rory was an incarnation of the archangel Michael. Regardless, the title seems to have stuck.

For the first time in living memory, we are seeing the resurgence of a new religious movement: open to all, ambiguous in its teachings, and with its leader still alive to theoretically explain them – theoretically, because other than his appearances with Mayor Leonard Snart of Central City (see our list of runners-up!), during which he often remains silent, Archon Rory has frustratingly remained virtually impossible to interview.

He has not even agreed to grant this publication an interview for the present feature -

–excerpt from TIME, “Mick Rory: Person of the Year”

———The Beginning———

“Almost there,” Mick says, squinting up ahead. They’ve been trudging through the suburbs for hours now, heading towards the boundary line that marked off Central City proper from the surrounding area.

A boundary more noticeable from the fact that it was now reinforced by what appeared to be a wall. Made of cars and concrete, and patrolled at regular intervals.

“They’ll never let us in,” Nadia groans. She tugs at her (head cover) anxiously. “This’ll be like that mall.”

“The guys in that mall were just assholes,” Mick tells her firmly. “They didn’t wait ten minutes past the first announcement to try to turn the world into the Mad Max dystopia of their wet dreams.”

“Survivalist militas,” Jerri spits. She’d brought her family to that mall in search of shelter; they’d been one of the ones Mick had rescued in his raid on that mall. She had reason to be angry: they’d been forced to join the militia’s band of “protected” individuals, expected to do chores and follow their absurd rules at the threat of a gun or being thrown out for the zombies.

Mick had enjoyed that raid. Jerri had, too - she wielded a mean baseball bat for a former suburban soccer mom.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m telling you, it’ll be all right.”

He’s pretty sure Len wouldn’t let things in Central get that far out of hand. Gotham was probably under martial law - hell, the cops and the capes there are just panting for the opportunity to really lock it down - but Central? He couldn’t believe it.

Still, no harm in being cautious.

“Nadia, Sharif, Timothy, Chris and Maricruz,” he says. “You’re with me. Jerri, Chaz, you’re in charge of bringing up the rest once we give you the all clear.”

“Sure,” Chaz says. “What’s the all clear?”

“We’ll wave.”

“And what if you want us to keep back?” Jerri asks.

“Chris’ll scream like a little girl,” Mick replies promptly.

Everyone laughs, even Chris. “I only did that once,” he protests, looking amused.

“Three times,” Mick corrects. “And that’s why I’m bringing you - that scream can cut through stone if it needs to.”

Chris is also apparently a somewhat well-known football running back, pre-crisis, which meant he had a remarkable running speed, excellent aim with a gun and a hell of a right hook. He grins good-naturedly.

They go up to one of the breaks in the wall, where someone is waiting with a rifle.

“Hello!” the guard says perkily, well before Mick and his crew can say anything. “Welcome to Central! How’s it going?”

“You mean, other than the zombies?” Nadia asks.

“Well, yes,” the guard says, blushing. “You want to come in? We have quarantine procedures, but everyone is welcome. You can keep your weaponry if it makes you feel better.”

“How’s quarantine work?” Mick asks. “We being tossed in with other suspected infected?”

“No, no - everyone gets their own cubicle, to avoid quarantine contamination. We set up plexiglass so no one feels claustrophobic or alone or anything - the psych department at the university says it’s likely to lead to heightened emotion otherwise - and we let you out after 32 hours. You know, just in case. Oh, and you get food! Do you have any dietary restrictions? We have halal,” he adds, looking at Nadia.

“Holy crap, this is the promised land,” she says, staring.

“How’s that?” the guard asks.

“Just a joke,” Mick adds hastily.

“Okay,” the guard says agreeably, though he still looked a little confused. “Anyway, bring everyone you’ve got. We’re a city; we’ve got room.”

“We’ve got a lot of people,” Mick warns.

“We’ve taken over an entire block of the financial district for quarantine purposes,” the guard replies. “We’ve got a lot of cubicles.”

Mick studies him, but the guard looks legit, and what the hell. They have a lot of people. They could take the guardhouse if they really needed to.

He turns and waves.

They begin to come - first in groups, then all at once, the whole lot of them, like an ocean of people bringing the tide in.

“Whoa,” the guard says.

“Told you there was a lot,” Mick says with a smirk.

The guard shakes his head in amazement, then pulls out a pad of paper. “Well, we’ll still need basic information for our records - names, origin city, any missing family or friends you’d like us to look for –”

“You’re running a registry?” Chris asks, interested.

“Yeah, we figured it’d be useful if people are missing each other, at least until we get cell phones redistributed. Let’s start with you guys. Names?”

“Mick Rory, Keystone City,” Mick says. “I’m looking for someone –”

“Wait, wait,” the guard interrupts. “Mick Rory? Is that what you said?”

Mick frowns. He wouldn’t have thought the open warrants were going to be such an issue, in light of everything, but…

“Hold on, I need to call this in,” the guard says, starting to grin. “This is going to be great - you’re to go straight to the main building – I’ll get someone to show you the way –”

Mick’s frown deepens. That didn’t sound like an arrest. “How’s that?”

“What about quarantine?” Nadia asks.

“He can do his quarantine in the main building; there are still quarantine cubes there,” the guard says. “We all got told in training that Mick Rory gets sent straight there, Mayor’s orders.”

“What does the Mayor of Central City want with our Mick?” Maricruz asks, her voice low and sweet and steely as always.

“Just to see him, I think,” the guard says. “Honestly, I don’t really question Mayor Snart’s orders.”

“Hold up,” Mick says. “Did you just say Mayor Snart?!”

———The End———

“I can’t go in there,” she said. “I can’t - it reminds me of the dark of the night when the zombies first attacked, when I was all alone -”

She turns accusing eyes on Adam. “You told me you’d be by my side the whole way.”

“It’s not his fault,” the guard said, his voice soft. Isabelle turned to look at him.

He was, now that she was looking, startlingly beautiful in his own way - his hair was long and braided, his skin dark as polished oak, his eyes fair. He held out his hand to her.

Isabelle took it instinctively.

“He can’t follow you into quarantine,” the guard explained. “It’s to keep us safe, all of us - and no one can be excluded. Even our own scouting parties have to go through quarantine after a long expedition. So many lives are at stake - we can’t let even one person hiding a bite in.” His eyes were wide and sorrowful; he had clearly known great loss.

Isabelle felt strangely affected by it - almost like she knew him, knew his sorrow - it wasn’t like Adam, how they’d bickered and fought, growing closer every step of the journey; this was something immediate. Something magical.

“What’s your name?” she breathed.

“Jonas,” he says.

“I’m Isabelle.”

“And I’m Adam,” Adam says, stepping forward, putting a hand on Isabelle’s shoulder. A possessive hand, one that would have thrilled her beyond understanding not even three hours earlier. “We traveled the Great Route together, in Archon Rory’s train.”

“Then you have done a great thing,” Jonas says, letting go of Isabelle’s hand only reluctantly, meeting Adam’s eyes dead on. “Perhaps, after the quarantine, I will have the honor of showing you around the city, Isabelle. But for now, follow me.”

She shivers as the two strong men eye each other warily. Could it be that they were fighting over her? That Jonas felt that same instant connection? Oh, but what about Adam - they’d been together through so much -

Isabelle would never have expected her life to become this; not in a million years.

- excerpt from “A Rescued Beauty”, the brand new romance novel by Adrienne Masters.

———The Beginning———

“Mayor,” Mick says. “Mayor.”

“Shut up,” Len says.

They were separated by a glass wall, the little Plexiglas box that Mick had to stay in for quarantine; he would mind it a lot more except that Len kept prowling around it, like he can’t wait for the time to be up. He felt like he was one of those beautiful paintings that museums kept locked up, one of the ones Len bent the full power of his considerable intellect on obtaining for his own. He’d never felt that before; it was strangely exciting.

“Besides, I hear you started a religion,” Len adds.

“I did not,” Mick protests, but he’s not so dumb as to deny that one may, in fact, have been started. “They did it on their own.”

“It’s still a cult of personality based on you.”

“Can I make 'em all drink kool-aid?”

Len’s smile is there and gone. “Your precious babies? I bet you know all of 'em by name.”

Mick prefers nicknaming people, but with a group that large he didn’t have any choice but to start learning names. But damnit, they’re not his babies.

He tells Len as much.

“Uh, huh,” Len says. “Jerri says to tell you that the pigeons are all fine.”

“Oh, good,” Mick says. “They’re skittish, though can’t blame them for…” He catches Len’s look. “They’re not actual pigeons; it’s just what I called this one group of kids - they were all out of field trips, and we got their buses to safety, and -” Len’s expression reveals nothing. “They’re not my babies!”

“Mick,” Len drawls. “When I said we could think about adopting, I didn’t mean a whole army of devotees.”

“Says the man who adopted a city.”

“Central’s always been mine,” Len says, sounding like a cat with a whole flock of canaries sitting in front of him. “They’re just getting with the picture is all.”

“Mayor.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you even know what a mayor does?”

“I have an entire poli-sci department at my beck and call,” Len says haughtily.

“So, no.”

“Not a clue,” Len concedes cheerfully, though his amusement is brief and the scowl comes back. He glares at the glass. “How much longer did they say?”

“It’s only been a few hours,” Mick says, amused. “You missed me?”

“Started to get worried after so long with no contact,” Len says. “You being a delicate flower and all that.”

“Lenny…”

“Don’t you 'Lenny’ me. Don’t you know how to use a phone?!”

