#Everyone is gone and everyone is dying y'know?

[vio1315]

It is not in vain x50

[fxllfaiiry]

─ callin' it quits now, baby, I'm a wreck ੈ✩‧₊˚

✶ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

✶ synopsis: the aftermath of the argument with miguel.

✶ warnings: angst, hurt with comfort, occ miguel (for one scene only dw), shitty humour, one or two swear words, reader being slightly mean, mentions of death.

✶ notes: part two of "you're the sunflower" this part was originally 8k words long and i was like nope, so i had to cut it down, I'm sorry. I really hope this isn't bad ‼️

At first, you didn't quit the team. 

After the blow-up with Miguel, you thought about leaving the team for good, but yet you decided to show up, hanging around for a bit before quickly leaving. 

But slowly you stopped showing up altogether. The looks of pity were too much for you to handle, and frankly, you deserve an apology, you deserved better.

Every day was torture, and seeing Miguel only made it worse. No one thought this whole ordeal would go this far. 

Everyone noticed the changes, you were more serious, and your usual sunshine self was gone at this point. Everyone noticed the day you stopped coming in. 

You felt so lonely, sure, you had friends in your universe but yet, nothing felt the same. You sometimes wondered if they missed you or not. 

It had only been a few weeks and yet it felt like months. 

A part of you secretly hoped someone from the team would show up at your doorstep pleading for you to come back, but nothing. 

"You'll get used to it eventually" You'd tell yourself. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It had been two whole months since you left. Nothing felt the same without you. 

"Does anyone else miss Sunflower?" Gwen said sadly. She missed your hugs, and your little girl talks with her, she missed everything about you.  

"We all miss her, kid," Peter sighed. Without you, he had no one to talk to about Mayday. 

"I hope she comes back soon," Miles said. 

"I think she just wants space right now," Pavitr replied.  

"This is all Miguel's fault y'know?" Hobie added bitterly, how dare Miguel take his friend away from him. 

"Someone should talk to him, maybe if he apologizes, she'll come back." Miles was hopeful, he knew you'd come back eventually. 

"Sure, kid. As if Miguel ever listens." 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Miguel on the other hand was depressed. 

He'd gotten used to your presence and it felt odd without you.

He felt horrible about yelling at you but he was scared. The thought of you dying terrified him, and his way of dealing with that wasn't the best. 

He thought about apologizing many times, but he didn't know how to. The last thing he wanted was to cause more damage. 

"You know a simple "sorry" could fix this all right?" Lyla said, breaking him out of his trance. 

"It's not that easy, Lyla." He sounded so broken to his own ears. 

"Well, you gotta try, Boss." 

"Sunflower used to call me that." 

"You're joking, right? Wow, you really are pathetic." Lyla snorted. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Dude, you're in love with her. You are absolutely smitten." 

"Lyla, that's enough-" 

"No, you love her and that's why it's bothering you so much." 

"I don't-" 

"Nah, Lyla's right, you do love her." He turned around to see Jess standing in his office. 

"Jess, not you too, and where did you come from?" Miguel groaned, he did not love you. 

"The door…? Anyways, just try to fix things, the first step is you apologizing." Jess stated matter-of-factly. 

Miguel thought about it for a minute, these last few weeks had been pure torture for him, Jess was right, the first step is apologizing.

"Fine, I'll do it first thing tomorrow, but I don't love her." 

"Sure, whatever you say, man." Jess snickered. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You got somewhat used to your new life. It was the same old plain routine every day. You tried to throw yourself into other things. Finding new hobbies, jobs, literally anything. 

But eventually, it all started to feel okay.

Things were finally starting to look good for you. 

You thought about the spider society way less and finally started living your life to the fullest. 

You were moving on. 

Crime fighting was easy today. You got to hang out with your friends and an old lady gave you a cheerio, which is something. 

You swung around the city for a bit, enjoying the view and temporary peace. 

Soon it was time for you to head back home. You climbed in through your bedroom window and quickly changed out of your suit, slipping into more comfortable clothing.  

When you went downstairs to get some food, you weren't expecting to see Miguel O'Hara sitting on your couch. 

"Holy shit, what are you doing here?" You scared him, because he jumped violently at the sound of your voice. 

"I was here t-"

"Humiliate me further? Because I thought we were done with that." You felt bad saying that, but he deserved it. 

"No, I'm here to apologize." He looked down, ashamed. 

"It's a bit late for that, isn't it?" You chuckled bitterly, walking past him into the kitchen. 

"Just listen to me for a second." 

"I thought I was incapable of doing that." You muttered to yourself. 

He got up and strode towards you, but he received no acknowledgment of his presence. 

"I'm sorry for yelling at you in front of everyone; it was wrong and I shouldn't have acted so immaturely." 

"Uh-huh, it's fine. You can leave now, the door's right there." You weren't buying his ridiculous apology. Even a five-year-old could do better. 

"I understand you're mad, but please give me a chance." That was pretty much the last straw for you.

"I'm mad? You humiliated me in front of everyone! You made me feel like shit, you made me think I don't belong on the team! You're an asshole." You were screaming at him, taking out all the anger and sadness you felt in the past two months.

"I'm sorry." He sounded so small, so vulnerable, and for the second time in his life, he didn't know what to do. 

"The best you can say is I'm sorry? At least give me a proper explanation." You scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

"I'm in love with you." What? 

"Right, if you're here to joke around and mock me just leave okay."  You open up to him and he mocks you in return. Amazing.

"I'm being serious. I'm not mocking you or joking around, I'm in love with you. You want an explanation, so I'm giving you one." He breathed, looking at you hoping to receive some reaction. All he got was a small head tilt which he took as a sign to continue. 

"The reason I yelled at you was because I was scared. I thought you were going to die and that terrified me, I've lost everything, and I don't want to lose you too. I didn't know how to handle it, so I lashed out. I truly am sorry, Sunflower." You froze trying to process everything, was he telling the truth? 

"Lyla and Jess helped me realize my true feelings for you." He whispered. 

When you said nothing for a few minutes he started to get scared, he was ready to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to. 

"Can you… say something? Please?"

"I can't forgive you just yet." He would never admit to what happened next but he started sobbing. All this was too much, being vulnerable was an unknown feeling to him. 

"Woah, wait hey, don't cry. Let me-" Before you could finish your sentence he fell to his knees, arms clutching your waist like a lifeline. 

You were beyond confused, you thought this whole interaction was some sort of weird dream. Miguel O'Hara down on his knees, for you? Wow, two months ago you would've scoffed and rolled your eyes at that. 

Nonetheless, you ran your fingers through his hair trying to soothe him. 

"Miguel, honey, listen to me. Just because I'm not ready to forgive you now, doesn't mean I never will." His face was still squished against your midriff, and his breathing was slowly returning to normal, with a few sniffs here and there. 

"So, you'll come back?" Seeing him in such a state broke your heart, you were still upset with him but were willing to give him a chance. 

"Yes, I'll come back tomorrow." At that, he smiled properly for the first time in weeks. 

He stayed there for a few moments, letting you comb through his hair gently, he would cherish this brief moment forever. 

"I should get going then. The multiverse needs saving." He said hoarsely, standing up, he was slightly embarrassed by this side of him. 

"Maybe use the door this time." He lightly chuckled at your statement, the warm feeling took over him once again.

Miguel did not want to leave, he wanted to stay here with you, but he knew that wasn't an option right now.

Before he left he had to get one last thing off his chest.

"Could you, not tel-" 

"Tell anyone about this? Don't worry, this stays between us only." 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Everyone was surprised to see you back the next day. 

The second you walked in, everyone was all over you, hugging you and filling you in on everything you missed. It felt good to be back. 

"I'm so happy you're back," Gwen whispered, hugging you tightly. 

"I'm happy to be back, Gwendy. I missed you guys so much." 

"Hey quit hogging Sunflower, it's my turn to hug her now." Miles huffed impatiently. 

"Me next!" Pavitr bounced enthusiastically. 

"Hey, not cool. I called dibs, man." Hobie groaned. 

"Hey, Sunflower, I have some new pictures of Mayday to show you." Everyone was so excited to see you again, it was chaotic, but it felt like home. They were your family. 

Miguel watched the scene from afar with a smile, he was glad everything was okay now. 

"So you fixed things up with her, huh?" Jess said, popping up behind him, once again taking him by surprise. 

"¡Ay, coño! Jess, stop doing that." 

"Sorry, not my fault you don't have a spidy sense." Jess hummed. "So, how did you get her to forgive you?" 

"I have my ways." 

"You got down on your knees and begged her, didn't you?"

"How did you know?" Miguel whisper-yelled. That was supposed to be a secret. 

"I have my ways." Jess winked. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── 

In a few weeks, everything was back to normal, you were back to your old self again. 

Except for the fact that you and Miguel were now closer than ever. That was new. 

You were always by his side, sticking close to him and he felt comfortable around you, always relaxed in your presence. 

He wasn't sure if you forgave him just yet, but he was willing to wait for as long as you needed. 

He did small things to show you he cared, sometimes it was bringing you coffee, other times it was giving you your favorite flowers. 

You knew he was sorry, and in your heart, you forgave him a long time back. 

So, you finally decided to tell him. 

You guys were in his office having lunch, he didn't like to eat out in the cafeteria. You both would usually sit in silence enjoying each other's company. 

"Hey, Miguel." 

"Hm?" 

"I forgive you." 

He raised his eyebrows in confusion taking a moment to realise what you meant. When he finally got it, his eyes widened almost comically. 

"Oh, you do?" He was trying to hide his smile but failed horribly. 

"I forgave you a long time back, but I just… needed some time." You nodded.  

"I understand that. Thank you for giving me another chance." 

"Actually, to forgive you fully, I want one thing from you." You declared, confidently. 

"I'll do anything, Sunflower." He'd indeed do anything for you. 

"I want you to go out on a date with me." 

His brain stopped working. You were asking him out on a date. 

"Miguel? Is that a yes or no?" You grew nervous at his lack of response. Did you cross boundaries? You thought he liked you. 

"I would love to." You quickly beamed at his response, after months of waiting it was finally happening. 

"So, how about tomorrow, at 7?" You giggled. 

"Sounds perfect." He sighed, softly smiling. 

He couldn't wait for tomorrow. 

[itadorey]

[𝟒:𝟑𝟒 𝐩.𝐦.] 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

notes: angst -> fluff, bittersweet, hopeful ending i swear, gn reader, ~650 words

you're like a sunburn, gojo thinks.

sure, sunburns hurt and they can be unpleasant at times, but they remind him of sweeter and easier times; of days spent exploring and swimming and discovering all the things that tokyo has to offer.

even though those days are long gone, dead and buried under the harsh realities of the world that you've all learned to live with as jujutsu sorcerers, gojo can't help but think about how lucky he is that you're still around. it doesn't matter that things have ended between the two of you, he can't help but gravitate towards you whenever you're around, always craving the warmth and safety that you've always seemed to provide him.

and either way, the break up had been mutual, everyone knew that. it just hadn't been the right time for you.

maybe it's selfish of gojo to linger around you even after the two of you have ended things, but he knows that he doesn't have the strength to both stay away from you or isolate you from your shared friend group.

"you really shouldn't keep doing this, y'know?" shoko says tiredly, sidling up to him when she notices the longing look that gojo's been sending your way. the blue-eyed sorcerer turns to his friend, mildly shocked at the fact that he's been caught in the act. "you'll only keep hurting them. and yourself."

"they're the one who keeps hanging out with you," gojo mumbles petulantly, choosing not to mention the fact that he insists on tagging along every time he hears about you making plans with his friends. shoko scoffs lightly, rolling her eyes before walking over to you. the smile you give shoko makes gojo's heart skip a beat, and he finds himself staring intently at you as you happily chat away with shoko.

there's a brief moment in which you spare a glance towards gojo, your eyes softening the slightest bit when you make eye contact with him. there's a part of gojo that's fairly certain that if he were to get on his knees and ask, you would take him back in a heartbeat. but he can't do that to you, not when he's too busy shouldering the weight of almost every single problem the jujutsu world has to offer.

it wouldn't be a fair relationship, gojo tells himself. besides, he gets sent on so many dangerous missions that he's always running the risk of dying, and he's not selfish enough to make you go through the process of worrying about him each time. even though he's pretty confident in his abilities as a special grade sorcerer, there's always the chance of something going wrong, and he doesn't think he can ever forgive himself if his selfishness ends in him leaving you heartbroken.

he watches as shoko leans in to whisper something into your ear, and he feels his cheeks heat up when you look over to meet his gaze on purpose this time, your lips curling up into the prettiest smile gojo has ever seen in the process. you tilt your head to the side when doesn't react, and he barely manages to compose himself by the time you wave him over.

there's no words to be spoken as he approaches his friends, and he wordlessly moves to take the spot next to nanami before shoko is pulling him and making him sit in between you and her. the conversation continues as you hand gojo a bottle of his favorite drink— non alcoholic because of course you know he hates that stuff— and he does his best to repress the shiver that threatens to run down his spine as your fingers brush against his.

he whispers his thanks, and when you give him a bashful smile in return, gojo finds himself thinking that maybe he can be selfish. at least, just this once.

reblogs are appreciated <3 ty for reading !!

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Break it first

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 2

Prompt: Came back wrong

Rated: M

CW: Mind control/brainwashing; Possessive behavior; Referenced character death; Aftermath of trauma; Aftermath of injury; Kidnapping

Tags: Kas!Eddie Munson; Dark Eddie Munson

Notes: So, I already had a fill for this prompt, but then @house-of-the-moving-image showed me this stunning piece of art and my brain broke like Steve's. We both have a bunch of other fills coming up for this challenge, quite a few of them collabs, and I'm so, so stoked to share!!! ❤️

He still remembers how fragile Steve looked. 