“There weren’t any,” Mick says reasonably. “Most of the south was put on communications blackout. Military took down electronics everywhere.”

“We were too,” Len admits. “I had them put the grid back up.”

Len had an entire electric grid set up just to make sure he wouldn’t miss it if Mick tried to call.

Mick feels all warm and fuzzy.

“I hate having to wait,” Len says.

“I would never have known that about you,” Mick lies virtuously. Len’s as patient as you get on the job; it’s in personal stuff that he gets anxious.

“Yeah, yeah,” Len says.

“Don’t you have important mayor stuff you need to be doing?”

“I have sub-lieutenants for a reason,” Len says. “As do you. They can live without me for a short time.” He scowls. “Not that I’m doing anything.”

Mick thought about that for a second, the shrugs and pulls off his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Len asks.

“Giving you something to do,” Mick says agreeably.

“Something to do?”

“Yeah. Watch.”

Turns out Mick likes being looked at like some precious thing that someone wants to steal away, as long as it’s Len who’s doing the looking.

Fascinating, the things you learn about yourself during an attacking zombie crisis.

———The End———

Buzzfeed’s 10 Top Unbelievable Stories That Came Out Of The Zombie Crisis

You Won’t BELIEVE What These People Did

…

#6 Sex in the Quarantine Room: Fact or Fiction?

The individualized “mini”-quarantine units - started in Central City by using cubicles and plexiglass, then refined as the practice spread throughout the United States - are the opposite of sexy! But when death is looming as a potential option, anywhere looks appealing. Yes, everyone is put in these quarantine units individually, so touching is a no-no, but nothing will stop these brave outside-the-box thinkers, not even being literally in the box! There are reports of at least three confirmed incidents and potentially dozens more - there are even rumors that one of the most famous reunions, that of Mayor Leonard Snart and Archon Mick Rory, featured some of this!

———The Beginning———

Wally didn’t want to tell Len about the rumors at first, that much was obvious, but if the last few months of fighting side-by-side has done anything, it’s taught Len every single one of the kid’s tells.

“Tell me,” Len orders.

Wally tells him.

Len gets up and goes to solve the problem, because he’d known that there was some type of pernicious rumor dampening morale and he’d even known more or less who was spreading it, he hadn’t know exactly what it was. The downside of leadership, he supposed; they tried as much as possible to keep him out of the loop.

He hated being out of the loop.

Maybe he should establish a spy network? That’s what the television said leaders did instead of gossiping.

He’d ask at the next general assembly meeting. The LARPers will support him, at least; they think that stuff’s cool.

Mick will think it’s cool, if he ever manages to escape the stupid temple they’re building for him. Oh, sure, they’re calling it a ‘gathering place’, but Len knows what they really mean, even if Mick hasn’t quite accepted the reality of it yet.

The knot of ill-wind huddled around the statue of Bovine that oversaw the side lawn in front of the Agricultural Studies Department. It was easily accessible from the front lawn and from multiple buildings; they were going to have quite an audience.

Good.

Eyes followed Len, as they always did; he’d become uncomfortably aware that many of the people who came in through the quarantine lines saw Len as personally responsible for saving them, which was of course absurd and undoubtedly the remnants of shock after being attacked by zombies. Many had heeded Len’s early hijacked radio announcements - courtesy of the combined efforts of the media studies college-radio host and the comp-sci hackers - to stay in their homes, that rescue was coming; many had thought it was a lie and expected death, so they were pleasantly surprised when Len’s squads collected them and hurried them over to quarantine.

Len knows how to play an audience, though, and he’s worn his blue parka so much that the mere sight of it acts like a beacon.

So all eyes are on him when he stops in front of the small crowd of students milling around the statute.

“I hear,” he drawls, eyeing them all, “that somebody here’s got some beef with the Flash.”

Silence for a long moment.

And then foolishness prevails, someone assuming that Len’s reputation was a better guide than his tone of voice.

“He abandoned us!” someone shouts. “He should have been here to stop the zombies, and he wasn’t!”

“He’s fast! He could have saved all those people!”

“Where is he, anyway? Hiding or something?”

“Yeah!” “That’s right!” “Where is he?”

Len waits until the crowd is bubbling with anger and then fires his cold gun into the air, letting the shockwaves of cold air silence people as effectively as a gunshot with less chance of the bullet hitting someone when gravity pulls it back down.

“Are you all stupid?” he asks as politely as he can, his voice pitched to carry. “Some of you are young, so I’ll grant you that, but those of you who see yourself as past the age of reason - for shame.”

“You know where he is?” one undergrad, who had been one of those yelling most fiercely, a raggedy Flash t-shirt barely visible under her coat, asks meekly.

“I know the Flash,” Len answers, and he seriously can’t believe he has to do this. How quickly people forget. “I fought the Flash. You know as well as I do that he’d never abandon this city. You’re just so used to him doing all the work that you’ve forgotten that he’s just a man, in the end. He’s a fucking volunteer.”

His eyes review the ranks and they wilt before him.

“I’m sure you’ve all volunteered for something,” he says, “either before or during this crisis. Ain’t it hard, doing something without any expectation of reward? Throwing yourself - your body - against the worst this city can come up with on a regular basis? But the Flash does it. He does it again and again. And I am willing to bet that he’s doing it now.”

“But where is he?”

“The zombie plague came from somewhere,” Len points out, carefully omitting that he actually did have a good idea of where the Flash was and what he was fighting, courtesy of Wally. Some information didn’t need to be shared, and the existence of a stable breach to an alternative dimension that wanted to poison yours was definitely one of them. “I’m willing to bet he’s there, keeping the worst of it away. That, or he’s dead and you’re all on your own. Pick whichever theory you prefer.”

“Why do you care?” someone in the back, feeling brave in their anonymity, shouts.

“He’s my nemesis,” Len says. “Judge a man by his enemies, and whatnot. But more importantly, I’ve never in my life blamed a volunteer for not being able to do more than they can, and I ain’t starting now.”

His eyes narrow. “And since you all seem pretty content sitting here, swapping grievances instead of helping out in quarantine, the clinic, the cafeteria, sanitation or the fields - it’s not like we don’t have options - I’m guessing you’re all gonna be pretty happy with that tendency.”

Several people look shame-faced.

Len consults his mental version of the enhanced catalogue they’ve made, the school version merged with the IDs of everyone who they brought inside.

“Katy,” he says to one. “You’re chemistry. I expect to see you helping out in the labs.” Her eyes go wide. “Rakesh,” he continues. “Shira. Matt. The cafeteria needs extra help today.”

He goes down the line, smile painted firmly on his face, naming each of them and assigning them a task. It’s a good thing he prepared ahead of time, noting who seemed to be the source of the trouble, because even Wally is gaping at him, utterly impressed, and that kid isn’t surprised by anything anymore.

“Now,” he says, concluding his recital, “you’re all volunteers, you’re all here, and right now, you’re all we’ve got to rely on. No Flash, no heroes, just you. So get to it.”

He pauses.

“Oh, and the next person who wants to talk shit about the Flash behind his back?” he adds, icy smile growing on his lips. “Just remember that the Flash beat me once, one on one, and I’d be more than happy to find myself a new nemesis to keep me busy while he’s gone. Anyone who thinks they’re better than he is had better be ready to prove it.”

Oddly enough, there don’t seem to be many volunteers for that.

———The End———

fansagainstzombies: CALLOUT: do NOT apologize for zombies!!! they are mass murderers and MUST BE STOPPED. u cannot sympathize with zombies and still be on the side of their victims.. it is upestting and rude to all zombie survivors. DO NOT NORMALIZE ZOMBIES. THEIR ACTIONS HURT PEOPLE AND ARE COMPLETEY INEXCUSABLE.

justiceforthedead66: excuse me?? zombies were people just like us and we need to HELP them, it isn’t there fault that their killing people, their sick and not in their right mind, we need to find a CURE, not just MURDER these INNOCENT PEOPLE

fansagainstzombies: *their *they’re *they’re you’re argument is invalid. go back to 2nd grade, where your politics belong

theyliveagainandagain: [popcorn.gif]

zombiezombiezombiemushroommushroom: Guys, you’re taking this all too seriously.

fansagainstzombies: they were KILLING PEOPLE. WTF even is WITH this hellsite

———The Beginning———

“We’ve been gone how long?!” Cisco exclaims.

“Six months,” Felicity explains, staring at the screen. “Looks like it was a six to one ratio - one day there, six here. And it’s, uh - there’s a communications blackout. Mostly.”

“What? Why?” Iris asks.

“Uh,” Felicity says.

Sara peers over her shoulder. “Wait,” she says. “Zombies? But I thought - we went to stop them!”

“We did,” Joe says grimly. “Some of it must have gotten through regardless.” He rubs his hands on his face. “God, and Wally’s still there.”

“Thea,” Oliver breathes.

“We have to go back to Central,” Barry says. His hands are shaking. His city - he’d thought he was doing the right thing, chasing the cure and fighting the Necromantics, the inventors of the plague, all the way back to their own dimension, and in the meantime, his city, his responsibility was…

“Actually,” Felicity says, “looks like Central’s doing okay.”

“What?!”

“No, really - I’m reading military chatter, and Central City gets mentioned a whole bunch of times. Like, a bunch of times. By the time the military showed up to offer help - and not much help, either, we’re talking, like, food drops - the city said thanks but no thanks, we’re doing okay. And then started broadcasting - through the electrical grid they set up themselves after the military knocked the old one down, yeesh, now they’re just trying to make the rest of us look bad - information to other cities. They’ve got quarantine methods, zombie fighting methods - hell, they’ve been doing a weekly seminar on how to keep zombies away from your crops, and that’s, like, not even a serious issue yet.”