They were in the boat house, Steve and Eddie. The others had gone out for supplies, but Steve had insisted on hanging back. Eddie hadn’t protested, even though the thought made his heart rabbit. 

The second they were alone, Steve let himself slide down the wall and curled into a ball on the floor, face hidden between hunched knees, shaking hands clawing at his own temples. 

“Hey, man!” Eddie jumped in alarm. “You okay?” 

Steve took a while to reply. 

“Fine,” he claimed, but his smile was a tense thing in a too-pale face. “Just headaches. Been getting them a lot. Robin thinks it's 'cause I got knocked around a few times too many." 

Eddie quirked an eyebrow, pulled a strand of hair in front of his face. "That … happen often in your line of business?" 

And Steve told him. 

About fighting monsters with nothing but a nail bat. About Billy Hargrove. About Russian torture chambers and the headaches and the nightmares and the ringing in his right ear that never really went away. He looked so young, so beautiful, so broken. Eddie wanted to scoop him up and put him back together and hold him close so that nothing would ever hurt him again. 

But he didn't. 

Instead, he watched. 

Watched how Steve squared his shoulders and put on a brave face for the kids. Watched as Steve threw himself to the front lines so that others wouldn’t have to. Watched as Steve got choked and torn apart, that golden skin painted in new scars, and told everyone not to worry, he was fine.

Eddie watched and Eddie didn't do a thing. 

Because Eddie was weak. 

Eddie was a coward.

It's a good thing he's dead. 

*

Steve is still the one to throw himself into danger first. That's good. It makes it easy to catch him alone. 

"You still have the scar on your neck …" 

A flick of his wrist and the bats scatter into the clouds. Steve curses, scrambles to his knees, gropes for his fallen weapon- and freezes as he cradles his face in both hands, tilting his head up. 

"... Eddie?" 

"Not quite," he hums, sharp claws carding through soft hair. "I have his body and his memories, that's all. The name's Kas. I've been dying to meet you, sweet thing." 

Those caramel eyes go wide. Steve tenses under his hands, tries to scramble away. That's okay, to be expected. He tightens his grip. Steve gasps as the vines on the ground wrap around his wrists and ankles. 

"What are you-?" 

"Sssh…" he brings their foreheads together, softly, slowly. Lets his mind wiggle inside the boy's, just a sliver at first, so he won't notice. Finds a crack, fine as a hairline, slips inside. Waits. "He was so in love with you, y'know that? It ate him alive, watching you sacrifice yourself over and over again. Seeing you suffer. Being unable to help, being unable to fix it." 

Steve's mind flutters like a frightened bird as he encases it with his, gently, carefully. His arms twitch in their restraints, trying to break free.

He smiles. Always the fighter, his sweet boy.

"Dont worry," he coos. “I’ve got it all figured out now sweetheart. I’ll fix everything, promise." 

"Eddie, wait-" Steve's mind flails. Realizes it's trapped, panicks, tries to break free- 

And he pounces. 

Steve struggles, briefly, but he doesn’t stand the ghost of a chance. He's human, and humans are weak. All it takes is a little pressure, and the tiny crack opens wide, welcoming him in. 

Steve screams.

"I know, sweet thing, I know," he coos, curls himself around the boy's spasming body as he digs in deeper. "It'll only hurt for a moment. You'll feel so much better after."

He sees them now, the scars on that beautiful mind, the traces left by years and years of hurt. Sees how to fix them, sees what Eddie could never have seen. What Eddie was too soft, too cowardly to understand.

Sometimes, to fix something, you need to break it first. 

And he does.

Tears at the cracks of that mind until it comes apart at the seams, shatters the fragments into so many tiny shards, grinds what is left into fine, fine dust. Steve screams and sobs and begs him to stop until his voice breaks. By the time the dust is ready to be molded back into shape, he is silent, bar for the occasional whimper.

He tells the vines to release their hold, cradles the limp body against his chest. He hums softly and kisses the tears from under the boy's unblinking eyes while he completes his work. He takes his time. This needs to be perfect. 

"You with me, darling?" 

Steve hums against the crook of his neck, so softly he nearly misses it. 

When he looks down, those pretty eyes are blinking up at him, wide and wondrous like those of a newborn. 

He chuckles. It's true in a way. 

"Feeling all better?" he asks, claws softly tracing the shell of his boy's right ear. "Ringing should be gone?" 

Steve doesn’t reply, just slips his eyes shut and nuzzles closer, every movement slow and sluggish. 

He coos.

"Aw, sweetheart. You must be exhausted, that was a lot to take." He gently scratches at Steve's scalp, revels in the little sigh it gets him. "Don't worry. From now on, nothing's gonna hurt you ever again. I'll make sure of it." 

Steve stirs a little at the soft press of lips against his forehead. His lids flutter, but they don’t open.

"That's it, honey, you rest. Let's take you home now." 

By the time he has adjusted Steve's weight so that he can stand and start walking, his boy is fast asleep. 

All of my holiday drabbles

[they-call-me-emmy]

The Past is The Past 3

Part 1 and 2 on my account <3

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tara was faced with her 3 ghostface, and this time got so seriously injured she was in a coma. When she wakes up, she has no memory of the past 3 years...including you, her girlfriend.

Notes: Imagine this as our gals scream 7...since Jenna apparently quit and left me fucking DYING

Warnings: Uh, injury, violence, blood, our boy ghostyface with knives. Coma and memory loss if thats even a warning. Swearing. Uhm. Shitty 7th grade writing.

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

Tara pushed the food around her plate using her fork. She'd barely eaten a bite all dinner, busy glaring at Sam and avoiding any sort of eye contact with Y/N.

"So." Sam began, putting a hand to her mouth and pausing, to finish chewing. "Y/N. How's life been treating you? I haven't seen you around in a while."

There was a second of silence as Y/N finished her food.

"Fine." She stated, setting her fork down on her napkin. "Work's been rough, but nothing besides that."

Sam nodded. "You work at that bookstore, right? The one with the bunny in the window? I drive by it on my way to the grocery store."

Tara had no idea what they were talking about. She hadn't gone shopping since she'd come home. What bookstore? What bunny? It was like listening to people speaking nonsense.

"Yeah. That's the one. Shifts have been longer recently, we're low on staff."

Sam nodded, continuing to eat. Y/N cleared her throat.

"Tara," Tara startled from her daze at the sound of her name, in Y/N's voice no less. "Sam's been telling me your getting back into horror? Is that true?"

Tara glared at Sam.

"I've always been into horror."

Y/N nodded, pursing her lips, sensing the tension in the room. The need to just...not talk.

"I was-" Y/N cleared her throat and took a sip of water. "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to watch some of your favorites...y'know, the few we watched in the last year you really enjoyed? I wouldn't mind re-watching them with you."

Tara couldn't help but feel weird. She's watched movies with this girl. She'd watched horror movies. She'd watched horror movies and enjoyed them. With this girl? This girl she hardly knew now?

"Maybe."

Y/N nodded.

"I've been busy lately." Tara pushed a cooked carrot into her napkin. She didn't like those.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Tara, you've been sitting on your ass for the past week-"

Tara suddenly stood up. "I'm finished. I'm going to go wash the dishes." She took Sam and Y/N's plates and left without another word.

Tara knew they'd talk the moment she left. She hovered at the door, running the sink in the background so they'd think she was cleaning. Maybe they'd mention the big thing tonight. Maybe they'd say something that would finally help her understand her past.

"I'm sorry she's being an ass." Sam's voice was muffled through the kitchen door.

"It's fine. I wasn't expecting a heartwarming welcome. I mean, come on, I'm practically a stranger to her. And it's hard on her too, Sam. Remember she's struggling too."

Tara would have felt mad if anyone else had said this, as if they pitied her and felt sorry for her state of mind. But hearing those words, those words in Y/N's sweet voice...felt like reassurance that someone understand how she'd been struggling.

"I know...I'm trying to get her to...connect. Y'know? Re-enforce those bonds...god, you two were like peas in a pod. I can't imagine how long it'll take for that to be back, especially with her new...attitude." Sam sounded empathetic, but there was still a twinge of annoyance in her voice.

"I'm not expecting it to just click again...but I can wait. I'm assuming you haven't told her?" Y/N asked.

Tara could feel her heart beat a little faster. Was this it? Was she about to learn what this secret was that everyone seemed so desperate to avoid?

"No. I don't feel like it's the right time. I mean, you see the way she is. Putting that much more pressure on her is bound to do no good."

"You have to tell her at some point." Y/N said. "You and her would both prefer you telling her rather then her randomly learning one day, or even worse, getting a flash of memory from it. The doctor did say those happen, especially with traumatic experiences, at least in her case."

"I don't feel like now is the right time."

"Soon, Sam. Please. The girl deserves to know. This is important."

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

I'm a slut for comments people.

[payasita]

Speaking of fic stuff: The Lamb and Nari wake up one morning covered in bandages, surrounded by empty bottles. They have ZERO recollection of the night before. Now what?

He awakes to a taste like bile and rust, and with one hand wrapped in at least twenty layers of gauze.

Narinder takes a second to stare at it, wiggling immobile fingers and contemplating the mechanics of sitting up with a head somehow filled with both cotton and lead. He drops the hand and decides against it, rolling over and pulling a blanket over his head. The movement does absolutely heinous things to his stomach.

A slow minute passes before he realizes he is not under a blanket at all. It's comfortable regardless, so he cannot summon the effort to care. Far softer than anything yet available in the commune. The familiar scent doesn't hurt, warm and securely claimed with his own, and indeed does a good job in blocking out the currently unmanageable stench of the outside world.

Until it's nearly pulled away from him. He clutches onto it with a hiss, and instantly regrets moving so quickly.

"Oh good, you're alive." The Lamb gives it another tug. "Give me back my fleece."

Narinder vaguely remembers having lost a battle against them while at his full divine potential. He'd even had both hands available to him and everything. He cannot truly imagine the odds are with him now.

"Thank you," they huff when he unlatches his claws. He searches for something else to cover his face while they clothe themself. His skull appears to be imploding.

"I am dying," he declares. There's a few seconds of silence. Contemplation on the Lamb's end. Abject suffering on Narinder's.

"Nope. Not sensing it."

"Your competence with the Crown is dubious at best."

"You're not dying," they assure him, lightheartedly, "It just feels like it."

He groans, rolling over and hitting himself in the face with the large gauze lump in his attempt to throw his arm over his eyes. He snarls, and begins blindly picking at it with his free claw to find the edge.

The Lamb snorts, leaning over him. They have an armful of empty bottles under an arm, and are looking infuriatingly chipper.

"How'd you go and do that to yourself?"

He glares at them, pointedly.

"I clearly cannot have done this on my own."

"What, you don't remember?"

"...No," he admits. "What happened, then?"

"Oh, hell if I know," the Lamb laughs, and is saved from having that smile shorn off their face by his vertigo alone.

They move around him and pick up another bottle, inspecting it. "I was at the same feast you were, y'know. And if you'd had all this yourself, you probably would be dead," they gesture to the bundle under their arm, already five or six strong and slipping a bit.

"... Actually, we should probably both still be dead," they tut. "I don't even know what the flock puts in this stuff, 'sides from berries. But wow, they're good at it. Hey, actually, do you think maybe we have the makings of something worth exporting to the outside world? Plimbo's always making trips back and forth to who-knows-where, I bet we could--"

"Lamb."

"Mm?"

"Your chattering is causing me physical pain."

"Oop. ...Guess I should be grateful for the divine healing factor, huh?"

Narinder ponders the irony of wishing Death incarnate to choke, and finally finishes unraveling his hand. He squints at it. He sees no damage whatsoever that might have compelled anyone to waste medical resources on him. Not a strand out of place. He inspects his claws, and finds a bit of blood under them. Odd.

"There must be, like, a dozen bottles of wine in here. Do you think I drank most of it? I remember everyone in the temple cheering when I started chugging one. ...Or, uh. Three," the Lamb recounts, setting the pile down on a nearby table. Narinder watches them, scanning down their body for any abnormalities. No claw marks or stab wounds remain, but they would be gone by now. Still. The fact that he feels metal when he pushes his hand under his pillow is probably worth noting.

"You have a basket around here?" the Lamb asks after a point, "I need somewhere to put these."

Narinder says, "I do not live here."

"...Whuh?"

"This is not my hut."

The Lamb pauses. They glance around, newly curious. Narinder grasps at the bit of metal under his pillow, and retrieves a dagger. It is smeared with blood. He eyes it, vaguely toying with the way light plays off of the dull blade.

"Did I attempt to kill you last night?" he asks idly. The Lamb looks over. They see the knife.

"...Nnnno?" They try, not even attempting to sound certain.

"I believe," Narinder mutters, hardly feeling bothered to spare the focus, "I might have killed someone."

The Lamb looks at him, having the grace to at least look troubled. Narinder, on the other hand, remains far more concerned with the roiling in his stomach.

"... Okay, wait. Wait, I think I remember-- yeah," the Lamb snaps, and points at him. "Yeah! You lost your hand privileges."

"What," Narinder says.

"Yeah! You were doing-- something," the Lamb waves off vaguely, "Yeah, I think I remember-- I had to take the claws away? I mean. That would explain the bandages?"

Narinder glances over. It certainly sounds like the sort of logic they would act upon, in the event of his own uninhibited violence.

"...So I did try and kill you, again."

"Iiii, dunno? I mean. Maybe?" Again, they don't sound remotely sure. The "divine healing factor" does not, it appears, account for episodes of alcoholic blackout. Good to know.

So, trying to kill his spouse was one possible explanation. Admittedly, it wasn't even a far-fetched one. But the ambient stench of this hut offers another.

"Lamb," Narinder sits up, winning a valiant battle with his own vertigo, "Whose shelter is this?"

The Lamb pauses. They look around again at all the bottles strewn about. They look up. At the same time they do, a droplet of blood plops onto their cheek.

"...I think his name was Bremar," the Lamb hums.

"You think?"

"I mean, the Crown can only tell me so much. 'Specially when the corpse in question has somehow been reduced to... uh... streamers."

"Ah."

"So, uh, we should--- we should go."

Narinder growls. His stomach does not agree with the prospect of standing up anytime soon.

"Ten more minutes."

"Nari," the Lamb deadpans, "You eviscerated a guy."

"...Five, then."

[sunflowergirl522]

She Moves in Her Own Way

Pairing: Rickstar!Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie gets interviewed and he answers questions about his love life while reminiscing.

Word count: 1932

Eddie Masterlist

“So Eddie,” the interviewer says, crossing her leg over the other where she sits across from the rockstar, “people are dying to know what your mystery girl is like. You’re rarely pictured with her and no one can seem to get you to say who she is.”

Eddie sits up straighter in his seat as you become the topic of conversation. He had been starting to get a little bored, slumping a bit. He didn’t even want to do this interview for some teen magazine he’s never even heard of. He only agreed to it because when he brought it up to you you got all excited because apparently you used to read them throughout high school.

“Yeah, I like to keep her to myself. I don’t want to see a bunch of lies about her in the media, y'know? I’ve seen it happen to enough people in my line of work.”

“Do you think you could tell us what about her caught your eye?” Eddie wants to laugh at the question, he figured this was what whoever was interviewing him would want to talk about, his love life. Why else would he be getting interviewed, surely teen girls don’t care about what got him into music and why it means so much to him. But then again you did, you always did.

“She started as my best friend back in high school. She was always sticking with me and up for me even after she graduated and I failed.” Eddie gets a goofy grin on his face as he starts talking about you. “One thing led to another and she’s been my everything since.”

You and Eddie had been acquaintances in elementary and middle school and became closer in high school when you got paired up for a project freshman year. You claimed him as your best friend after he punched an older kid for making fun of you. You’ve even returned the favor before by getting into a fight with the girl who first started calling Eddie a freak. He had to be the one to break up the fight by pulling you off of her.

You’ve always supported him too both with the club and when he started his band back up with Jeff, Gareth, and Adam. Even though with practices, meetings, and your college classes after you started them the two of your schedules almost never matched up to hang out. You still made it to each and every one of his shows most of the time just to talk to him afterward.

“So you’ve been together since high school?”

“No, it wasn’t until she was almost done with her major that I finally worked up the nerve to say anything. She was helping me get ready to leave for the band's first small tour and I had a feeling of it’s now or never. And then she made me wait until we got back to give me an answer.”

The urge that he had to ask you now before anyone could scoop you up while he’s gone came while he watched you laugh at something Gareth had said while you were saying bye to everyone. The last thing he wanted to happen was that boy from your English class getting to see you laugh like that and falling in love and next thing Eddie knows he’s being invited to your wedding.

“I can’t believe you’re choosing school over us Sweetheart.” He teased while wrapping you up in his arms causing you to laugh.

“Maybe if it was just a week Eds, but I don’t think my teachers will like me being out for a month. I’ll miss you though, it’s gonna be weird not having you around.” You buried your head in his chest squeezing him tighter.

“You’ll get along just fine without me distractin’ you from all your studies. I’ll miss you too though.” He just held you to him for a while before speaking again. “You wanna go out to a movie or get a nice dinner or something when I get back?” You pulled away just enough to look at him and give him a playful smile.

“Edward Munson, are you asking me out?”

“Uh yeah, yeah I am.”

“Well it’s about time.”

“Is that a yes?” Eddie quirked an eyebrow smiling down at you. You hummed and tapped your chin in mock contemplacey.

“Hmm, I’ll let you know when you get back. You gotta go or you’ll be late.” You reached up to kiss his cheek before stepping away completely. “Bye Eds, love ya!” And you waved as Jeff called his name and he had to climb into the bus.

“What’s she like? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.” Eddie smiles at her words every other interviewer that has tried asking about you just basically demanded the information and he had immediately shut them down without thinking twice. 

Even if they had asked like this he would’ve said no because he was never sure what you would think of having the world know stuff about you but this time he knew you didn’t care. When he was contemplating doing the interview and you got excited he complained about how the questions would probably mainly be about his love life. You had just shrugged and told him to do it anyway and that you didn’t care about everyone finding out about you as long as he didn’t care.

He did care but this time he was asked so nicely that he would give as much information as he could without giving away any details that would lead people to figure out who you are.

“I love her because she moves in her own way. Her fashion sense is god awful because she dresses like a muppet. Almost all she listens to is disco and she has the most bizarre movies memorized. And she’s probably the kindest person I’ve ever met who’s always watching out for the ones she cares about.” Especially the kids in your life. When you met Dustin and the gang you had immediately hopped into older sister mode and had them imprinting on you like ducklings. 

And you’re one of the best teachers Eddie’s ever seen. He was lucky that you agreed to tutor him that last senior year even though you had your own classes to focus on because without you he probably would’ve failed again and he honestly would’ve just dropped out at that point. And you’re constantly helping the kids with their school work when they need it. When Will and El moved back to Hawkins you had helped catch them up with what was being taught there because their school in Cali had been behind. 

Watching you interact and help El is something else really. You’re so patient with her and constantly helping her catch up to kids her own age since she’s so behind because of being stuck in the lab her whole childhood. She’s made amazing progress thanks to your help. 

And he’s seen how you interact with your students at Hawkins middle school. Each one gets a special form of special treatment and you almost always make yourself easily accessible during school hours, staying late in your classroom during the after school activities in case one of them needs you. Dustin compared you to his old teacher Mr. Clarke and your face lit up like the fourth of July before saying thanks and told him all about how he became your mentor since you started teaching.

“She sounds wonderful! What was it that made you realize you were in love with her?”

“I think I was for a while before I said anything to her. But I realized it myself after a couple months of us dating. Our schedules weren’t really lining up because she was having to study and go to class and at that point the band had started really picking up some traction. So she would come to the shows just to hear about my day or week depending on how long it had been since we were able to see each other.” The goofy smile Eddie’s had the whole time he’s been talking about you gets bigger as he thinks about how he’d see you in the crowd waving at him with a big smile on your face. It makes him want to finally get home to you because even though he’s only been away for a few hours for this interview, it’s a Saturday and he should be enjoying your day off with you. “I’m sorry, is this interview about done?” He didn’t care much if it came out as rude.

“Yeah, thank you for your time and answers today Eddie.”

“Yep, you’re welcome.” He waited as she gathered her things and held the door open for her before rushing out of the building because that was the polite thing to do. But then he was speeding home to you.

A week later the magazine with his interview hit shelves and you came rushing home from the store with it in your hand.

“Eddie, you made the front page!” He looks up at you from his spot on the couch as you excitedly wave it around.

“Cool, do you need help with the groceries?” He starts to get up and you physically pause suddenly remembering why you had been there in the first place.

“No, I forgot about those when I saw this. Whoops. But look at this!” You basically shove the magazine in his face causing him to laugh and take it from you before sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. 

“Alright, let’s see what this is all about.” He holds the magazine out for the two of you to see the front. “Rockstar Eddie Munson opens up to us about his lovely mystery girl. God people actually read this crap?” You giggle at the bewildered look on his face and nod. “Who cares?”

“The entire female population probably. You’re a total babe, babe. Now go to your interview. I wanna read it.” He rolls his eyes but goes to it nonetheless, handing you the mag and resting his chin on your shoulder. “There’s some questions about how you got into music Ed’s what are you complaining about? It’s not all about your love life.”

“They were basically the same questions I’m always asked. I was so bored.”

“Yeah I see that in the notes here. Eddie had begun looking bored until I started asking him about his girlfriend when he sat up straighter and started getting into it.” You read it out loud, eyeing him. You’ve talked to him about faking interest in the past. About how these people are just doing their jobs and asking the questions probably provided to them. Before he can defend himself you read another part out loud. 

“Sorry to say it ladies but the one and only Eddie Munson is so much in love with his girl that you can see it in his eyes when he talks about her. The thought of how he probably looks at her has me swooning and I haven’t even seen it.” You put the mag down before turning so you’re straddling him, his hands wrapping around your back. “You hear that, she’s swooning. I’m shocked you actually answered the questions about me this time.”

“Well she asked so nicely compared to anyone else who asked. And you’re my favorite topic of conversation baby.”

“I love you Eds.” You smile and rest your forehead against his. 

“I love you too Princess.”

Eddie Taglist(Closed): @sadbitchfangirl @notbeforelong @munsonswhore86 @navs-bhat @emotionaldreamer @magicalchocolatecheesecake @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @fangirling-4-ever  @gaysludge @audhd-dragonaut @eddiethesexy​ @mazerunnerrose @tvserie-s-world @midnightsgetawaycar  @goldylions  @spacedoutdaydreamer @livslifeonline @mushroomelephant @hb8301 @ginnupp @saramelaniemoon @kaylshunter @nojamsonmytoast @vintagehellfire​ @esoltis280​ @cole22ann @spikedhe4rt​ @let-love-bleeds-red​ @siriuslysmoking​ @ladybug0095​ @toobsessedsstuff​ @3rriberri​ @alana4610​ @gretavanfleas​ @sparkletash​ @herejustforjj​ @aactuaaltraash​ @gloryekaterina​ @quixscentsposts​ @wormm-mom​ @eddiemuns0nl0ver​ @spookyemorockbabe​

Everything Taglist: @bejeweledmastermind @matchamunson @bubsonnobx @practicalghost @katsukis1wife @crustyowos @yourfavdummy @protecteddiemunson4vr 

[supreme-leader-stoat]

Legacy

Heroes exist.

Yes, heroes exist. But they're, y'know, special. Different. Chosen, maybe. They live in a whole other world than you. They've got these grand destinies you can only imagine. You? You work your nine-to-five and then go home and blow another six hours on whatever before turning in for the night and doing it all again. And it's good enough.

And then there's a disaster and you find yourself in a remote corner of the battlefield cut off from everyone else. And one of those heroes staggers out of the dust and the smoke and the rubble, and it doesn't take a doctor to tell they're on their last legs. And then the mask comes off, and it's a kid.

A kid who's way to young to be doing this and has been going up against odds way too big for them for who knows how long and the other shoe finally dropped. And they're a kid and they're dying and you've already called 911 but you already know, you can just tell, they aren't going to make it in time. There's nothing you can do to save them.

But God help you if you're going to let this kid die alone.

So you make them comfortable, as comfortable as you can. You keep them talking, keep them focused on something, anything other than the dust and the smoke and the rubble. And you hold their hand tight and they don't hold your hand anywhere near tight enough for someone with superhuman strength and it breaks your heart, but you don't let it show. You can't. You don't. cry.

They don't either. They don't rant or scream or rage about how unfair it all is, though they've every right to. (You wonder, as you often will afterwards, who did the choosing. Who exactly you should blame for handing this destiny, this responsibility, this fate, to a child). They tell you about the date they were going to ask to prom next week. They... they ask you to find their parents, once the news plasters their face everywhere. To tell them sorry.

And then they're gone. The light goes out of their eyes. And light, real light this time, real power, flows into you, through your hand that's still holding onto theirs. And there, in the dust and the smoke and the rubble and the tears, you make a promise. To them. To yourself.

You will be a hero. You will carry this weight.

Because for as long as you do, maybe one more kid won't have to.

[peachshadows]

Sundown world seems like a soap opera where communicate is a word nobody heard of.

When would cshadowpeach get their shit together since you said this happen during season 3?

The au is post s3 rather than during s3! Cuz I think that would be more hectic if things in the canon world are still not yet resolved with the whole lbd situation and everyone is just lowkey dying.

As for c!shadowpeach getting their shit together I feel like with MK gone and everyone on edge I feel like they have to get their shit together since y'know the kid who they care about and just saved the world just vanished and no one knows where he is or if he's still in this world in the first place so with that they'll most likely fix their issues faster than actual canon timeline cuz so far it's taking 5 fucking seasons just so they show that they still care about each other

[sky-fire-forever]

happy friday! how about Spite/Rook for "I've had a lot of dreams about you lately"?

Thank you for the prompt! I had a lot of fun with this one!

For @dadrunkwriting - Dragon Age: The Veilguard Spoilers

My Rook in this is Voltah de Riva, who uses they/them pronouns.

It’s early in the morning when Voltah tiptoes into the kitchen to prepare themself some coffee — late enough that everyone else has probably gone to bed and early enough that even the earliest risers won’t be up yet. Voltah expects to be entirely alone as they brew themself a pot and sit nearby to wait for it to be ready. 

They’ve been having strange dreams lately, not that most of their dreams could be considered normal. No matter if they're having conversations with Solas or remembering their initiation into the Crows or imagining fighting the elven gods with their pants down, their dreams often venture into territory that most would consider strange and unusual. 

Their most recent dreams have been strange in a different way, however. They're not about drowning or dying or losing everyone they hold dear. No, these dreams are a bit spicier in nature. 

It makes sense, all things considered. Lucanis and them have been dancing around each other for months now and while they've solidified their relationship, they've barely so much as kissed or held hands. It's a chaste romance, with lots of flirting and supporting one another, but very little else.

And Voltah is fine with that! Really, they are! But they're an elf with certain desires and it only makes sense for their sleeping mind to wander, to conjure up dreams of their lover in more compromising positions than they've actually experienced with him.

The problem is that their dreams haven't been limited to just Lucanis. 

The water for the coffee has just begun to simmer when a figure creeps out of the shadows. 

“Smells like guilt and heat!” If the tone of voice and words spoken aren't enough to reveal who exactly the speaker is, the purple of his eyes are. 

Voltah does their best not to jump in surprise, their training allowing them to suppress the urge enough to act natural as they turn towards their spirit friend. 