Barry blinks.

“They did say they would be interested in a cure if it were found,” Felicity adds. “Their new mayor, that is; he’s the one that led the whole movement against the zombies.”

Iris nudges Barry. “Looks like we made the right choice after all.”

Barry smiles helplessly. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe.” There was something he wanted to say, something profound, maybe, about how much it means that they all got up to fight, that Central, of all overlooked places, is now standing out as a beacon of hope to the rest of the country…

“Our city is so much cooler than yours,” Cisco crows.

Or that.

That works.

“We should still head back,” Barry says, not even trying to hide his grin. “Oliver, unless you need help?”

Oliver shakes his head. “Easier without you, to be honest,” he says. “Star City is - complicated. At the best of times.”

“I’ll stick around and help Oliver,” Sara offers. “You go, Barry.”

Barry nods, and turns to look at his friends - Joe and Iris, Cisco and Caitlin. “C'mon, guys. I wanna meet this new mayor. Looks like we’ve got a lot to thank him for.”

———The End———

“As president of the United States during these dark times,” the president says, “it is my honor to bestow upon these heroes a medal that they have long deserved. We recognized them first during the alien invasion of 2016, and there we recognized them as heroes - individuals, meta or human, that were willing to put themselves forward to help their fellow man at risk to themselves.”

Barry shifts awkwardly.

Oliver doesn’t shift at all.

Sara looks like she wishes she was literally anywhere else.

“These heroes took the fight to its origin, fighting the creators of the zombie plague to a standstill and returning, triumphant, with a vaccine designed to prevent any new infections -”

“Only six months late,” Barry mutters under his breath. He was still pissed about that. Six months, his city had been without its hero, while he piddled around fighting bad guys in an alternate dimension.

Not that his city had been in bad hands…well, technically ‘bad’ hands, but not, like, bad hands…

“We got the cure,” Sara points out, also sotto voce.

“Yes, but…”

“Shhhh. She’s getting to our part,” Oliver interjects.

They quiet down, then step forward when instructed to let the president pin medals onto them.

“Now, our heroes will say a few words.”

Oliver nudges Barry. They’d agreed that he should do it, since he was well known as the Flash - though less well known than Oliver Queen - and he could adjust his voice like he’d stopped doing in Central ages ago. Also, he was apparently “charming”.

Barry goes forward. “Thanks,” he says. “We appreciate these medals; nothing means more to us than the people we protect, and we are honored to do so. We do it because it’s the right thing to do, not for any thanks - but it sure is nice!” He pauses to let the audience laugh, which they do, then changes from his prepared remarks. “I’d also like to thank you, the people, for standing up when we couldn’t be here. In city after city, town after town, people stood up and showed that you don’t need meta powers or special training to be a hero in a crisis. This medal belongs as much to you, people of America - people of the world - as it does to me. We do what we do not because we think you can’t. We know you can. We do it because you shouldn’t have to.”

Oliver is glaring hard enough that Barry’s half-worried he’ll develop Kara’s heat vision.

“We should have been there during the zombie crisis, done more, and trust me, no one regrets our absence more than me,” he continues anyway. “But you don’t need us - and you proved it. Thank you.”

Confused applause.

“I’m going to kill you,” Oliver says once they’re backstage.

“He wasn’t wrong,” Sara points out.

“That sounded like a retirement speech.”

“It wasn’t,” Barry says. “But I do think we should be partnering more with local authorities. Look at how much they achieved.”

“Your city got taken over by a supervillain while you were gone.”

“He’s the mayor now,” Barry replies. “You need to get over it already.”

———The Beginning———

People were happy to see him.

The Flash, that is. He got waves and a handful of “Hey, Flash!"s, and no one seemed to hold it against him that he’d been gone.

They made it almost all the way to the university center - they’d been excused from quarantine only because they’d been in a different universe, and anyway there were people hanging around to keep an eye on them in case they turned - before someone calls out, "Hey, Flash! Where you been?”

“I, uh,” Barry says. “Fighting the guys that invented the zombie thing. Getting a cure.”

“Knew it,” the guy responds in satisfaction, and turns back to what he’d been doing - repairing one of the barricades that seemed to dot the city now.

Somehow word spread, though, and less than fifteen minutes later a horde descended.

Well, just like eight or ten people, but they felt like a horde.

Biochemistry majors and professional chemists and pharma people and Tina McGee, who was a horde all by herself, in the lead.

“You have a cure?” she asks Caitlin.

“Yes,” Caitlin replies, and is promptly whisked away to the wonders of science and medicine.

Barry feels a bit like a supporting character in someone else’s (Caitlin’s) exciting biomedical thriller/action novel. It’s kind of a nice feeling.

Joe rejoins them.

“I thought you were going to find Wally,” Iris says.

“Apparently he’s in the mayor’s office,” Joe says, shrugging. He looks relieved; hearing that Wally was doing okay had clearly lifted a weight off his shoulders. He grins. “Besides, I want to meet this new mayor, too. Where did Caitlin…?”

“Don’t ask,” Cisco says.

Good to know that he was just as shaken by the horde as Barry was.

Then they get to the university and get shown into the mayor’s office.

“Flash!” Snart exclaims from behind the desk.

“Captain Cold?!” Cisco hisses.

“Flash, tell me you’re here to arrest me,” Snart demands.

Barry blinks.

That was…new.

“Um,” he says. “I don’t think so?”

“None of the police will do it anymore,” Snart says. His eyes are rimmed with red, like he’s been having trouble sleeping. “Waste of time, the whole lot. But you’re a superhero. You could do it. Just pop me over to Iron Heights.”

“We’d have you back by lunchtime,” Wally says. He’s slumped over a nearby chair. “And then you’d still have to attend the council meeting.”

Snart sighs. “Fine,” he says sulkily. “Never mind, then.”

“Wally!” Joe exclaims. “Are you okay?”

“He’s fine,” Snart says snippily. “He’s no doubt skipping the meeting on the basis of a long-awaited family reunion.”

“You bet your ass I am, boss,” Wally replies fondly.

“Wally, hold up a damn second,” Joe says. “Why are you calling Leonard Snart boss?”

“I’m his secretary,” Wally says. “Or possibly chief henchman. It varies by the day, really.”

They all stare at him.

“Oh, and he’s also the mayor now,” Wally adds.

Pandemonium.

———The End———

mymayorissexierthanyourmayor: LOOK AT THESE GIFS. LOOK AT THEM. How are these people real???

sssssnartssmarts: I love it when Snart and Rory kiss in public. It’s so fucking cute.

flameboycoldboy: This gives me life. Look at that adorable little face Rory makes when Snart kisses him!! [awwyouhaveacrushonmethat’ssoembarassingwe’remarriedstill.gif]

followtheflamewar: see this is why I can’t believe either of them is cheating with that Barry Allen guy

mymayorissexierthanyourmayor: yes, but have you considered: possible polyamory??

followtheflamewar: there’s no way to tell for sure tho!! at least we know the Ramon Glider ship is sailing – they’ve been going on dates like all the time

sssssnartssmarts: god those two make me so happy [lifegoals.gif]

———The Beginning———

“Joe’s still pissed off,” Barry reports.

“Let him be,” Iris says dismissively. “I’ve got your back, bro.”

“You’re the best,” Wally says. “Actually…”

“That wasn’t an offer to help with your paperwork!”

“Not paperwork!” he says, though he looks shifty-eyed. “Just – could you go out with Barry to the airport field over in Ashberry?”

“That’s outside of the line,” Barry says, frowning. “I know we’ve been distributing the cure, but…”

“But you’re a super speedster and can get them all,” Wally says earnestly. “So it, like, shouldn’t be a problem!”

“I’m helping repair the walls…”

“It’ll be super short,” Wally promises. “I just need someone to go pick up Lisa or else the boss gonna want to do it himself and that’s just – no.”

“I’ll do it,” Cisco says. “Uh. I mean. If no one else is. I could do it.”

His attempt at being casual fools literally nobody.

“I’ll take Cisco with me,” Iris says.

“But!” Barry protests.

“Relax,” Wally says. “Cisco, Iris, and two squads.”

“I don’t need two squads of backup,” Iris says, scowling.

“Probably not,” Wally says. “But it’s the rules. You don’t want to put up a bad example for everyone else, do you?”

Iris eyes him. “You’re getting sneaky.”

“I’m a politician’s aide,” Wally says. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Can we go now?” Cisco says hopefully. “I want to see Lisa.”

Iris rolls her eyes.

———The End———

“You had better make the weather fucking perfect,” Lisa says poisonously to Mardon.

“It’s perfect,” he assures her. “75, sunny, scattering of clouds, mild breeze.”

“Hartley -”

“The sound systems are perfect,” he sniffs. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Shawna -”

“I’ve done a head-count of all the guests, everyone’s here, and your fiancé is being talked down from a panic attack by the Flash, who’s here in costume,” she reports.

“Scudder and Rosa?”

“Banned from the premises and locked up as tight as Iron Heights, the Flash, and your brother can manage,” Iris reports.

“Good,” Lisa says. “Boys, you’re dismissed; girls, help me adjust my veil.”

“I still can’t believe you’re getting married,” Shawna sighs.

“I still can’t believe it’s going to be covered by the international media,” Iris says. She’s not jealous. Really.

“Don’t worry, you get the first interview afterwards,” Lisa says soothingly. “Or whatever Cisco’s next invention is going to be.”

“I’d better,” Iris says, and they share a grin. They hadn’t anticipated becoming friends, but somehow it’d happened.

Probably sometime around Lisa literally flying back in with a tan and offering to take Iris to her secret island next time there was an invasion of some variety.

There had been protests that there would be no next time, but Iris very reasonably pointed out that their track record hadn’t been great.

After that, well, what with Lisa becoming her brother’s unofficial media spokesperson slash chief of staff, it was really only business sense to cultivate the relationship. And they got to regularly have lunch on Central City Picture News’ dime, something they could both appreciate.

Lisa’s face twitches.

“Yes, you’re getting married,” Iris says immediately, recognizing the onset of nerves. “Yes, it’s a good idea – even Len likes Cisco – and yes, your dad is really, truly, totally dead. Deader than dead. We’re planning on having Mardon hit his grave with lightning as a wedding present.”

Lisa grins. “You don’t have to,” she says, but her shoulders are more relaxed. “Not that I’d object. God, how do people do this? This whole wedding thing is just nerve-wracking.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have had it at City Hall.”

“But irony points. Also, honestly, where else could we get a reservation at such short notice?”

“Come rain, snow, or zombie invasion, the bridal market in Central City is as competitive as ever,” Iris says. “I’m going to have to book mine years in advance, when it happens.”

“If Len’s still mayor, you could do it here,” Lisa offers.

“You know, I’m suddenly convinced of the virtues of eloping…”

The girls all giggle.

Mardon and Hartley look at each other and make a quick exit.

“Boys,” Lisa says, shaking her head and watching them run. “I clearly got the best of the lot.”

“And just think,” Shawna says, grinning, “you’ll be marrying him in less than two hours.”

“Oh god…”

———The Beginning———

“Allen, swing by my place later tonight, will you?” Len says to Barry as they walk down the main street. “This isn’t really the time. Or place.”

“Right,” Barry says. “I keep forgetting how busy you are nowadays.”

Len rolls his eyes and drops his voice, mindful of the fact that there are paparazzi and camera phones everywhere. “The fact that you’re even coming to me with your super secret plans to establish a metahuman superhero base in Central City is already weird enough. My reputation won’t take much more of this.”

“You’re the mayor,” Barry hisses, leaning back in towards Len. “Your so-called ‘reputation’ is totally shot.”

“Hey!”

“Well, it is.”

Len glares.

Barry glares back.

“Gimme one good reason why I shouldn’t reject your proposal out of hand from sheer spite, Scarlet,” Len says back, voice still dropped down low enough that Barry has to lean in closer to hear.

“A, because you’re a better mayor than that,” Barry says. “B, you wouldn’t reject anything out of hand, you’re way too petty for that. You’d let me do the whole presentation first, then reject it.”

“You know me well,” Len says, nodding a little.

“But that’s not the main reason you’re not going to reject the proposal,” Barry says confidently.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what is?”

“Because having the Hall of Justice be located in Central City would be so. freaking. cool.”

“…excellent point. Also, who the hell named it that? Cisco? There’s gotta be something better.”

Barry laughs.

Len shakes his head in amusement and turns to go to his next meeting. How did his schedule have so many meetings? Twisting a little, he calls back over his shoulder, “This evening, my place, 8 PM. And for once in your life, don’t be late.”

“Hey!”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He leaves Barry in the street shrugging helplessly in an admission of guilt.

———The End———

“Umbrellas!” the man calls out as the group entered the open-air marketplace in Central City Square, multiple individuals checking the darkening sky with some concern. “Get set, don’t get wet! If you pass me by, you won’t stay dry!”

“Fresh fruit, straight from the orchards of Keystone!” a woman shouts from another stall. “Get them fresh right now; they won’t last long! Ripe fruit, fresh fruit, get your fruit here!”

“Leather is better!” a man in a shop filled with bags and boots and other items cries out. “Finest leather goods in Central City! You won’t find any better than our leather!”

“Magazines!” another man calls. “Get your latest news fix here! All the celebrity gossip you could want! Actors, actresses, politicians – you know you want to know!”

One of the group slows down and heads that way to squint at magazine covers. “Hey, guys, look at this!” the young man calls back to the main group. “The title of this one is ‘Barry Allen: Homewrecker Extraordinaire.’”

“What the fuck,” another young man in the group says indignantly, ducking his head when people look over at his exclamation as if he could hide his face.

The first young man pays the magazine seller out of pocket – ten dollars and one Central City credit for good measure – and then carries the magazine in question back. “No, look,” he says, grinning. “On page four – ‘The mysterious Barry Allen, which has of late attracted so much attention from our esteemed mayor, maybe as more than merely a friendly visitor –’”

“Barry, for shame,” one of the woman says, starting to laugh.

“‘He has been seen in company with Mayor Snart at odd hours, including the two of them emerging late at night from Mayor Snart’s office…’”

“That was business!” the second young man squawks. “You know, running business!”

“‘And he has also been seen in the company of Mr. Rory in the evenings –’”

“Wait, hold up, which one is he supposed to be cheating on which one with?” a second young woman says, grinning.

The first young man flips through the pages. “Uh – huh, looks like he’s double-timing Snart with Rory and Rory with Snart, and neither of them have figured it out yet.”

“That’s the most unlikely bit about the whole thing so far,” a dark-skinned young man puts in. “Snart not figuring it out, I mean.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, look, Barry’s also apparently pregnant with a zombie baby.”

“I’m what?”

“The way of the tabloids is strange and mysterious, Bear,” the second woman says. “Just accept it.”

“I hate all of you. Why is this even still being published?”

“Morale, and also Lisa thinks this shit’s funny.”

“But seriously. Why do tabloids get to survive the zombie apocalypse?”

“Zombie crisis, Barry; the world’s still going. And are you really surprised?”

“…no.”

———The End and the Beginning———

“I demand that you do something about this injustice,” Len says to Barry before falling face-first onto the couch.

Mick was on the couch.

Mmm, Mick. That was fine; he could stay.

Barry just snickered, the ungrateful little brat.

Len lifts his head a little - not too much, Mick has put his hands on the back of Len’s neck and started rubbing, and he doesn’t want to discourage that - and glares at Barry.

“I take it from that you’re going to just stand by and do nothing while this continues.”

“Yep,” Barry says.

“Some superhero you are.”

“Terrible,” Barry replies.

“Total waste.”

“Absolutely.”

“Standing by idly while your city’s citizens are being horribly abused - ugh, yeah, Mick, just there; a little harder, will you?”

Mick complies, smirking.

“Len,” Barry says, sounding reasonable, which was surely a sign of the end of the world. “It’s not abuse that your staff wants you to run for governor.”

“But I don’t want to run for governor.”

“You shouldn’t have agreed, then,” Barry points out.

Stupid Barry.

“Wally snuck it by me,” Len says resentfully. “He’s as fast as you, now.”

“I’m sure that helps him with the paperwork,” Barry says soothingly.

“So much paperwork,” Len agrees with a groan. “I think Wally is planning on taking over the world and using me to do it.”

“I’m sure you’re very proud of him, you being a former supervillain and all,” Barry says.

Len considers this. “Well, yeah,” he says. “But does he have to be so public-spirited about it?”

“Just do me a favor,” Mick rumbles, hands still moving very pleasantly on Len’s neck.

“Sure,” Len says drowsily. “Name it.”

“Don’t become president.”

“Hah, please,” Len says. “I’m a former supervillain and I have this for a family life. What’s the likelihood of that ever happening?”

#my fic #dccoldwave #coldflashwave #goldenvibe #mick rory #leonard snart #barry allen #lisa snart #cisco ramon #wally west #zombies

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lightsburnbrite · 8 years ago

Text

Young & Wild: Part 6

The silence was beginning to worry her. “Dad?”

He cleared his throat. “Georgina, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest with me. Is this just a friendship or…is he the reason you’ve decided to leave Preston?”

“I never wanted to marry Preston.” It was cathartic for Georgina to say this outlaid to someone other than Daniel. “When he asked me in front of everyone, it felt like I couldn’t say no without being the bad guy.”

There was a sigh on his end, indicating a slight irritation. “That was a nice way of skirting around the question.”

“I didn’t leave Preston because of Danny, I would have left him regardless.” Georgina was still trying to avoid being specific with her father.

“Gigi, I…” He cleared his throat again. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m not sure what implications it could have on the club, on him as a player.”

While it wasn’t something she had thought about before, Georgina didn’t think it actually was an issue for a player to be dating the owner’s daughter. “Ok, but the coach makes the decisions, right? Then there’s the technical staff…you do what? Things involving the whole club, more on a macro level, yes?”

“In very general terms, yes.” Her father knew exactly where she was going with this and he knew that he didn’t have a strong enough counter point.

“So, Danny is not the type of person to seek to exploit a personal relationship.” She took a breath and gathered the rest of her thoughts. “He wouldn’t get anything out of us dating. Aside from the pleasure of my company.”

He paused again. “It really is a waste that you didn’t go into law. So tell me about these puppies.”

“Oh my god, Dad, they’re so cute.” Switching the phone to speaker, she took a picture of the pair, now exhausted from the walk and laying at her feet. “They’re both boys, the black one is Odin and the yellow is Thor.”

She heard him laugh before responding. “You would go with the Norse names. I’ll try to stop by next weekend to meet them.”