“Good morning, Spite. What're you doing up so early?” They raise an eyebrow at him.

Spite grins. “Lucanis sleeps. My time to play!”

“As long as you make sure the body gets some rest. Can't have either of you fighting while exhausted,” they remind him. 

Spite scowls. “Sleep is boring! Rather play.” 

“Sleep isn't always boring.” Voltah turns away from him so they can pour the water over the coffee grounds, watching the water seep through the filter. “Dreams can be pretty interesting.” 

Their comment just reminds them of their most recent dreams and they feel their face heat up. The phantom feeling of calloused fingers gripping their hips makes their skin tingle, so they try to banish the memories away. They shouldn't be thinking about those dreams, especially not with Spite actually standing before them. 

“Don't dream,” Spite says and Voltah can hear the pout in his voice. “Just watch Lucanis dream. Boring!” 

Voltah laughs. “What does Lucanis dream about anyway?” They turn back to Spite and lean against the table, their blush fading. 

“Boring things.” Spite makes a face like the very memory of Lucanis’ dreams disgusts him. He pauses, looking considerate for a moment. “And Rook.”

Voltah raises an eyebrow. “Am I not included in boring things?” They ask, their voice light and teasing despite the burst of feeling that flows through them at the knowledge of Lucanis dreaming about them. 

“No.” Spite shakes his head. “Rook is. Interesting. Rook is good to dream about.”

Voltah smiles and moves to fill their cup with the freshly brewed coffee. “Y'know, you're not too bad to dream about yourself.”

Why did they say that?

Their face warms again and they're glad their back is to the spirit so he can't see how they wince at their own words. They can practically hear the way he stops and ponders what they just said.

“Rook dreams of me?” 

“Uh, sometimes,” they admit, swirling their coffee. They pause, staring at the dark liquid. Too dark, they need to add a shit ton of cream still. They hate the bitterness of black coffee. “Actually, I've had a lot of dreams about you lately.”

They risk a glance back at Spite, who is watching them like a hawk, something curious and almost predatory in his gaze. 

“What dreams?” He demands.

They blush. “Oh, y'know. Dreams.” But Spite is stalking towards them like a lion after prey. They hold their coffee protectively against their chest as Spite slinks into their personal space. 

He inhales deeply. “Smells like lust.” 

Voltah's face burns. “Whoa, I never said–”

“Smells like shame.” Spite tilts his head and stares intently at them. “Why?”

“Why what?” 

“Why shame?” He steps closer and sniffs. 

Voltah can't believe they're having this conversation with a demon. “Well. It's embarrassing to be having those sorts of dreams about a–” They pause. “About a friend.”

“What dreams?” But Spite grins like he already knows. “Rook dreams. Of me.” He takes another step closer, until they're almost chest to chest. He puts his hands on the table on either side of Voltah's hips, caging them against the counter. 

Voltah swallows, their gaze darting to Spite's lips. “Yeah,” they admit. “I dream of you.” They summon their courage and place a hand against Spite's chest, setting their coffee aside with their free hand. “I dream about doing a lot of things with you.”

“Not Lucanis?”

“Lucanis too, don’t get me wrong. But also you.”

Spite growls and his hands move to grab at Voltah's hips. “Mine.”

“Maybe.” A smirk plays at the corner of Voltah's lips. 

Spite digs his nails into them. “Mine,” he repeats.

Voltah laughs. “If you want me to be yours, let's make some dreams come true.”

That's all the invitation Spite needs. 

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 43 Glazing

Just. Wow. Where to begin, dear void? It's hard not to post full pages from this absolute gut punch of a chapter... what a perfect way to hit the climax of this arc. I guess it's appropriate to talk about Hakuri and Mr. Proceeder himself before anything else. A bit of irony first... Hakuri gets his dad, but Kyoura didn't get him until it was too late.

I know this is most likely trauma speaking for Shiba and the other war vet, but they're right. Kyoura's in his death throes right now, everything's gone to shit, but...

... they're underestimating him and his fanaticism to the clan's tradition. Everyone is, and I don't blame them- Magatsumi's freaky as fuck even sheathed. Except there's one person who knows just how strong Kyoura's will is...

... and is going to use it to make sure every last person is saved.

Hakuri really is his father's son. And I'm just in fucking awe that Chihiro's insanity is on their level. It takes one crazy person to perfectly harmonize with another after only knowing each other for a week, I guess. I wonder if we'll see that part of their dynamic explored at all... deprogramming Hakuri so he's not just replacing fanatic devotion to the Rakuzaichi/Sazanami Clan with Chihiro's cause or something? I'll keep the Hakuri agendaposting to a minimum (for me) but c'mon, wouldn't it be awesome to hear Chihiro echo his dad's words from Ch. 14 to encourage Hakuri to grow and find his own identity? 'Cause, y'know:

Ch. 1 vs 43

"Your best would have been believing in Hakuri" is recalled for the fourth time for a reason. If you haven't caught on by now, it's not too late: Kyoura was a shitty dad and Chihiro took that personally. And it was the one fatal flaw that doomed a man with a will of adamant. 'Cause holy shit man, even though I'm glad this dude is dead, I respect the fuck out of him. He overcame the influence of the scariest of all the WMDs Kunishige made and died as himself, regrets and ego fully intact. I applaud Hokazono-sensei for making me feel for this guy without redeeming him.

I cannot say this strongly enough: Kyoura was a victim who perpetuated his own abuse. He couldn't break the cycle even though his wife's bitter dying words left him yearning for the family he could have had. It's not clear if it's a true flashback or a vision of what could have been, but the dinner table scene being shattered by the memory of Kyoura's father telling him to lead the clan is art. Another mangaka might have reversed the order so we see him being indoctrinated first and wistful second. Just for those pity points and to twist the knife a little. But no, Kyoura is completely unrepentant to the last. The only thing he yields on is throwing Hakuri away. Not his conviction to put the Rakuzaichi above his family, nor ignoring his wife's final words. His dying regret wasn't even purely being the world's worst dad. It was mixed with the fact that he failed to secure the success of the goddamn auction by misjudging his "worthless" son. To the very end, Kyoura lived as the Sazanami patriarch.

His parting words to Chihiro have me going absolutely insane too. They're an indication that yeah, finally, he gets it. He was a bad father and he reaped the consequences. His other two sons are dead because of him, and the one he mistreated finally surpassed him after all.

Chapter 39 vs. 43

[screaming softly] aaaaaaaaahhhhh

The whole world disappears as Hakuri is finally the only worthy person in his view. His greatest shame looks down on him taking his last breaths and only now does he feel the magnitude of his mistakes. Because Hakuri never did anything wrong to begin with; Kyoura himself failed the family and the clan. He lays down the sword, choosing to die as himself rather than keep fighting the Magatsumi's wielder to the bitter end. It's time to admit he was wrong.

And thus the cycle is broken at last.

Smaller Observations

More food imagery yay!

We never see Mrs. Sazanami's face. I wonder if there's going to be a Lost Mother arc for Hakuri in addition to Chihiro's. We know she's dead, but I saw a theory floating around that maybe she was more affectionate to Hakuri than his siblings to compensate for the abuse he was enduring. Soya's obsession with him "staying lovable" would have started from this. I think Soya was just irredeemably broken and cruel, but it's interesting to think about!

She's not even close to eating at the table, looks like she might have just sat down after putting out all the dishes or something. A caretaker who didn't participate in the family's joy is my guess (based on her monologue in the hospital flashback).

Soya can't let Hakuri have nice things even in this happy vision of the family

Braidbro and Sazasis aren't here, so I think there's a "core" family that Hakuri et. al. were part of and branch families that still carried the Sazanami genes but weren't in contention for running the show. The nameless kids that greeted Kyoura upon his return to the estate in chapter 22 also called him "father" so is it a title thing, or maybe Kyoura just had a bunch of concubines and one main wife? Inquiring minds want to know.

Speaking of Chapter 22, actually...

The auction house is in Tokyo but the actual Sazanami estate is somewhere remote and secluded. The backgrounds in the table scene are more reminiscent of an apartment in an urban setting:

So I'm gonna lean on this particular scene being a "what if" rather than a true flashback. But it's still vague enough to be open to interpretation. Now I'm super curious about how Hakuri ended up in the city to meet his fated samurai though... another thing to headcanon a scenario for I suppose.

Arraigned marriage... to ensure that Isou was passed on? A business relations agreement with another family? A deal to let her avoid being sold as merchandise? Why are there so many dead/missing moms in Kagurabachi anyway?

I think I have a slightly different interpretation of events here than most will, but I'll try to explain. The subspace collapsed into nothingness as Chihiro reached for the last person, so no one could be yeeted out any more. They managed to pull everyone out in time yay! Chihiro's safe too, yay! But while Hakuri put all the other people outside of the auction house, Chihiro ended up on the stage. I believe this is by Hakuri's design rather than Chihiro being placed at random. This is a huge moment for all three characters involved and it's absolutely enhanced by the understatement of the art. Kyoura finally admitting Chihiro was right is immensely powerful catharsis for us and our samurai, and that's definitely the perspective we're meant to see it from first But my boy Hakuri put him there to hear it. He violated the sanctity of the auction instead of bringing Chihiro out closer to himself and Shiba for the getaway. Fuck this family and it's tradition. It's DONE. The Rakuzaichi and Sazanami legacy are tarnished for good; Hakuri made sure of it. Maximum feels for our boy finally eradicating this loathsome event at every level!

And finally, last but certainly not least:

Hiyuki continues to be best girl, as expected. She's put off by the insanity on display from Chihiro, Kyoura, and Hakuri but it it also grounds her a bit. She can't let innocents die, so she chooses to protect Hakuri. I love her so much and I hope she can give him shit about threatening to leave her in the storehouse forever one day.

As an aside, after learning that Hokazono-sensei is a fan of Arcane I can't help but think of Hiyuki as a Vi expy. If she is, I hope she's pan, bi, or a lesbian. I love strong, badass hot-headed women who love women. I don't mind her being endgame with Chihiro either but the idea of seeing her get flustered over Hinao in a swimsuit lives rent free in my head, y'know? Her personality archetype begs to be lightly teased by seeing a hot girl and instantly losing 70 IQ.

...Anyway.

What happens from here on out is anyone's guess. We knew about the Rakuzaichi auction as early as chapter 7 but there's nothing set up for the future as of now. Whether or not Team Goldfish manage to recover the Shinuchi (betting they won't), I think we will take a bit of a break after the next chapter. We definitely need a lull to let the characters heal and breathe before building up the next arc.

My best guess is that we'll have downtime for a chapter or so before a lead for another sword is found to set up the next mission. So far we've explored Death of the Author and Generational Trauma... what's going to be next? I can't wait! I never expected themes like this to be explored so thoughtfully and thoroughly in a WSJ series...! For the first time in a long time I'm not just reading an action manga with some mature themes. I'm reading some really insightful commentary on the nature of legacy, trauma, and family dynamics that happens to have the best fight choreography I've ever seen. Truly tenoi.

[thefuseoftemptation]

maybe for the lost boys you could do how they’d teach y/n how to drive? maybe headcannons

oh, OH.

THE LOST BOYS X GN!READER

WARNING(S): cussing, the use of y/n (just bc I know some of us prefer when it’s not used so here’s a warning) I typed this out in under half an hour so if there’re typos, then you know why. NOT PROOFREAD.

—

they'll be teasing you for not knowing how.

Whether you just ask one of them or you go to all of them, they'll show you, but they'll show you their way.

and let's just get it out there, Dwayne is the one to go to when it comes to learning.

He's also the one who's got more of a understanding when it comes to rules.

you ask Marko or Paul? you might as well be making your own bed, man.

And David? I mean sure, but c'mon, think about it, it's David.

and there's many scenerios at which this could go too so-

but I'll put how each of them would be and then the further we go, I'll put how it'll be if all of them were showing you at the same time....which is never something to be heard in the same sentence.

David

let's say for the scenerio w David, while he (or more so all the boys) knew you didn't know how to drive, you still went to one of the others and asked if they could teach you.

and while he never showed it, why were you asking them and not him?

like the guy would legit be taken back (but not show it) that you had gone to Paul to teach you

Paul? Really?!!

but let's be for real, asking David to teach you to drive is like asking your parent.....if y'know, Y'KNOW

you may as well have not gone to the boys in the first place if if this were case

if anything, he more likely makes you come to him rather you go to him on your own terms.

for this, he probably told the boys to step back just so you could go up to him later on

"David..."

"We'll start in a few."

He more likely tells you how to go about driving rather than show you.....if that makes sense.

Like he'll sit back, stare ahead and just tell you what to do rather than being more hands on and guiding you through every step

which is very very annoying bc you need a little more than that, David

Though he is one of the boys to tell you about safety and all that stuff everyone talks about

you get behind the wheel? you better have that goddamn seatbelt on. even though he himself doesn't have it on.

while he never outwardly shows his concern, it's there. so you get in and try putting the keys in before your seatbelt's on? He's going to tell you something.

"Unless your looking to be head first through that windshield, I suggest you put your seatbelt on. Or I could just turn you now and we won't to worry about that...."

Hence you putting your seatbelt on while giving him a side eye.

expect to have a few alot of disagreements about standard procedures/rules when it comes to being on the road

"I'm not going to go, David. I don't have the right away!"

"Y/N asked me to teach you, so I'm teaching you. So turn."

"I did not ask you!" you did, but he wasn't your go to.

or

"Stay to your side."

"I am on my side."

"No, your steering into this lane."

"I'm in my own goddamn lane!"

cue you swerving bc you were in fact, in the said lane he'd been referring to.

"Told you."

and though you hadn't been looking forward to it, David isn't all that bad at teaching you.

Dwayne

he's the go to.