“Thanks, Dad.” With a smile, Georgina stood and readied herself to head back to the apartment.

“Georgina, listen,” Whenever her father used her full name, he wanted her to pay full attention. “I’m not forbidding you from seeing this boy, uh, man, but If you decide to I think it would be wise to keep a lower profile. Agreed?”

“Yes, Dad. Talk to you later.”

Back at her building, Georgina greeted the doorman and sighed as she waited for the elevator. Maybe Preston would decide to meet some friends for dinner and then she wouldn’t have to deal with him. Instead, he had made himself at home on the couch with a bowl of popcorn.

“Why?”

It took a minute for Georgina to realize that he was speaking to her. “Why what?”

He continued to face the television, but she could see him shrug. “Why do you want to break up? Why did you agree to marry me in the first place? Why the dogs?”

“Preston,” beginning to feel sorry for him, she softened her tone. “I’m sorry, I really am. You’re a good man and you’re going to be a wonderful husband to someone. Just not me.”

Finally he stood and turned around. “Which brings me back to the question of why?”

“I guess I thought that if I spent more time with you, I would grow to love you.” Closing her eyes, Georgina sighed. “But it’s just not there for me. And then you asked me to marry you in front of your whole family and I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“So I’m your sympathy case?” He sounded irritated, but it was obvious that his pride had taken a hit.

Georgina shook her head but made sure to keep enough distance between the two of them. She didn’t fear Preston at all, instead she was more worried that he’d want to embrace her. “Not at all. It’s more me feeling overwhelmed to the point of not wanting to be in a relationship.”

Not entirely a lie, she thought to herself, except it was only Preston that she didn’t want to be with.

“You didn’t answer my question about the dogs.” The irritation was there again, but now Georgina knew it was because he was never a fan of people keeping pets.

Now it was her turn to shrug. “I love dogs, you know that.”

Of course, Preston didn’t know that, which was part of the reason she said it. Preston noncommittally nodded before grimacing.

Georgina walked over to the refrigerator and glanced in. “Did you want some dinner?”

“No, the firm got us reservations at The Standard Grill so we could take the clients out for dinner and a few drinks.” Preston walked over to the mirror, making sure everything was in place. “If you don’t mind, I won’t be telling everyone that my fiancé left me. I’d appreciate it if you did the same.”

With the slightest of nods, she tried not to smirk as he left. Sitting back down with her laptop, Georgina began to investigate procedures for traveling to the UK with dogs. After going through all the regulations, Georgina decided she’d start the puppies in the certification program so they’d eventually be able to travel with her without being quarantined if she wanted but the six month time period just wasn’t practical at this point. She then set about booking a flight and finding a dog sitter for the weekend. Technically, she could have spent longer in England, she still had a week and a half until the spring semester started, but she didn’t like the thought of leaving the puppies for that long when they were still young. Daniel had also mentioned something about a break coming up when he could actually travel to her.

Instead of staying for a few days like Preston had originally planned, he left as soon as his meetings were finished, much to the relief of Georgina. In fact, the dog sitter recommended by the vet showed up not long after Preston left and Georgina was on her way to the airport. Once her flight landed, she took a taxi to the address Daniel had given her and punched in the key code.

Inside, Georgina figured she could have been inside of a model home, nothing really stood out to indicate that he apart from anyone else lived there. Then again, she felt like the same could have been said for her apartment save for her textbooks all over the place. The only personal touches she saw were pictures of him with who she assumed to be his family but once she saw the pictures, it clicked in. Family was the most important thing to Daniel, everything else fell into place around them. Georgina smiled to herself as she continued to look around, in more ways than one, he was the polar opposite of Preston and that did nothing but reassured her that she had made the right decision.

When she found his bedroom, that had a more lived in look. The bed was straight, but not made, his closet door was open and while it was neat, it wasn’t compulsively so. On the nightstand there were two books, both in Danish, that had little pieces of paper acting as bookmarks. It wasn’t until she moved closer that she saw the picture frame sitting just behind the books. In the frame was a picture of Georgina standing in front of the Little Mermaid. The wind had blown her hair partially in her face and she was laughing as she brushed it away. Picking the picture up, she smiled.

“I love that picture.”

Georgina turned around to see Daniel leaning against the door way. Gently placing the picture down, she avoided the temptation to crawl across the bed and instead practically skipped around it to get to him. Immediately, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself against him.

“I, um,” Daniel brushed her hair aside and rested his hand against the back of her neck as he returned Georgina’s embrace. “I missed you a lot more than I thought I would.”

Keeping her head against Daniel’s chest, Georgina just turned her head to the side and looked up at him.

“I knew I would miss you,” he smiled as he moved his hand to her cheek. “But I was starting to feel a little pathetic thinking I wish Georgie was here like all the time.”

With a grin that would make the Cheshire Cat proud, Georgina wrapped her arms around his neck and encouraged Daniel to lean in for a kiss. Temptation soon got the better of the both of them, Daniel backed Georgina up against the bed and took her hands in his. Kissing each of her wrists, he the raised her arms above her head and slipped her shirt off.

Georgina felt her cheeks grow warm as Daniel took a step back to look at her. It wasn’t as though she was self conscious of her body, she’d never had an issue wearing a bikini or changing in the locker room, but before now no one had looked at her the way Daniel was. She was used to being scrutinized or ogled when she undressed in front of a romantic interest, but it was as if Daniel was trying to commit every inch of her body to memory.

Daniel moved to kiss her again before backing off so he was able to take his shirt off as well. Georgina took that opportunity to slip out of her pants and situate herself on his bed so that she was kneeling in front of him. Placing his hands on her hips, Daniel moved closer and began to kiss her again when they heard the sound of Georgina’s phone ringing from the pocket of her pants.

“Ignore it.” Georgina hooked her fingers through the belt loops on his pants and pulled him closer, commanding Daniel’s attention.

Stepping back, Daniel pulled his shirt over his head when her phone rang again. With a smirk, he nodded in the direction of the ringing. “I think you’d better get that.”

Georgina pretended to pout before she went back to him for one last kiss. Fishing through her clothes, she found her phone and promptly rolled her eyes when she saw it was Preston.

“What do you want, Preston?” She didn’t even bother to hide her irritation.

Clearly surprised by her tone, Preston didn’t respond immediately. “Well…There’s a reception dinner for the firm coming up, I want you to go with me.”

“No.” Georgina covered her eyes with her hand before letting it fall to her side. “Absolutely not. We’re finished, I told you that already.”

“Come on, Georgina. I don’t feel like going through the whole story with everyone.”

By now, Daniel had sat down on the edge of his bed and put his shirt back on. Georgina stood next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’d better get used to it then.”

Before giving him any chance of a rebuttal, Georgina hung up the phone.

Daniel couldn’t help buy laugh. “You’ve got ice water in your veins, Georgie.”

“Sorry, but he needs to let go.” She frowned. “I can’t keep letting him pretend that we’re still together.”

Laughing again, he shook his head. “Don’t be sorry, I’m proud of you.”

“It’s just funny because Preston was like ‘oh, what would your father think’ and blah blah blah,” Georgina sat down next to Daniel now and leaned in to give him a kiss. “When in reality, my dad doesn’t care. He knows about us and the most he had to say about that was keep a low profile so it doesn’t impact your situation with the club.”

Instead of kissing her again, Daniel tilted his head to the side. “You’ve told your father about us?”

“Yeah, I told him about Odin and Thor so it only makes sense.” Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Was I not supposed to?”

Daniel smiled reassuredly. “No, no. That’s good. It’s just…that’s a big deal, right?”

“I love you, Danny, that’s something my father needs to know sooner or later.” Georgina shifted herself so that she was sitting astride his lap. “Now, are we going to get back to our previous activities before we were interrupted?”

Georgina laid curled up next to Daniel who was dozing in and out of sleep. It wasn’t until her stomach began to growl that Daniel even considered getting out of bed.

“Ok, if I don’t eat something soon-” Daniel began to speak but his own stomach interrupted him.

Placing her hand on hist stomach, she gave it a little rub. “So what are we getting? I hear there are good Indian take out places here.”

“Hate to disappoint,” Daniel stood and pulled his underwear back on, “But I got some salmon at the market today so we’re cooking.”

With a little laugh, Georgina raised an eyebrow. “Hate to disappoint, but I don’t cook. I don’t know how.”

“So, I’ll teach you then.” He tossed a favorite shirt of his to her as she stood as well. “Let’s go.”

They stood side by side as Georgina carefully sliced the lemons and chopped the leeks. If Daniel needed something, he would keep one hand on Georgina as he reached around her. Once the salmon was in to poach, she turned to him and smiled triumphantly.

“You know,” She placed her hands on his hips and let them sneak just under the waistband of his boxer briefs. “It’s like we’ve been together this entire time. I almost thought there might be an adjustment period, but I swear, it’s the same as when I left you in Copenhagen.”

Daniel bit his lip as he let his forehead rest against hers before leaning in to kiss her. “Surely that must mean something.”

“You do this thing,” Georgina placed a finger against his lips. “Where you bite your lower lip and it drives me crazy.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

With a smirk, she pulled him closer. “It just makes me want to kiss you.”

“I guess I should probably indulge you in that, then.” Daniel waited for Georgina to lean in closer before he placed a finger over his lips, separating the two of them. “But dinner first.”

#daniel agger #young & wild

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curiouskarenscapers2017 · 7 years ago

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Vol.11 June 2005

And so my last month dawned. Got a website called Global paws that I emailed to help me with Draco and what was to happen on the plane and in quarantine…I feel much better. Trying to swim through our governmental website just wanting information about importing a pet is a night mare. You get 10 papers on importing exotic animals to breeding them but no, bring your cat or dog into the country and here are the papers everybody refers to but you can’t find!!! Thnx!!

Anyway, we’ll see, the poor thing is going for all his shots and microchips and fixer uppers at once….hope he doesn’t hate me too much after that experience!!!! Shame!!

It’s pouring out side in the warmth of the Taiwan summer. So we have warm dirty rain instead of cold dirty rain. It does cool things off somewhat and makes it seem much cleaner.

We had our monthly , it seems now, “earth shudder” more than a “quake” really at about quarter past 12 at night on the 1st June. We’ve had very few lately….I’m not complaining!

Anyway, so the new teachers left again and I can’t understand how the management of this school can not see that they are doing something wrong!!!! It must be their existing foreigner’s fault that no new teachers want to stay…..hmmmm. What ever makes you sleep better at night!!!

So, the rain keeps pouring and the weeks fly by. It’s weekend and 1 week to payday!!! Also a week to go for the Dragon Boat festival! It’s starts at 8am on Saturday. So a good early start to our day…will have everything charged and ready!!! Received my mom’s package on Wednesday and handed out the bracelets we got made by my mom’s maid’s sister or something…everybody was going berserk about them and the kids started asking how much…..well let’s start a business, shall we? To think that this lady’s bracelets are being worn in Taiwan…how many people can say that? Ahhhhh the global village!

And so Draco’s fateful day arrived and I managed to get to see where the Vet was situated. Abby introduced me and I was immediately set at ease. I borrowed her scooter to go to Carrefour to get some monthly essentials like, yoghurt and butter and the usual. After about half an hour and getting to the till I realized I might just have too many things to pack on the scooter. Four big bags of heavy groceries, all liquids and things, and a pack of twelve toilet rolls….interesting. Now the test to see if I am a true Taiwanese begins…..all the years of my dad packing the trunk/boot of the car had finally paid off. On an area of about 1 square meter I packed two bags, tied to each other and the bag with all the eggs on top of them to keep them grounded to the floor and then the lighter bag on my lap with the toilet rolls between myself the bag and the handle bars. What a sight I must have been but then again, everybody looks like this here. I was a true Taiwanese!!!

I managed to get home in one piece with my toes curling under the two saddle bags on the floor to add support.

I collected poor unsuspecting Draco lying in front of the TV. “It’s time boy” I placed him in the carry cage and he was quite happy to be in it, having played up, over and around it everyday of his life. So when the door closed I think he was still ok with the idea. When the front door opened and the lift doors opened I think he felt differently. When the scooter motor started purring away I think he didn’t like the idea too much at all. He went all silent in the corner of the cage, as much as he could fill the corner of the cage as he occupied about half the cage already. The vet was excellent, spoke English well and had no problem telling us what I needed. We also asked for Draco to be “fixed” and Abby added her own version of “snip snip” to it to confirm what we wanted and the vet came up with his own word “castrated” we cringed and said rather used “neuter”, as this was for all animals. He just laughed and wrote it down with the word “fix” attached to it. He gave Draco his shot and we waited. After about 10 min or so, Draco was still way to wide awake, a few minutes later he was out for the count and all the stresses of hearing dogs bark and smelling new smells drifted away.

It was quick and painless. The vet, Mark, asked me into the operating room and he showed me the chip in Draco’s neck with a detector. It comes up with a 10 digit number. Cool! He got his vaccinations and rabies shots and everything! He had however to come back for the next three days for an antibiotic as he had some complications when “fixing” him. Poor thing!!! Never been out of the apartment save for three or so times down stairs in the garden and now, a scooter ride, injections, neutering, new people, noise, smells….I am way to into his shoes at this stage!!! I feel like a mother taking her kid to the doctor for the first time…hectic people!!!

Anyway, took him home and placed him on the bed. He looked like a party animal after a good Saturday night outing. His tongue stuck out, his eyes were squint and his head was bobbing around. I took a few discriminating photo’s…don’t tell him. After about 5 hours he could pick his head up and bob it from side to side to try and focus. After another few hours he could lift his front and drag his backside a bit. Later he could careen around corners and down the hall at a snails pace pausing from time to time to get his bearings. I wonder what goes through their minds when they are like this? The mind wants to go and move as he always does. Jump from one couch to another but the body ain’t goin no-where!!! It’s actually sooooo funny, but I wonder what is going to happen tomorrow when we have to go again!!! At least it’s only for an injection, nothing serious. Poor thing!!!!

Anyway, I returned the scooter to Abby, not before I decided to fill it up at a petrol station to say thanks. Do you think I could find a gas station ANYWHERE!!! With sooooo many scooters and cars…how could they possibly only have one gas station in all of Changhua!!! I went to where I remembered seeing one about 6 months ago. FINALLY found it and stopped at the pump. The service lady beckoned to me to go down the side of the station. I didn’t quite understand but followed to where she was pointing. A small, what looked like a drive thru side street lead me to behind the main station and pumps to a little miniature scooter world gas station. Too cute!!!! Little markings on the pavement to show where the scooter must drive to the pump etc. Shame!!! About 10 scooters arrived while the little service attendant helped me find the cap, which was under the seat, or rather inside the seat compartment. NT 100 / R20 filled the tank…I NEED to get one of these at home!!!! And with a cheerful toothy grin and wave goodbye I left the world of Lilliput feeling strangely satisfied!

Draco was fine the next day and could put one foot in front of the other without making it look like he had a few. I felt so bad putting him through this traveling again today to the vet, this time on the bicycle! Interesting. I dreamt about different ways of putting him in the basket and closing it etc. Eventually with his dog collar/brace on I placed him in the basket and left the cover, he filled the basket by half already. So, with my one hand holding him inside the basket and the other steering I started our journey to the vet at about 10am. He was relatively scared witless so he stayed in the bottom of the basket squashed in the corner. Every noise making him twitch. Shame!!! At one stage he made a leap for it but I grabbed him in mid air and pushed him back in the basket. After that he decided it was safer in the bottom and stayed their quite content. I sighed with relief. The vet was happy to see us and gave him his shots after trying to cut his nails a bit. Draco made it know that he hated this little procedure!! He tolerates it at home when I do it, but I think after the ordeal of getting here and the previous trauma of the previous day was enough to drive any cat over the edge. But it was done and he was alive!!!

The trip back home was much better, his initial reaction to be put back into the basket was legs straight kicking against the sides and straddling the basket….I nearly killed myself laughing! It was a cartoon moment! But once he was in, he settled and I didn’t even have to hold him down. He’ll live, tomorrow we do this all over again. Maybe a blessing in disguise so that he gets used to all the handling before he goes on his all time big trip home!!!!

The days went by with Draco and I cycling up to the vet and him now “punt in die wind” in the basket, smelling everything that his nose could smell. Eventually the paperwork done, and some more to come, and me still trying to get hold of the Cathay Pacific people to organise for him to go as cargo. Getting the run around and eventually contacting the right people…..who didn’t speak English. “Monica!!!” Once again she came to the rescue and spoke to the people as to what we needed what the costs involved were etc. Bit of a mission, I need to write it down and put it on the local website for anybody wanting to do this in the future!

A new teacher arrived today(Wednesday) and we were told that she was staying with Ryno and I, as of tonight. Kim nearly had a heart attack as they never said a word to her and her flat needed to be cleaned before somebody could move in. They usually take the new people to her flat, as she is the only one in it. A few weeks ago the landlord of that flat died and the daughter wants it for herself, so Kim will have to move into ours or ,when Judy gets another apartment, move into that. Bit of a mission. The contract Judy has(or rather had) with the landlord was that they have the apartment until end of August when Kim leaves, now that he died it suddenly doesn’t apply anymore and she must move out by the end of June…weird….you’d never get that in SA, a contract is a contract no matter who dies. As usual it’s a surprise and everybody gets caught off guard including the poor new teacher, Chantal from Canada Ontario.

The weeks are flying past! And the weekend of the Dragon boat Festival arrived. No working on Saturday, because it’s a holiday….wooooooooo! Lucky us!!! Anyway, the plan is to wake up at 6:00am, get the 7:00am bus to Lukang and meet up with Gina, a Chinese teacher at the school, at the bus station. She will take me to the harbour where the boat race starts at 8:00am. The batteries are charging!!!

Saturday morning dawned and I was up at 6am. Out of the flat by 6:30am and off to the bus station. I arrived about 15min later and got my return ticket to Lukang. The bus arrived about 8min early and I was one of 4 people on it, lovely!! Got to the bus station and saw that it had been demolished, I thought something was missing. I asked the bus driver to stop and asked him where’s the building. He just answered “mayo” meaning “no building” or “not have”. I got off there anyway as we all still thought it was there and arrangements had been made. So Melissa and her crew arrived after 7:45 and Gina came to pick me up with her scooter at about the same time. We lead the way while the car followed. We ventured into an industrial office park area, all open and green! The harbour wasn’t really a harbour as we know it, it was more and estuary or lagoon that rises and ebbs as the tides do. All gray and muddy. We arrived at the boat race location and my rowing day memories came flooding back.