Dwayne is the go to when it comes to certain things, and in this case, it's driving.

he's even the go to when your riding with them. while you like taking turns between all your boys sometimes, not dying, is preferred.

plus, when you ride with Dwayne, it gives you the opportunity to feel his exposed torso.

the guy is shirtless all the time, what do you expect? only someone in the right mind would think the same thing

and like David, he will tell you to put your seatbelt on. but it's more of a reminder than telling.

He'll probably put his on himself

Even if he isn't exactly the most ideal example since he and the boys are always breaking rules, being on the road isn't excluded. He speeds and cuts others off just as much as they do, he just doesn't do it as often as them. He still wants to make sure he can be an example when you're around at least.

afterall you're just a mere person. you're not like them....yet.

and though he isn't much of a talker, he'll be one when it comes to this

you're sure this is the most he's spoken in the time you've known each other.

Dwayne is very hands on when it comes to this, and is nothing like David when it comes to telling you when you're doing something you're not supposed to or when your lacking in a certain department.

it's definitely his tone, man.

"just keep the wheel still, you're steering into this lane a little...."

and it's in the lowest voice ever, almost in a whisper before he gently guides your hands to steady the wheel.

you learn a lot with him in one session than you do with the others in one week.

Paul

m'sorry but anyone in their right mind shouldn't be going to a guy like Paul when it comes to teaching you how to drive.

It's Paul.

that should be enough of an explanation in itself.

but to be real, he's probably not that bad of a teacher.

sure, when you'd asked him something, he didn't even know the answer to, he at least learned it with you as you went. even if it may have almost got you guys hit and possibly even broken a law, at least you guys knew.....now.

just don't tell David or Dwayne. they'll have his head.

he's very laid back when it comes to anything, this isn't excluded.

like Dwayne, in a way, he sort of just reminds you, when he’s not forgetting himself.

he doesn't tell you like David would, he just sort of waves it off or shrugs when you make a mistake like hit the curb.

it's comforting yet concerning bc man, this is safety and I shouldn't be hitting the curb to begin with.

it's one thing when he was showing you how to ride his bike, not that it's ever come to you using it or any of them (he was just simply showing you), but it's a whole other thing with him showing you how to drive a vehicle.

the boys attention goes from one thing to another.

one moment he's telling you where to go and the next, he's asking what button does what before pressing it or even pressing on the horn.

"Paul, would you stop that!" you say for the umpteenth time.

"Fine." cue him turning up the volume to the a radio before going on to press something else.

let's just say it's too much with him sitting next to you sometimes.

Marko

it's an uncetainty w this one bc you're not sure how he's going to be or what he'll say to you during the time.

you've seen how he is on his bike alone so you weren't sure why you were questioning yourself when you asked him....

out of all the boys, Marko is the one whose temper doesn't last

I'm saying that in "you keep asking or making him repeat the same question/answers, it’ll set him off," sort of way but also in a "if someone pulls some nonsense on you while your driving, that's it," sort of way.

he doesn't put up with that in general much less, on the road, what makes you think he's going to tolerate it when your in the vehicle with him?!

And put you being behind the wheel and someone cuts you off or honks bc you're going too slow (you're learning), he's going to be pushing on that horn so quick.

not to mention sticking his head out the window to cuss the person out

let's just say you had to press on the pedal more than once when he told you to pull over so he could let them have it.

It never meant that. it always ends up w someone else on a missing flyer

sometimes it's over little stuff too

like if it was your fault, he'll still argue that they were the cause

"Marko, it wasn't even them, I mean I was-"

"They should know though! It's just basic common sense!"

"How is it basic common sense when they don't know it's my first time on the road and I'm still learning? It's not like there's a sign they could see that tells them 'hey, I'm new, go easy!'

"Still!"

He gets annoyed that you defend someone else over something you did.

He's not a bad teacher per say, he's just one you prefer not having on the road especially when you're still new to it all.

all of them

m'sorry but make your bed already. there's no way of you making out of there

it's one thing to go to one of them and ask but to have all of them in the same space with you, and on the road for god sakes!

let's be real though, in this scenerio you probably did go to one of them and then the rest just took it upon themselves to come

or

it could be that you already got your license and are taking them for a ride

again, make your bed. why would you even think of that?

back to where I was though

they're all in that car with you, it's going to be a lot.

David is going to be in the front. no matter what.

Paul didn’t just get a foot to his behind for nothing

the rest of the boys are in the back, if there's even room for them back there

you got three out of four there, two of which are tall, there's going to have to be some leg space

I see it like this, Dwayne and Marko probably take to the sides, by the windows, while Paul is seated in the middle

it becomes too much bc let's face it, you got four boys in the car with you. four boys....think about that.

it's only when David finally says something that they sit down

and god, you really wished he would've said something sooner if it got them like this

—

feedback and reblogs are appreciated.

[undefeated-attorney]

Here's something interesting I would like to present to the court... But,

Before I go off, I would like to remind everyone what the magatama does.

3. It allows the user to see/read people's hearts.

2. It automatically reacts to people who have secrets within their hearts.

And 3. Allows its user to visualize(psyche-locks) how closely kept that secret is and how close they are to finding the truth(shown by the psyche-locks breaking)

There is just... One thing that bothers me.

When Pearl explains how to use the magatama, she says something that... Piques my interest.

"You must be careful, though, Mr. Nick. If you make a mistake, it will hurt you. If you don't think you have the proof you need, you must have the courage to stop."

When you present the wrong evidence, it takes one bar off your "health," and this lines of dialogue appear:

"Ouch?"

It seems like it actually hurt Phoenix, huh?

It's even more supported by what he says next:

Hurt.

What does "hurt" mean? Does it mean hurt physically? Mentally? Spiritually?

Here's what I personally think:

Whenever he makes a mistake, his heart gets hurt. In less cryptic words, mentally.

I mean, he is reading someone else's heart. It's only fair if his heart is vulnerable, too, right?

Of course, I have something that backs up my claim pretty nicely.

I would like to present this line of dialogue that you get if you fail enough times:

"Your soul will shatter?"

Shatter... I wish Pearls had gone into more detail about what that meant. That's bothering me quite a bit...

What I personally think the meaning of this is...

Well, the best way I can describe it is... An equivalent to dying.

To elaborate, I first need to present a few options of what a soul can mean/be. And it can be quite a few things, such as:

an immaterial essence, animating principle, or actuating cause of an individual life

a spiritual principle embodied in human beings

a person's "total self"

the moral and emotional/sentimental nature of human beings

I personally think, again, starting my sentence with "think" and "personally" because I have no evidence to support this claim—

Pearls refers to the "soul" as the embodiment of someone's emotions and morals.

When it shatters, that person loses all that made them. (A neat fic idea just came to me...)

That would make the most sense. To me, anyway.

Could you imagine? A lawyer trying to get a secret out from you and continuously failing to present evidence that supports his claims. Eventually, that man drops dead. His soul shattered.

I guess that raises the risk and stakes, but...

Sigh. I wish we get to see what a "soul shattering" looks/feels like, but alas, Pearls is always somehow there to stop that from happening. Even when she is not nearby.

It most definitely has to do with Phoenix's mental state and health. I think this statement Pearls just gave us proves it, yeah?

Y'know, I could also tie this into what I said earlier— about what the "soul" of a person means here— which is the emotions of said person.

I guess I do have evidence to support my claim.

He seems a little... Panicked? Frustrated here? He's probably leaning more towards frustration.

Well, in any case, afterward, the world fades away and returns to normal.

Going back in straight away starts Phoenix's health at its lowest, and failing again gets you the same dialogue... "Your soul will shatter."

I suppose he needs time to recover. After all, his... Heart? Soul? Sustained a lot of "damage."

...I wonder if "heart" and "soul" are the same thing?

Well, anyway, I wanted more evidence to build my case, so I looked into what Edgeworth says when he fails to break a psyche-lock.

But... It seems like the investigation led me to a dead end. Nothing Edgeworth says implies that he was in pain. Hurt when he presents the wrong evidence.

Failing too many times with Edgeworth gets you the same line shown above, just with a different name— "Mr. Edgeworth...If you push yourself any more, your soul will shatter...Please calm down, collect your thoughts, and try again..."

But a difference response to it. (Blast it...! I've made too many errors...!) However, I don't think I can make any connections with this...

I also looked into other times Phoenix has used the magatama, and again, came back with nothing able to help...

After coming back here with nothing further to add, I had even more questions than before.

Why does this particular line of dialogue stick out like a sore thumb? Did Phoenix just build a pain tolerance after that one? Was this detail forgotten or thrown away?

How does Pearl stop us from going any further? Specifically when she is not nearby... How is her voice still heard?

Are the "magatama sessions" forcefully canceled by her, or did Phoenix and Edgeworth back out on their own after hearing Pearl's words?

(I should note that it is undeniable that Pearls is speaking whenever Phoenix or Edgeworth fails too many times. I also have undeniable proof to back that up, too. "Mr. Nick." There is only one person who calls Phoenix that. Pearls. That is my proof.)

How did she know that Edgeworth had the magatama in his possession(and was currently using it) when Edgeworth had not told her? (Note: See Bridge To The Turnabout)

These are questions I have that I... Cannot answer. Unfortunately. If there are answers to this... I would like to know.

With that, I must end this analysis.

Man... I just don't have enough to go off of...

Oh, well. What do you guys think?

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 5

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. This is our CDC chapter, so TW for mention of suicide in this one. It's a little graphic.

And it might be better to go in blind, but if you'd like the second TW, please check the first tag on this post.

Other than that, please enjoy reading!

Glenn exhales, "Would you look at that?"

The sun is rising.

Last night I was a dying dog and today I am Harley Dixon.

Me, Dad and Glenn are on the roof of the parked RV, watching the sky give birth to the sun, knowing that I got hundreds more sunrises waiting for me; that the worst is over, like Rick said. The morning is as fresh as peeled summer fruit, and it's all ours. I'm reminded of special breakfasts on our old porch, where my Uncle Merle and my Dad would be scooping burnt scrambled eggs into their mouths, and I'd be in Dad's lap, sipping on a box of orange juice. We had them whenever I won an award at school. I feel like I've won every award in the world.

Glenn is the one sitting next to us, now, in this new version of day-break. He fills the outline of where a ghost of a brother and an Uncle used to be. We're sharing a secret bag of old freeze-dried cherries, while everyone else sleeps. They're a small luxury, like the sun. We can make happiness out of anything.

It all feels right.

"One hundred percent mold free, this time. I swear," Glenn says, ripping the bag open and pouring me the first cherries.

"They better be," Dad jokes. "First time was free."

"Next time, you'll beat my ass?" Glenn guesses.

He looks like he's realizing his legacy is always gonna be the guy who can't make jerky.

"Damn straight."

We knock our plastic bowls together, smiling.

"To Harley."

"To Harley."

"To me!"

"What a mess this whole thing was." Glenn shakes his head, chewing. "I know I already said it, but... I'm really sorry."

"Ain't your fault you can't cook." I giggle.

"Gee, thanks." He laughs. "I guess I deserve that."

"Just learn to salt the damn meat, China." Dad says. "Then we can talk."

"Okay, okay, okay." Glenn puts his hands up, but he's still grinning. "I suck at cooking. I get it. Are Dixons always this mean?"

Me and my Daddy answer, yes, at the same time.

"Good to know." Mumbles Glenn.

"The night I got scratched," I muse, my fingers painted with crayon-red cherry juice. "You was the first person after my Dad to reach the tent."

I remember people saying that Glenn could outrun a cheetah if there were enough supplies behind the finish line. The thought makes me laugh again. When you ain't big, you gotta find other ways to elbow your way through danger. Sometimes a good brain and better legs are all you need. Sometimes people like me and Glenn get to win, too.

"I guess so." Glenn's smiling shyly. "But only because Rick was too busy reloading. And Shane was up the back. And, well, I guess— When we first got back to camp, people were saying that you were gone. That you were missing, or dead, or— We didn't know. Your Dad, he just took off into the woods. Just, vroom, y'know? Like, gone. I thought if I was gonna be like anyone, it should be him. So, I went running, too."

Dad leans over and grips Glenn's shoulder; shakes it. A gesture that says, Man to man, I respect you. Maybe even, Brother to brother.

It takes a lot to earn my Dad's respect, if you ain't his blood.

"You all looked like you was boutta faint." I snicker, 'cause it's funny now.

"W-we all thought it was too late." Glenn tries to laugh. It's been hard, I guess, bottling up that night until now. "When we first saw the tent."

I see flashes of wet eyes, and teeth, and spiders.

"I did too," I confess.

My Dad turns me around in his lap, then, and bounces his knee a little. "But I woulda never let that happen, chicken, y'hear? And I ain't never gonna let that happen. I'd have to be dead, 'fore a walker laid his hands on you." He frowns, looking me dead in the eye.

"I hear." I nod. "It was just really scary."

"C'mere, babe."

He pulls me down to his chest — his heart — and I curl up there, where I know nothin' will ever get me.

"For the record, I was about to faint." Glenn mutters.

I throw a cherry at him and he dodges it, grinning.

"I knew it!"

We all sit like this for a long while, with the sun and the rustling wheat as our friends, snacking on our sour fruit. Then they start talking again, a notch deeper, a notch outta my league. Adult to adult. I realize they must think I'm asleep — It is the ass-crack of dawn, after all — so I don't interrupt.

"I didn't mean it like that, you know." Glenn tells my Dad. "You can protect your own. I get that."

"Don't tell me what I already know, kid."

"I just..." Glenn starts, but then there's nothing.

In this long moment, I think Glenn is going to leave down the ladder, 'cause it's what anyone else would do.