Many marquees were erected and the teams were getting ready to participate in their different company colours and flags. Not quite what I had expected but exciting enough. I had a very traditional image in my mind of flags blowing in the wind with dragon designs and traditional Taiwanese outfits etc. Somewhere in Taiwan perhaps, but not today. We walked onto a floating jetty and took our places watching the start. The boats were dragons with the heads and tails adorning the front and back of the boat. About 12 guys rowed with short oars and a steering person manned the back end and the drummer manned the head, shouting his commands and beating a big red drum as they went. The steering man reminded me of a gondola driver, about to burst into “O solo mio”. One team’s commanding crew looked like two taxi drivers, one tall and skinny with his “Chips” glasses on and the other with a wrap around black pair of sunglasses.

The foreigners had entered a boat and apparently there was a lot of Russians aboard and a few faces from the Maple Leaf greeted us. Apparently the girl team was to row at about 11am. Wish I had entered, I REALLY wanted to do this!!! The started shouted out his commands and the crew raised their oars a few centimetres above the water level. As the shot was fired they dug in and pulled to the rhythm of the drum beat. Too cool!!!

After about an hour and a half we left and went exploring. Our group now consisted of myself, Melissa her new roommate Liz from Ontario Canada, Trista, a Chinese teacher at their school who’s family lives in Lukang and Gina, our Chinese teacher at Sesame Street, who’s family also lives in Lukang. Trista had a lot of historic knowledge about Lukang and it was great to have a tour guide! We visited the old familiar sights and discovered new ones.

We arrived at the Matsu temple we always walk past in our regular route and noticed marquees up in the court in front of the temple. A long table was set up and ladies were preparing food that looked like pancakes. Like a church bazaar, I suppose it was a temple bazaar in a way. What had happened according to Trista’s enquiries is that somebody made a wish and it came true so the temple was now celebrating this by making food for everybody….for free! We got a sweet pancake and a savoury one. Amazing, imagine us doing that every time your prayers are answered…a thanks giving celebration.

At the entrance to the temple there was a set up in the main temple door. The litter, I told you about previously, that they carry the god in and shake around was mounted at a height that people could crawl underneath. So what happens is you make your wish, say your prayer in front of it, kneel down and crawl through under it, as you come out the other side, you get a plum and a peach, also a religious connotation to fruit, especially pineapples.

On the inside of the temple in their centre court, there is a table set out with lucky water set out for all to drink, again for free. On another table people place food, go into the temple pray and come out taking their food or donating it to people.

Another interesting thing we learned is that Matsu is their god of the people who travel the sea, fishermen etc. She has two helpers that are placed at the entrance to the prayer area on either side. One has the powers to hear exceptionally well and the other to see very far, so that when somebody is in trouble and calls out the one who hears well will tell Matsu and she will respond, the same goes for the one who can see people in trouble from far away. There is even a tiger god under her offering table that look after the children.

In the prayer hall there are two kneeling pillows and there are half moon shaped wooden blocks on the offering table in front of them. The blocks fit into your palm. You place them flat sides facing to make a little banana shape in your hand. You ask Matsu a question about anything that is troubling you and throw the blocks on the ground. If they fall a certain way then it means yes, if the fall the opposite way it means no. Somewhat like an eight ball you shake and it says, “maybe”.

We actually went into the Matsu temple like before but then we went in further along the side and found a whole touristy section behind it! A wishing well with the most amazing little tortoises that multiplied as you looked carefully between the identical rocks. You have to through a one dollar coin into the dragon’s mouth for your wish to come true. This is where your coinage and drinking games come in handy!

There is also a specific way you walked through a temple. You start at the right side and move out through to the left. As you go right the dragon gives you luck and as you go out the left the tiger gives you strength, wisdom etc. Up the stairs we came into a room with a “Christmas tree-looking” stand, with thousands of small lights shining from small indents with a little golden figure in it. It looked just like a Christmas tree with fairy lights. Each little compartment on the tree had a name and number on it and we found out that each year people come to the temple and paid a fee for the year to book a space. With this ritual they ensure a prosperous and lucky year ahead, good marks in your tests at school, good business year etc. Every end of the year the tree is cleared and new names get inserted. There wasn’t just the one tree, they were along the walls and there were about four or so trees with literally thousands of lights on them. Amazing how different religions work. They had stunning wood work on the roof of one such section with the dragon and the phoenix battling dawn and dusk, beginning and end. Small hexagonally folded papers were in a small wooden box and this is supposed to be placed in a little Chinese material bag the size of a matchbox around your neck to ward of evil during the festive time. It is supposed to contain a ghost that fights the evil spirits trying to enter your soul. Okay!!!!!

We explored out side and went down an alley we had never gone down before and a whole new shopping lane with the most amazing doors and entrances to houses lined the street. Traditional food, shoes, clothes and brick’a’brack were sold everywhere! Such a stunning feeling in these walk ways. Old but with a hint of new as the shops produce their electronic wears as well as old traditional. A lady was sitting in one bend with a “zippy zither” as I called it. I had one when I was little and loved it. This one was the size of a piano and done in a stunning red wood with inlaid mother of pearl designs at her feet and on it’s legs. Beautiful!

We had lunch and oysters, fried and cooked and prawn chow fan etc. for about R15 each. Drank a fantastic cup of fresh watermelon juice! And shopped for gifts. The day flew by and the next thing we know it was 2 o’clock. We wanted to go and explore the Sea shell temple. So off Trista took us and we found it in a quiet section of the town between the rice paddies. The odd looking building is totally made from sea shells and by one man! The story goes that he had a dream once from Matsu and she told him to make a temple of sea shells, he dismissed it and for a long time to come he dreamt the same dream until one day he decided to do it. He’s still busy! The most amazing sight to see. The walls, stairs, lights, ornaments and everything else is made from sea shells. Amazing! The time and effort it must take to make only one wall is beyond me. He had made a the temple as the ocean to house the god. There are amazing dragons he made, their beards from coral and seaweed and eyes of a stone that looks alive, the scales of the dragon are all different coloured shells individually placed to cover the dragon…simply amazing! He should be in the Guinness Book of records for “the most sea shells in one place”….even the sea can’t compete! You walk through the temple to get to the back and in the process you walk down a corridor that is adorned on both sides with images of phoenixes and dragons. At the back of the building he has a business of selling sea shells as well and light fittings of sea shells etc. As you enter the shop section three massive replicas of temples surprise you. All made from shells with such depth and detail, you just want to go inside and walk around!

Outside you walk into an area where they have fish in tanks, 5 potbellied pigs and 3 crocodiles in the apartment next to them. One tank had barble in it, I was still looking at the small section on the things tail thinking it was the fish until he moved and I had to rearrange my vision measurement in my brain. It was a huge thing of about 5 foot something!!! There were about three basking in the shallow water…..now I know what lurks in Hartebeespoort dam!

Gina had to go home earlier and met us again at the temple with rice dumplings for all. These are not dumplings as such but they call them that. It is sticky rice with beef or pork, chestnuts and egg mixed together and placed inside two bamboo leaves and cooked/steamed. Very tasty and filling although only about two hands full.

We ended our day by going for a drink at a coffee shop and lazing around chatting until about 5 pm or so. Got home and Gina invited us to go see a movie. At first no one had the energy but later we decided to fill the day properly and saw Mr and Mrs Smith! Too cool!! In all of this I had forgotten that I had taken the bus to Lukang and had not used my return ticket, which was not the problem. I also forgot that my bicycle was at the bus station waiting for me to return. So the next day as we planned to go to breakfast at our usual breakfast nook, I suddenly couldn’t find my bicycle and thought somebody had moved it. Then it dawned on me it’s still at the bus station. We had our breakfast and the heavens opened. We sat and chatted until about and hour and a half before venturing back to the apartment. Melissa waned to show Liz some shopping in Changhua and I wanted to go to the internet café, and I had to go fetch my bike at the bus station all the way up the road. Walked up, said good-bye to the girls half way and continued my brisk walking pace. Once again a blessing in disguise, all this exercise! It poured and luckily I had my raincoat in my backpack. Lost another kg sweating the next km in the wet heat and finally got to the bus station where old faithful was waiting for me….amazing country this! Cycle back to the internet café and just parked my bike and connected when the heavens opened and it poured for about an hour. Nearly two hours later at 6pm I went home and started organising photo’s etc. I took 104 photo’s in Lukang….amazing this new digital technology….I would have had to be a millionaire in the old days if I took photo’s the same way!

Only a few more weeks left!! And the heavens opened and the earth was soaked! As soon as you think the sun is forcing it’s way through the clouds to dry the land below it gets knocked out of the way by the cloud bully and the tears flow! The river got a life of it’s own and I couldn’t sleep last night in case I missed a flood! I was getting up every half hour in the pouring to check the level of it, it was rising and the ferns and plants on the sides were submerged….the poor river, only when there are typhoons and torrential rains does it become alive before diminishing into an oily, soapy slick trickle, discoloured and dead.

Our ESL program at school is coming to an end for the kids and final exams are all over the place making life easier preparation wise but more work marking wise. They end off on the 30th July for their summer break of a month. Then they come back at different times during this summer break for more classes…this time a bit more fun based classes. Shame…what about no classes over the holidays???? Their school year books are amazing compared to ours and money has been spent to make it memorable for the kids.

The girls, Kim, Abby and Teri have been practicing their dancing in a group for a promotional dancing session this weekend for a friends club opening. Very exciting but this weather!!! Since our Green Island trip they danced for us and soon attracted a crowd and from this interest the group began and they decided to do it a bit professionally. Too cute!! The outfits and the accessories make it!!!! They were stressed out but happy when I was asked to criticize one week day of practicing. They did great and with a few minor comments practiced the night away.