People like me and my Dad — People who hoard supermarket coupons, and talk real nasty, and get called hillbillies — don't mix well with people like Glenn. People pretend there isn't, but there's an invisible cut-off on who deserves what in life, and it ends right after people who only gotta work one job. Glenn's smart, and he prolly ain't never had to go hungry to pay his water bills, not once in his life. He prolly ain't never been to jail, or snapped a squirrel's neck, or re-used the same bottle of hand soap forty times over. He's like the rest of 'em. Rick and Lori. Shane. The kids in my old classes. Their parents on parent-night. We can work well together but anything else is askin' too much.

But we're family now, right? I think Glenn might leave, but—

"Well, for what it's worth, I couldn't do it." Is all Glenn says.

He doesn't leave. In fact, I hear him settling further into his chair. It's what Uncle Merle would have done.

My Dad pauses. "Do what?"

"Look over my shoulder all the time. Worry about someone else every time I hear a gunshot. Walk around knowing I have that much to lose." Glenn sounds lost in thought, but then he surfaces. He ends his list with a simple, "Be a parent."

My Dad sighs, debating whether or not to go along with this.

"That ain't all there is to it." He eventually says.

"No?"

"Nah. It ain't some curse." Dad says. "I hear a gunshot? Sure, first thing I'm thinkin' 'bout is Harley. But that's the way it's meant to be."

"I just don't think I'd be able to handle it." I imagine Glenn gazing out at the sky. "These past few days have been stressful enough."

"Yeah, well that's why I got a kid 'n you don't." Dad's being a bit of a smart-ass. Then, he answers seriously. "You got a kid? You gotta be ready to die for 'em. But it ain't just sittin' around, waitin' to do it. It's the opposite. Every day I wake up, and I do it for her. I do everythin' I do for her. After that baby's born, who you were, what you liked doin', any plans you had — That's over. Suddenly, yer life ain't the most important thing you got, no more."

I've never heard my Dad talk like this. I wish our lives were worth the same, but I guess it don't work that way.

"And who were you?" Glenn asks, knocking back a cherry. "Before Harley?"

"A nobody. Drunk bastard with drunk-bastard friends." Dad scoffs.

"Well... That's good, then?" Glenn's guessing. "Sounds like she changed you for the better, man."

I can't imagine my Dad being anybody other than my Dad. The day I came into the world, so did he. There's nothin' before that.

"It's hard." Dad admits, prolly for the first time ever, to Glenn. "I love 'er, but it's hard as shit. Some days I wanna pull my damn hair out."

"You must have been going crazy during... everything."

"Oh, you think?" Dad jokes. "You ain't seen me fuck up that walkie?"

Glenn bursts out laughing. "It hit the RV when you threw it out the window. Scared the shit out of Dale."

I have to try really hard not to laugh. I'm meant to be pretend-asleep!

"You got any nieces, or anythin'?" Dad asks.

"No." Glenn answers. "My sisters were either too interested in their careers to have kids, or... Too young."

Glenn's sisters aren't here. Blood does everything it can to stay together. Dad taught me that. That means his sisters are both young and dead.

"That's gotta be tough, man." Dad sighs.

"No, it's alright. Sometimes I can pretend they're out there, together. Happy." He pauses. "What about you? Nieces? Nephews?"

Dad actually laughs a little. "Fuck no. Not from my side, at least. Guy like my brother ain't meant to spread his seed around. Ain't right."

Glenn starts laughing, too. "I guess not."

"Nah, Harley's my only girl." My Dad says. I feel him start playing with the end of my ponytail.

"You know, when you first showed up in camp, I thought she was Merle's." Glenn says, then quickly, "No offence."

"No shit?" Dad scoffs.

"No shit. I thought you looked too young to have a kid."

An unspoken joke makes them both laugh all over again.

"Yeah, well, I was real busy in my teen years."

I got no idea what that means, but it must be funny. Their conversation tapers from chuckling into a warm silence, and then it's just us and the sun again. It clips over a candy-colored cloud, and I can hear car doors opening and shutting, and loud yawns from down below. We're gonna be on the road again soon. I might not need a cure anymore, but we still need water, food, and walls, and the CDC's got it all. I hear someone shouting, alright, people, time to start heading out, and then a whole bunch of shuffling. The day isn't just ours, anymore.

My Dad stretches, groaning, and I pretend to be woken up by it.

He pinches my cheek. "Look who's here."

"Hey, Harley." Glenn smiles, packing up. "You enjoy the cherries?"

"Uh-huh," I smile back. "Thank you."

"No problem." He says. "There's actually some left over, if you want it."

He holds out the bag while I dig my hand into it.

I think it's funny how me, the man who made me, and the man who almost killed me are all friends, now. I learnt in science class that the more pressure you put on a rock, the more compact the molecules get. I think we're the molecules. It's bittersweet.

"Not too many." Dad warns. "You're still sick, remember? Don't want you messin' up my truck again."

"I remember," I promise, shoving a handful of cherries into my mouth. I also remember him sayin' he don't give a damn 'bout the truck.

Someone shouts out the radio channel again.

"Time to see this thing through, then." Rallies Glenn, but he looks nervous.

We say goodbye to the sunrise.

"Dad, is that—?"

"That's the CDC, alright."

We reach it by early morning. It's a monster of a building. It's like a big, white buoy in the middle of the ocean, saying, Come here, I'll keep you afloat. We ease to a stop and then we just look at it, 'cause it's all we can do. The CDC, right before our eyes. It's really there.

"It's bigger than I thought." I think aloud.

Dad just grunts, wary. "Stay close to me."

Our new walkie chimes, and Rick speaks to everyone when he says, "This is it, people. Leave your things. We're gonna walk up."

Why does the air feel so cold?

My Dad pulls both me and his crossbow out the truck, and then the whole group — one tired, beaten, hopeful force — are slowly making our way to the building. We walk through a silent field. I wish it could speak to us; tell us what it's been through.

We pass torn bags of sand and littered bullet shells. I think there's something here that we're not seeing, not yet, like a sleeping beast at the back of a cave, and when we find it, we're gonna be sorry we ever looked. We weave through big, black piles of clothes. The clothes are full, I realize. Full of hands, and legs; all white, all dead. They're bodies. They still have their human faces; they're still them, just dead, and they're studded with the bullets that the shells came from. The story tells itself, on behalf of the ghosts. They give their blood back to mother nature, dripping into the grass. I gasp. From head to toe, I go cold. My Dad shields my face, but I've already seen 'em. They're already nightmares.

Rick leads us. He leads us past trucks and barriers and blockades. Every sign the universe gives him to turn back, he ploughs through, chin up.

Maybe he's brave. Maybe he's stupid. Maybe he was designed to be both. Maybe we're walking to our deaths.

Nobody speaks. If they do, the bodies might wake up, and the graveyard we're intruding on will realize it doesn't want us here.

A crow squawks from its post on a dead soldier's helmet. If I spoke bird, I'd hear, Turn back.

We have to do this. It's what everyone's thinking, as they manage one foot in front of the other. Just one more step, and after that, just one more step. I take in the group, 'cause they ain't dead, and it's a little less awful to look at.

Morales, rifle up. Eliza, Louis and Sophia, three baby ducklings under their Mommas' shaking wings. Dale and Shane, polar opposites but in this moment, exactly the same; with their steely gaze and steady hands. Jacqui and Andrea, holding hands; two girls in women's bodies, walking through a world that wants to eat them. I catch Carl's eye. He catches mine, over the violence spread out before us. I watch him send me a thumbs up, which does nothing but turn me colder — colder than ice, colder than I've ever been — before my view is blocked for a second time, by Glenn. I'm sandwiched in; hidden, protected. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope I'll get to open them again. My Dad leads me by the shirt over the grass. I trust him.

My shoes hit something tougher, louder — Cement. Rock? Our footsteps echo, now. Are we really in a cave?

It goes double-dark, through my eyelids. Please don't leave us, I beg the sun nicely, We need you.

I squeeze my Dad's hand. He squeezes back.

Then I hear a rumble, like thunder, and I peek out from behind my Dad. It's Rick, banging on roller shutters. We all clench closer together, a fist ready to fight. Nobody does it on purpose, but me and all the other kids are pushed toward the middle. Rumble, rumble, rumble. Rick goes from one door to another to another, until he's shook down the entire row.

Guns are raised. We step back, together.

It's like knockin' on doors on Halloween. We don't know what creature's gonna answer. Maybe nobody.

"Anybody home?" Glenn mutters.

We stretch our silence for as long as we can stand it. There is no answer.

Newly determined, or maybe offended, or scared, or maybe all three, Rick beats down all the doors again like he hates 'em.

"Hey!" He calls out. "Whoever's in there, open up!"

"Nobody's here, man!" T-Dog shakes his head, but he ain't got no proof.

"Then tell me why you think all the damn shutters are down?" Rick snarls, and it's like we're in the parking lot again, and I'm scared.

And I should be.

"Walkers incoming!" Shane shouts.

Suddenly, my Dad and Glenn are whirling the other way, facing our new enemy. I grab onto the back of Dad's belt, and when I peer out between their elbows, I see one, two, six, twelve dead bodies lumbering to their feet, all dressed in military green, and dented helmets, and layers and layers of crusty black blood and loose skin. The other kids start to cry, but not me. I can't cry, 'cause I can't breathe. I hear a slicing fwip, and then one of the dead soldiers drop to the ground like the only thing holding him up were strings. An arrow marks his second deathbed.

"We can't fuckin' stay here, Rick!" My Dad's yelling. "You led us into a death-trap!"

I'm grabbing onto the back of Glenn's shirt, now, 'cause my Dad's stomping off to confront Rick and Shane. I hide my nose in my knuckles. Death-trap, I'm panicking, Death-trap. A week ago, I'd be standing here alone, but I got Glenn now. I don't know how I know that, but I do. I got Glenn.

"Glenn, I'm scared." I whine to him, and there it is, I'm crying. I think of happier things, like cherries and the sun.

"I— I know." Glenn puffs, 'cause he's scared, too. "I know."

He lets me grab his hand. It's what Uncle Merle would have done.

"Death trap or not, we're here for a reason!" Dale's arguing. "Rick made a call! We all did!"

"You want us to phase through the fuckin' doors, old man?" Dad spits. "We're stuck out here! My daughter's stuck out here!"

"Running out of time here, guys!" Jacqui's worrying.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Are those gunshots, now? Bullets are last resorts. Last resorts are only for when you're gonna die. Are we gonna—?

"Are we gonna die, Glenn?"

"No." He hurries to answer, gripping me tighter. "N—No."

"We need to leave!" A woman — Carol? — cries.

"She's right." Lori. That's Lori. "This close to the city? It's too dangerous!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Fort Benning." Shane looks like he's 'bout ready to bolt, bouncin' from foot to foot. A trapped animal. "We can do it. It's still an option, Rick."

"Is it?" Glenn's shouting. "It's a hundred twenty-five miles away!"

"No fuel? Two sick kids?" Morales is shakin' his head, no, no, no. "It's impossible!"

What do we do? No, no, no. We can't leave, but no, no, no, we can't stay, neither.

"What do you wanna do, then?" Shane argues back. "What you wanna do?"

"That's it! We're done here!"

My Dad shuts the whole thing down with one angry shout, locking his hand around my wrist. He tugs me away, and for a moment, the group is tugging itself along behind us, back to the street and the cars. We're a unit again — in the wind, goin' anywhere; scared, flimsy. We take one step, and then two, and we make it all the way back to the grass, before—

"Wait!"

It's Rick.

He ain't budged. Brave or stupid? Is he nuts?

"The camera." He tells us, breathless. "It moved."

All three.

"You imagined it." Dale decides, 'cause he'll say anything to get Rick to move. "How could it have moved?"

It's a lost cause — a last-ditch attempt.

The arguing re-ignites. I hide myself again, 'cause I'd rather be anywhere else.

Rick's shouting that he saw it, he saw the camera move, and his voice hits the concrete and closes in on us, just like the field. Fwip. Bang. Bang. Bang. Each burst of noise is a ticking hand on a dyin' clock. The bodies are picking themselves up faster than we're dropping 'em. Glenn's got a knife out, now, and Shane's pleading with Rick, who's gone nuts, Man, listen, the place is gone, it's gone, it's gone, it's gone. Rumble, rumble, rumble. Fwip. Bang. Crying; shrieking, from me, from the other kids, from Lori, and Jacqui, and the air as it's cut in half by bullet after bullet after bullet. Please, we have two sick kids out here, someone's begging.

"You're killing us!" Rick tells the camera. "You're killing us!"

My Dad fists the back of my shirt and he's pullin' me away, stronger than before. I think he's saying, Fuck it, we can make it on our own; leave the bastard. This must really be rock bottom. We were on our own for weeks. He must be thinking that we can do it again. I can see Glenn struggling to decide whether he should stay with the group or follow his feet, which are already trying to run after me and my Dad. I see Jacqui doin' it, too, and then Andrea, and then Carol.

A body topples over in our path, arrow up its nose. This is chaos.

Cherries and sunlight. Cherries and sunlight.

Then—

Behind us.

A gentle rumble, rumble.

We all whip around.

The doors — They're opening. They really are.

Even Rick looks like he can't believe it. We watch them open, mouths agape, like a bunch of idiots — A portal, to another world.

At first, we think there's a catch. Nothing comes without a catch. Do we go in?

But then there's another bang, and we're reminded that we're as good as dead if we stay out here any longer. We're on the move again, but this time, we're walking into the big, white mouth of the big, white monster, praying, Please don't be worse than it is out here, please don't make us regret this. We stay close together as the doors roll back down, sealing us in. We can breathe again, but only slightly. Would I rather take my chances with the dead soldiers, or with the unknown? I'm not sure. Now it's really happening, I don't think any of us are.

"Electricity." Jacqui whispers in cautious wonder. Electricity is like a myth.

Rick nods toward an archway. "Let's keep moving."