The weekend arrived and the preparations for the show started. A frantic call at about and hour before the show asking for the camera woman and booze, confirmed everything was going as planned. The weather held and it was actually quite pleasant out. Myself, Ryno and Chantal (the new room mate) walked up to the train station where the show was to be held. They have a performance area opposite the station where all their town activities take place. Some school kids gathered as we walked past to meet them where they were being made up and hair done. We walked into a café called Dream Café and found them upstairs like three models being fussed over. At times having two people doing their hair and a third the make up.

It was fun and exciting and we got them into the spirit so that not too much stress was building. We went down to the performance area and waited for their entrance. They arrived to do the Cumbia and everybody cheered for them as they performed. Gina and Monica and her sister arrived to support the cause. It was great fun. They did extremely well and can now say they performed professionally in front of a Taiwanese crowd in Taiwan! Who can say that!!! The disappeared after to get ready for the next act and we all met new people and chatted for a while. The reappeared in their new outfits and performed the Merenge. All flashy and well executed. After that Kim invited whoever for a Salsa lesson on stage to fill time. The next act was the Mayor handing over the money collected to two charities. And that was the end of that. We waited for them again as they collected all their stuff and got make upped some more as practice for the hair and make up people and ended up going to Abby and Teri’s apartment for some after performance drinks. We got psyched up for a party and all forced me with! We went to Taichung where Ryno’s friend Andrew had invited us to join them at Tiger City where there had been a fashion show and the after party was raging. We arrived and entered the Moet champagne lounge. Too cool!! All foreigners and most looking very arty farty and a tad conceited. It felt like I was back in Jo’burg! Shame, not all, just some of them. The outfits and hair! Very entertaining. We had a great time as usual and was dancing until around 2am. We all got hungry and got a taxi to the Soundgarden…opposite the Pig Pen..our other old time favourite. We got disappointed as their pizza kitchen closed and we decided to go home. We got a sausage and rice outside in the street from a vendor and that hit the spot as we were driven back home. Got home and crashed at about 3:45am. Need less to say I woke up around 2pm. I’m too old for this!!! Have I said this before????

I went to the interne café to email my dad happy father’s day and email my mom to say happy birthday and we’ll have another party on my return in exactly a month’s time today!!! Cool hey!!! It’s time!! Got home just in time for the Rugby, had my blood pressure go through the roof as the French tackled the Springboks and the game end in a tie! Then Ryno and I took a walk up to the cinema’s to watch Batman….tooooooo cooooooll!! One for the DVD collection that’s for sure!! Next is War of the Worlds.

On the Monday I finally plucked up the courage to go to my swimming for the last time. I suddenly started to feel the emotions get hold of me as I cycled to the spa and saw the people there. As I left, after getting them to take photo’s etc. and the owner coming to speak to me and saying they will be very sad to see me go, I suddenly started seeing things as if it’s for the last time…which it was. Walking in slow motion into the steam room or sinking into the aromatic spa or relaxing in the bubble chair. This is it, the feeling you will have one day knowing it’s the end…….all seems better more beautiful and I wondered if I should stay another year……….hmmmmmm no thank you….I have people waiting for me! Things to do, places to see and people to meet….thanks but no thanks!

At school later that day I arrived on the school scooter after being at the other branch and I was immediately reminded of Mads. What do you think made me stop in my tracks and take a photo? Well maybe I should start with an introduction to her, she bought a cow print bikini a while back and came to love it! I just thought this would match it beautifully……a scooter painted in cow print! To die for doll!

The weather picked up a bit and we had beautiful bright blue skies dappled with fluffy white clouds…..a rare sight…believe me. Much like London weather, except for the rainy sky we have the foggy or rather smoggy sky. The rain cleaned it out a bit and the wind has picked up the last week and cleared the air a bit. I decided, the help of my mother, against bringing my faithful mountain bike back home. I don’t know what it is with me and transportation! I get very sentimental about anything that has faithfully transported me to my work or play through out my life! I can foresee a tearful departure!

The 2nd last week of the month has come to an end and I am in a lightly panicky mode as I am getting my things organised and hoping I don’t forget anything. I have to get to the post office at some stage to send my boxes home on the two month surface mail boat and am still waiting for the cargo company to get back to me with regards to Draco’s transportation. I have a quote already but just wanted a second one in case I could bring the price down a bit. Not too bad as it is. We still have to make our trip to Taichung within 10 days of departing Taiwan. I received his permit papers from SA and sighed a sigh of relief as that was now done and he was a legal immigrant.

Time is flying past and I got my Chinese shirt I had made. I bought the material at a corner shop with some stunning designs and colour but when I saw the turquoise and silver Chinese material I had to have it. I asked the guy for some African designs for my mom but they had very little and what they had was only an animal skin print. I asked him where I could get a shirt made and he took me around the corner to a connection of him. A family business by the looks of it. And old gentleman and a young guy. Probably father and son. He measured me up, made some suggestions in broken English and I decided on a design. It would be ready in about a week he said and I was back at the assigned time, soaked to the bone as this was the time the heavens opened! They weren’t ready yet and was putting on the final touches. It was beautiful! I decided not to rush them as he was displaying an amazing talent for stitching a hem….with his hand!! This is an astonishing accomplishment for me though, because I believe in machine work or iron on solutions……thank goodness they don’t and workmanship means everything to them in this country. I returned the next evening at about 9pm and found him on his own busy with the next project. My shirt was hanging in the window. What a stunning shirt it is! He lined it with a lavender and silver binding and frogs(Chinese ties) of the same colour. It picked up the small flower design of the same colour so beautifully. I tried it on and everything fitted perfectly. He was amazing, no adjustments needed and no mistakes made. Perfect!

I decided I will wear it to the kindergarten graduation on my final day of school in Taiwan. I showed the shirt to the girls at school the week after and they immediately wanted me to don the garment for inspection. I agreed and “voila” they all exclaimed how stunning it looked. “You look so thin in it.” Was one comment I truly relished and decided that from now on I will be wearing this shirt every day! Naaahhh…but it’s a good sign that the design works for me…I’ll get similar ones made one day!

We went to see Batman and I was in heaven. It was stunning. Great movie and realistically made so that each physical feat is logically explained, not too super heroish. Father’s day passed and my mom’s birthday arrived and I was down in the dumps thinking about not being there. They phoned, I felt better and promised to have a party in a months time!!!

“All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go….” Sing with me “I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again……” probably never but I’ll never forget the people or this country, my faith in the human race has been restored and expanded to incorporate another race all together. The words of a numerologist that read my details probably 11 years ago at my first cell phone job in Jo’burg, still stuck in the back of my mind……”you will be a friend of the world…” interesting isn’t it?

So Saturday afternoon I went off to the Vet to get Draco’s papers for SA filled in and stamped and ready to take to Taichung within our 10 dyas of travelling and we got home just in time for getting ready for the rugby between SA and France (2nd match). Ryno suggested we go to Flamingo’s because they have Supersport on TV there and we went. Met Stacy(ex-teacher) and her SA boyfriend Douw and then the supporters streamed in wearing their SA jerseys. The pub that usually shows the games in Taichung was closed so they all got taxi’s to come and watch it out here. Like people coming from Durban to Toti to watch the game. An extraordinary feeling of camaraderie was on display as we cheered and shouted our comments on the match to the many TV’s all around. It was great! The best way to watch a game like this! Excited supporters cursed at the ref a few times and as we near the try line the roar was deafening and the beers were downed in celebration. We won and had a last round at about 11:30pm. We eventually left and went for a quick last last round at The New York bar…Melissa and I couldn’t find this place before but Ryno showed me the way and we chatted about our past travelling and again next year…hmmm Scandanavia and Norway will be the destinations, I think. We walked back at about 1:00am and I had a good sleep until about 9:30am when our next expedition was planned and executed.

So I escorted the new teacher Tanya that was leaving the Monday, to the morning market and popular street. We walked for over 5 hours. Started around 11am and ended around 5pm. Good exercise and good company. She had no problem finding clothes etc. She’s as small as they are and everything fits her perfectly. I saw the most amazing clothes for everybody today and it will probably not be there when I go back to buy it. The clothes are soo cheap ….a stunning shirt that would probably cost in the range of R100 – R200 will cost you R50 – R80 here. Really excellent export opportunity! Especially there shoes…you’ll have to cater for the 3 – 6 size, some up to 8 but seldom, at a third of the price at home. You can look like a Sandton coo-girl for R100! Designer wear and all! Let’s….

So our outing just re-connected my dulled senses with regards to my environment and I enjoyed myself as if it was the first time I went exploring. Great fun.

My plans to go to Chiayi with Melissa up the Alishan mountains fell through due to lack of funds with regards to the ever growing fight between gifts and pleasure. Gifts won and I was shopping like crazy, getting everything done.

The day was scorching and over 38degrees. In our apartment with the fan on it was 32…..lovely…Durban in Summer…aaahhh yes. SO suddenly I realised I had just over two weeks left before going home and the depression set in. Thinking about seeing some of the kids for the last time in your entire life! Seeing teachers or other people for the last time ever, was quite depressing and the stress of hoping alls well with all my paperwork for Draco just accumulated in my gaining another few grey hairs and many hours of lost sleep.

Taiwan Times Vol 11 Vol.11 June 2005 And so my last month dawned. Got a website called Global paws that I emailed to help me with Draco and what was to happen on the plane and in quarantine…I feel much better.

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