We trickle into the belly of the beast — Down a hallway, and into a lobby with the tallest damn ceiling I ever saw. Papers are thrown all over the floor and the computers at the reception desk are all upturned, but it's pin-drop silent. It's like being in a museum for an old extinction event.

"Hello?" Rick calls out, and if there's a scary creature in here, I sure hope it eats him first. "Who's in here? Who opened the doors?"

The silence answers.

"I did."

I jump outta my skin. Dad gets himself in front of me, but I peek around his waist. There's a man at the top of the stairs. He looks like he's been here for a long, long time. Like those lonely boys in Lord of the Flies, where they'd been on an island for so long that they started going a little crazy. He's wearing a regular t-shirt. I wonder where his lab coat is, if he's a scientist. This is a building for scientists.

"What did you mean by 'sick'?" The lonely-crazy-man calls down to us. "You said you had two sick kids. Is anybody infected?"

The whole group hardens at this question. They all glance back at me. I can see our journey in their eyes.

Rick's smiling, and this time, it looks right.

"You don't know the half of it." He turns back around, chin up, like always. "No. Nobody's infected. Thank God."

Dad puts a hand my shoulder.

The scientist doesn't share the same enthusiasm.

"I'm not sure He's around, anymore." He muses, vaguely sad. Then, "Why are you here? What do you want?"

I've never been good at words, but Rick is, 'cause he comes up with the perfect answer. One he knows we'd all agree on.

"A chance."

And maybe some water. After all we been through, that can't be too much to ask. We must look like a pathetic, begging mess, 'cause that's what we are. I know I am. My hair's made outta knots and grease, just like Lori and Andrea's. We're covered in beatings from the road, like bruises from Jim's fists and eyebags from sleepless nights. We left our quarry for this. We left our fish, and our tyre swing, and we left Jim. This can't be for nothing.

The man, who stands high above us, a judging eye, takes us in. "That's asking an awful lot, these days."

All Rick can say is, "I know," and pray it works.

I think of wet eyes, teeth, and spiders while we wait for his decision.

"You'll submit to a blood test." The scientist tells us. "That's the price of admission."

A breath leaves us all.

"We can—" Rick's nodding. "We can manage that."

That's it? A blood test?

I find myself grinning, and I tug on my Dad's hand. We look at each other. He's smiling, too, just a little. We all are. The scientist doesn't know it, but he's just saved our lives. We're tired and we're dirty and we've been through Hell these past couple days, but a blood test — We can manage that. We can manage anything.

"I left one door open. If you have stuff to bring in, do it now." He says, from his perch. "Once these doors shut, they don't open."

We tell him we understand.

This place is like a magical castle.

After we give up our blood, the scientist takes us on a tour. 

Jacqui was right. We got electricity. But apparently, we also got hot water.

If electricity's a myth, then hot water is a damn hoax. I can't wait to have a shower tonight. I used to hate showers, but that's just one of them things now that I can't believe I ever hated, like spinach. I been so hungry before that I'd dream about spinach. Glenn and Lori groan like they've bitten into a big, juicy steak when they hear 'bout the showers, and we all laugh. When I ask him, the scientist says that he isn't wearing his lab coat because he only wears it to make himself look cool. He says that now that we're here, he'll have to put it back on. It makes me giggle.

I run ahead with the other kids, and we all reach a long line of doors, where the scientist says we'll be staying.

The tour is complete!

We all pick rooms to stay in and then we unpack, like we're in a hotel, and it's exciting. None of us have been to a hotel in years.

"Hey, Harley!" Sophia pops her head out the next room over, holding a bar of soap. "Look! Soap!"

I hold out mine. "I got one, too!"

Behind Sophia, Carl pops his head out. "Me too!"

And behind him, like two little owls, Eliza and Louis appear. "Us, too!"

We dash back into our rooms. Me and my Dad's room got two double beds, and I ain't never had a double bed before, so I climb on it, and I jump up and down to test it out. It don't even squeak or nothin'. Dad watches me from where he's emptying one of our back packs.

As I try touch the ceiling, I tell him, "This place is awesome!"

"Harley, come down from there 'fore you crack yer head open." He orders, like a party-pooper.

I do what he says, 'cause I don't wanna ruin the day by getting spanked. "I'm gonna have a real-life shower."

"That's right." He shakes out the yellow shirt with the dinosaurs on it. He chucks it at my head, smirking. "Get ready, then."

I grab the brush that Sophia's letting me use first and a pair of purple pyjama pants from my Dad. I take myself into the bathroom. At first, the water's like straight lava on my skin, and I yelp. Dad asks if I'm alright, and then he comes in to fix the water for me. The lava settles back down, and I scrub and wash and sud myself up until I'm almost as red as a lobster. It's the best shower I've ever had. I was getting so sick of using baby wipes and river water to wash myself. When I step out of the real-life shower, the whole room is steamed up. I draw a smiley face into the mirror just 'cause I can, and then I brush out all my hair. I smell like strawberries. I dress in my cozy pyjamas and socks.

When I come out, my Dad re-does my buttons, 'cause apparently I did 'em all wrong. I stand between his knees while he re-orders 'em.

"He said there's a games room here." I smile.

"Maybe you can scope it out after dinner." Dad says. "You gotta be hungry by now, right?"

"Oh, I forgot 'bout dinner!" There's just too many wonders to keep track of in this place! "We gotta hurry!"

My Dad loops the last button.

"Come on, come on, come on!" I nag, pulling him off the bed and out the door.

"Damn." He chuckles. "People are gonna start thinkin' I ain't feedin' you."

"I bet there's gonna be steak!"

This is the best day ever.

We reach the CDC's little cafeteria, which is in total darkness to save energy, except for a spotlight above the biggest table. Makes it feel even more special. I hear clinking forks and plates, and I think these are the two happiest days I've ever had. Me and Dad take seats next to Carol and Sophia. As potato salad — Yes, potato salad. That's almost as good as soap — and greens and meat get passed around, I'm reminded of our fish fry. My Dad is here with me to enjoy it this time, and there are walls to protect us, instead of trees. We're clean. We're safe. We're alive.

"Just tell me when." Carol tells T-Dog as she pours him some wine, while everyone is getting settled in at the table.

Carol pours for a long time and T-Dog does not say when.

People start laughing.

T-Dog gives in and goes, "Okay, when, when, when."

"Thought I was gonna be there all night." Carol scoff-chuckles, sitting back down.

When I look around, I see one big family having dinner together, and I see people I'd almost forgotten about under all that dirt.

"Hey, after the past few days we've had, I think we deserve it." Rick's smiling, holding up his hands.

"I'll say." Lori snickers.

Dale suddenly stands, glass in hand. "How about we dedicate this meal to Harley?"

Rick puts down his napkin. "I think that's a perfect idea."

I giggle under all the attention as everyone rushes to agree, finding their glasses. I hide my face behind my Dad's arm. He peels himself away, smirking, and everyone's got something to say about my red face when I'm no longer hidden. I smack Carl when he tells me I look like a tomato, and everyone's doubled over with laughter, again. It's my favorite sound ever, I decide.

Before we can toast, my Dad butts in.

"Hang on. Old man, how's about that watch you carry around?" He asks. "It got a date on it?"

"I wish," Dale smiles, "But the battery died yesterday. Why? Is there something I'm missing?"

"I reckon it's almost July, right?" Dad looks around.

Is he gonna say what I think he's gonna say?

I start grinning.

Rick nods, "I reckon so. It's probably been about a month since everything went down."

"Harley was born in July. Twenty-second. Eight years ago. Ain't that right?" Dad ruffles my hair, and I giggle, 'cause I'm just so full of happiness that I feel like I'll never be anything else again. He raises his glass; wraps a hand around my shoulders. "Close enough, am I right?"

"Absolutely, that's close enough!" Lori shouts, clapping her hands; rushing for her glass. "My God, this is perfect!"

"We got ourselves a birthday dinner, here, people!" T-Dog whoops, raising his, too.

Rick lifts his glass above his head, and it's official. "To the birthday girl!"

"To the birthday girl!"

Clink, clink, clink.

More cheering. Two toasts in one day. I must be the luckiest girl in the whole, wide world. I bump my glass of water into Dad's glass on my right, and Sophia's on my left. After the scare with the scratches, this celebration means ten times more than a regular birthday would. There's no cake here, or number-candles, but I don't need any of that to make this moment special. I got Glenn singing an off-key Happy Birthday, and I got Jacqui giggling, God, shut that boy up, and I got Sophia hugging me, and I got another year and a whole lotta more days I get to live, with everyone at this table; with my Dad. And when Rick leans over the table, I even let him give me a high-five!

"Eight." Rick raises his eyebrows at me while he sits back down, pointing at me. "Almost double digits."

"You're almost my age!" Grins Carl.

"Good luck." Lori dramatically whispers to my Dad.

He gives me a look. "Listen to me, you ain't allowed to grow any more after this, okay?"

I can't help if I grow!

"Okay, Dad." I laugh. "I promise to be eight forever."

"Good girl." He says, gulping down more wine.

"Hold up." T-Dog sticks his palm out. "This is a birthday party. You know what that means, right? We need to hear at least one embarrassing story."

"Good idea." Jacqui gasps.

Dad makes a big show of scoffing. "Damn, which one you want? I got thousands."

What a traitor!

"I mean, we have all night, here." Shane shrugs, grinning like a little smart-ass. "I'm up for a story-time. How 'bout y'all?"

"Let's hear it," Morales gestures at my Dad.

"Alright." Dad sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. I try leaning over to cover his mouth, but he bats me away, and everyone is already laughing and the story ain't even started yet. "How 'bout— Okay. Okay. Damn, this is a good one. 'Bout when she was five, we bought Harley this skateboard—" Everybody's going, Oh God, 'cause they see where this is going. "Uh-huh. We took 'er down to the skatepark near our house, and there was a bunch of other lil' kids there — 'bout her age — and I'on know how she did it, but these kids were all convinced she was this master skater who was gonna show 'em how it's done. She was coachin' 'em, I think. Showin' off her new board. End of the day, she finally goes to show 'em a trick — 'Member, first day at this damn park — and everyone's watching and—" He claps his hands, smack. "Falls flat on 'er fuckin' face, in front of all of 'em."

Ugh, why'd he have to go and tell that story?

Rick covers his mouth 'cause he's trying not to laugh, 'cause I guess he values whatever dignity I got left but Shane, he's clappin' and trying not to spit his food out, 'cause he's actually a big smart-ass. I'm laughing behind my hands, like Sophia. Glenn's resting his forehead on the table, and he's shakin', so I guess he's laughing, too. When he sits upright, he's crying, and Jacqui's gotta beat his back 'cause he's choking a little bit.

"I'm alri—" He coughs. Then he keeps laughin', which makes it worse. "I'm alright."

"Hey, I ain't even fall that bad!" I defend myself.

He chugs Jacqui's water to save himself.

"Wait—" Lori's chuckling. "Five years old?"

"Yep," Dad goes back to eating. He's satisfied with the damage he's done.

"Pretty brave for that age." Lori tells me, putting on an I'm impressed face.

"Damn, that's pretty bad." T-Dog's shaking his head. "Sorry, girl, but I'm glad I asked, 'cause shit!"

"Leave the poor girl alone." Carol giggles, quietly.

Shane looks off into the darkness, pretending there's a crowd. "Anybody got a skateboard?"

"Oh, shut up." Andrea smiles. "Settle down, or Lori's gonna have to pull that photo out."

"May I ask a question?"

We're all so isolated in this pocket of happiness, celebrating the end of our troubles, that when the scientist speaks, I think we're all a little spooked. Smiles freeze and fade. Glasses lower. Heads turn. We're not the only people in the world, we're all realizing. We'd forgotten all about the reason we came here. That's what potato salad does to people, I guess.

The conversation dies off like a guillotine sliced it in half.

"What were you going to toast to?" The scientist asks, and his voice is like a soft, chilly breeze in a forest. I'm not even sure he was sitting there the whole time. Maybe he's supernatural, and he teleported. That makes me scared. "Before you figured out it was her birthday?"

And just like that, the dinner turns awkward. 

Rick clears his throat. "Well, if I'm being completely honest, here, Harley is the reason we came out to the city in the first place. I know I told you that nobody here was infected, but there were a couple days where... we weren't sure. Harley got scratched. We left looking for a cure."

The scientist's eyes roam over to my face, but then they don't leave.

"Now we're on the subject," Shane decides to break the silence, frowning, "How about you tell us what exactly happened here, doc?"

Rick mutters, "We don't have to do this right now, Shane."

"Wait a second." Shane sighs. "You said it yourself, just now. This is why we came all the way out here, right? Figure out what happened? Put all our eggs in one basket, and uh—" He laughs a laugh that tells me nothing is funny here. "Instead we found him. We found one man, talking in riddles. Why is that, you think?"

The scientist tanks the insult. "When things got bad, people just... left, to be with their families. The rest bolted."

I remember just how shocked I was at the size of this building when I first saw it creeping up the windows. It's way too much space for one man. There must have been hundreds of scientists working in here, and now it's just a shell. A cave for a lonely monster.

"Every last one?" Shane whispers, squinting; disbelieving.

The scientist falters, for just a moment, and I can see old pains on his face. "No. Some couldn't face leaving. They... opted out."

The tables goes from quiet to silent. Opted out. I know what that means. It's another one of them things adults say to butter up the truth, and it means killing yourself. I squeak, then, like I've been kicked in the ribs. I hide behind my Dad, who cradles the back of my damp hair, but you can't hide from words once they're in your head. Suicide. Dead, but not an accident — On purpose, with pills, or a gun, or a— a— a bridge. Something snotty gets caught in my throat like a fish-hook, and I'm crying now, at my own birthday dinner. Somebody drops their fork in defeat.

"There was a rash of suicides." Mutters the scientist, immune to his own story; numb. "In a matter of days, I was alone."

"Why didn't you leave?" Asks Andrea.

Carl is crying too, now. I wish I could make him feel better, just for a moment, but I can't.

"I just kept working." Smiles the scientist, but it's not right— It's just muscles, pulling his droopy face upward. "I just wanted to do some good."

Good.

The word reaches up into the ceiling, and leaves us at the bottom, sitting in its echo.

"There is no cure here." The scientist says.

The dinner is over.

Everything comes crashing down as fast as it went flying up.

We were on top of the world just a few hours ago. We were invincible. We had the news that I wasn't going to die in our veins, and then we had hot water and soap and potato salad, and each other. We had hotel rooms and a birthday dinner. But now we just have a dead end and a long list of regrets. There is nothing here for us besides showers, lights, and ghosts. I feel like a trapped animal. I'm a hamster in a maze, going around and around and around, and I can't get out. A rash of suicides. That thing I thought was hiding somewhere, it's this, and it's out, and I'm sorry we ever looked. Please don't let it be worse than it is out here, I remember, Please don't make us regret this.

After what feels like hours, the hallways I'm running down end. I see the game room.

I run inside and corner myself under the table. A cloth hides me from the world outside, and if I pretend hard enough, I can take myself right out of here and into a nice, safe pillow fort, instead. Like the ones I used to make back home. I can be someone else. If I'm in my head, I'm not here.

But then I hear the door open, and it's just a wooden table again, and I'm in the CDC.

"Harley?" It's my Dad, 'cause of course it is. I moan into my hands, crying so hard I'm not getting enough air. "You in here?"

I don't want to be found. I want to be lost.

The cloth lifts.

"Baby, what's wrong?" My Dad asks, but I know he already knows. How could he not know?

There are lots of words that remind me of my Momma, like sunshine, and cigarettes, and the worst — Suicide.

"Get out." I tell him, using my feet to push him away. "Get out."

I should've learnt my lesson back at the quarry, on that night I hit my Dad, but I don't care. I just wanna hurt something. I'm hurting. A rash of suicides. I can't stop hearing it, and I can't stop seeing it — Over and over again, the night on the bridge. Opted out. Suicide. Killing yourself. 

Pills, guns, ropes.

Bridges.

"Baby, I know." Dad's saying, grabbing my kicking feet. "I know. Come out. I don't want you thinkin' 'bout this, so come on out."

"I can't help it!" I sob, 'cause I really can't. Something that is too big for my body is happening to me, and I can't stop it.

"H— I know. Just come out." He's begging, and now he's not just holding my feet, he's pulling 'em; pulling me, out from underneath my hidey hole and into the world, even though I want to stay in here forever. He's trying so hard to bury something that's still alive; something that has teeth and jaws, and is eating me from the inside out. He don't wanna see it, and he don't wanna hear it, and he don't wanna deal with it. I wish he'd curl up in my make-believe pillow fort, and hide from the world with me. I wish he'd understand. "You don't gotta be under there. Come out, right now."

Some days I wanna pull my damn hair out.

He's getting angry again. He's holding himself back from something very nasty that lives inside him.

"No," I'm begging him back; begging him to just listen. "No, I don't wanna come out. I don't wanna—!"

I anchor myself to the table leg. We're an unstoppable force and an immovable object, colliding head on for the first time, ever, and it's a disaster. That night at the quarry was nothing.

Furious, my Dad rips the cloth off the table and boxes of puzzles go toppling over onto the floor, breaking into a million little pieces that used to be happily fused. Newly exposed, he easily ducks under and locks his hand around my wrist. I scream, and I close my eyes so I don't have to see my Daddy like this, 'cause it ain't him anymore. He pries my little fingers off the table, one by one by one, and ow, ow, ow, it really hurts. I'm yanked away, and then he's dragging me out by the ankles, shouting—

"Stop actin' like this. You ain't a baby." I hook myself onto a second leg, and he's wrestling with me all over again. "Stop! Mind yer damn father, girl!"

I'm not a baby, but I wish I was, 'cause we were happy back then.

"Stop!" I sob, kicking at him. "J— Leav— Just leave me alone!"

"I ain't leavin' you alone — You know why?" He's seething down to me. "'Cause you need a damn spanking. That's why."

I think back to an hour ago, when I thought I'd only ever be happy for the rest of my life. What a stupid thing to think.

Don't make it any worse, his voice is warning me, from all the times he's done this before.

But it can't get any worse.

In one big pull of strength, I'm forced out from underneath the table once and for all, where I felt safe and small and alone, into the light of the game room where I feel naked, again, for all to see. My face is raw and wet and hurt, and I think one of my buttons got torn off by my Daddy when he was grabbing for me, even though he was the one to fix them before dinner, and on that night in the RV, to show me he loves me. He yanks me to my feet by the armpits, 'cause I can't stand on my own no more, and he crouches to get in my face.

"This is your last fuckin' chance, and then I'm gonna have to take my belt off." He warns me.

"I miss Momma." I whimper.

His face softens, but it's gone so quick I'm sure I imagined it. "Harley," He grinds out, "Stop this."

"You killed her!" I cry, scared, but braver than I ever been at the same time. "You made Momma kill 'erself! You made 'er jump off that bridge!"

I tried so hard to be like my Daddy, but I can't. I can't hide things like he can.

I don't care if he belts me after. I just want him to know. I want him to know that I know, and that I ain't never gonna forgive him. I'd take a thousand beatings just so I could scream the same thing up at him, until my throat bleeds, until I'm nothin' but a voice, until my Momma comes back. People who kill themselves don't wanna come back, but maybe this time, if I was a good enough girl, she might want to. I'd get on my knees, and I'd beg her, and I'd say, Please Momma, I need you. Please Momma, please. Me and Daddy can't do it on our own. She didn't love my Daddy, and my Daddy hated my Momma. He never said it, but I always knew he did. I saw it when he dropped me off at her house; how he didn't wanna leave me with her. I heard people say my Momma was sick in the brain, and that she was a bad Mom, but I loved her.

My parents might be forever separated, but on my face, they are still together. I got my Daddy's flat mouth and my Momma's green eyes. I am proof that hate can create love. I don't feel so loved right now, though. I feel like I'm nothing. I feel like when my Daddy said he loved me, he was lying.

And there it is, my Daddy's hand going for his belt, 'cause I chose to say the worst thing I could think of.

I don't wanna get beat, but sometimes it don't matter what little girls want.

"I want you to think about the way you're speakin' to me." My Dad, the same one that was crying in my baby photo, shouts in my face. "I don't know why you gotta be like this, Harley. I don't know why you gotta make me do this. You were havin' such a good day."

"I'm sorry—" I'm sayin' now. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"You shoulda thought about that before you started bringing this shit back up again. After this, never again, okay?"

He pulls me down into his chest, yanking the back of my shirt up to the base of my neck. I wait for the whip, and the burning sting afterwards.

I can take it. I'll just close my eyes and wait for it to be over.

But before it can come—

"Woah! Hey!" A man's shout. "Hey, hey! Stop!"

The whip doesn't come. I can catch my breath. 

Under my Dad's arm, the one that's in the air, poised to beat me, I see a man in the doorway. I almost can't make him out, but there he is — It's officer Shane. The room seems to slap him in the face, like he can't believe what he's just walked into. He's scared to step inside, in case the moment breaks and my Dad chooses to beat me, anyway. Shane's a bastard cop, and it's his job to save people. I never thought I'd be needing saved from my Dad. I still don't think I need saving. I brought this on myself. I wish he'd go away, so it could be over with.

My Dad stands up, his whole body clenched with muscle ready to punch.

"I'm gonna ask you put that down, man." This is the first time I'm hearing Shane's police-man voice. "And to step away from her, okay?"

I feel embarrassed.

I'm kneeling on the floor, grabbing onto the side of the sofa, tryna hide myself again. I don't belong here. I don't want Shane to see me like this. I wanna be the little girl he caught frogs with, not a ball of hurt and tears. Suddenly, this isn't a games room anymore. It's a wolf's den, and I got two of 'em right in front of me, circling each other, ready to bite. I scuttle further into the corner, like if I shrink myself enough, I can just disappear into the floor.

"You ain't askin' me shit, officer." Dad whispers, real nasty. "Ain't no rules, no more. Not so tough, now."

"I'm not gonna ask you again, man." Officer Shane warns, stepping very slowly into room.

He moves toward us, inch by inch, like a man inside a lion enclosure.

"You don't gotta." Dad spits. "Door's right there."

"You're hittin' on little girls, now, Daryl." Shane huffs that mean laugh again. "Sorry, buddy, but that's my business. Come on. Step away."

If Shane had his gun in his holster, his hand would be on it. But we left all our weapons in the bedrooms before dinner. He stretches his fingers; tilts his head. I realize he don't need a gun. He's gonna fist-fight my Dad if he don't do what he says. My Dad, sensing this, chucks his belt on top of the broken puzzles, and stretches out his fingers, too. They're one wrong word away from beating each other to a pulp.

I wanna beg 'em to stop, but my voice is burrowed somewhere deep inside my body, and I can't reach it. 

"We don't have to do this, Daryl." Shane's half-way into the room, now. When did he get that close?

"Sure we don't." Dad snarls. "You gonna hit me? Go ahead."

Shane shakes his head. "That's not somethin' I wanna do, man. But you know I will. Step away."

A hiccup I didn't give permission to leave my mouth cuts through the room. Shane glances at me. I don't know who I'm supposed to root for.

"'Step away', huh? Step away from my own daughter?" My Dad scoffs.

Shane glances from me to my Dad, and I can see him start to realize that this angle won't work on my Dad. He holds out his hand. Something about the way he's looking at me is saying, You don't have to be afraid, but I am, and I don't wanna move. I feel like this is my fault. I watch as he flicks his fingers a little, brows raised. "How 'boutchu come over here, Harley, huh?"

Dad blocks me with his body before I can even think about it. "Hey, don't you fuckin' speak to her."

His eyes are back on my Dad. "Just tryna do what's best for everybody, here, Daryl."

My Dad cracks one of his knuckles. "Nah. Nah, I don't think you are. You got it all twisted."

"Don't think I do."

"Yeah?" Dad goads, and every second, I wait for one of them to swing. I can't stand it. "What is it you think you walked in on, then, huh?"

I think my Dad's waiting for the swing, too, 'cause he's so confident that he'll win that he wants officer Shane to try him. He wants to punish him. He wants to show him what happens when you insult a Dixon, 'cause protecting the name is more important than protecting his own body. I think about the way my Dad busted Rick's cheek; How Ronnie's Momma ain't recognise him when my Daddy was done with him.

Shane must be thinkin' the exact same thing, 'cause he starts goading my Dad right back.

"I think I walked in on you beatin' the shit outta your own kid, first of all." Shane shrugs, like it ain't his fault it's fact, and he keeps going when he notices my Dad's breathing get heavy. He's enjoying this. A smile splits his face. "I think we been worrying 'bout Jim this whole time, we been worrying 'bout the wrong man. How 'bout that? You wanted us to be so focused on him, we forget about the real monster."

"That right?" Dad side-steps Shane when he reaches the edge of the coffee-table.

"Sounds right to me, man." Shane says. "Lemme ask you this, Daryl. What is it you think I walked in on?"

I wonder where everyone else is. I wonder if at any second, one of them is gonna walk in.

"It don't matter what I think." Dad shouts, suddenly, and I shriek like I've been struck by the belt. "It's my damn business. It's my damn daughter."

"Yeah, I betchu wish it was." Shane huffs out a chuckle. "Don't want your secret gettin' out, right?"

Shane's like a wriggly little worm, needling my Dad where he don't wanna be needled.

My Dad's patience finally runs out.

He rears back to swing at Shane's head, and his fist is caught and twisted, and I hear Shane grunt in pain, and this is it, so I close my eyes—

Wait.

My eyes are open. That don't make no sense. Why is it so dark? Why can't I see?

I realize that the fight has stopped, and I feel like we've all forgotten about it and are waiting for something to happen.

There's a single murmur throughout the room.

"Was that the power?"

Author's Note.

Cliff-hanger! Mwahahha.

So, obviously, the last scene in this chapter is pretty brutal. I'd like to share why I made the decision to have Daryl act this way, because it could be a shock for some.

For starters, I think it's plausible for a number of reasons. Merle being a bad influence on Daryl, his unhealed childhood trauma and how that affects how he parents his child, and his unhealthy habit of bottling up his emotions, etc.

It's not pretty, I know, and I kind of hated writing that scene, but that brings up my second point. For the sake of the themes and arcs I want to give this story, it was necessary. This story just couldn't exist if it didn't have this scene. I've got, like, three different key subplots linked to it. Maybe you can even guess what they are, because two of them have been hinted at/set up already. They're only going to get more prominent from here on out.

So that's the explanation for anybody who wanted or needed it. You'll see all this play out in the coming chapters, anyway, but I just wanted to provide this in the mean time. :)

Rant over! Phew. Everybody take a sigh of relief.

On a more positive note, everything else in this chapter was a total joy to write! These poor guys deserve some happiness 😌

Hope you enjoyed reading, and as always, please consider sharing your thoughts! Sending love :)

[menelaiad]

can I prompt you to talk about Menelaus sparing Helen I'm just like :chinhands: about everything u say about the house of atreus

hey, if you're willing to listen, i'm more than happy to talk - thank you!

so. again. we got Big Three versions.

menelaus says 'guys it's chill i'll kill her at home. let's all cool our jets' (this is the version in euripides)

menelaus goes to kill her himself. helen shows her boobs. menelaus suddenly very chill (this is also implied by euripides)

menelaus gets men to kill her. helen shows her boobs. men suddenly very chill (stesichorus)

CAN YOU GUESS WHICH TWO I DESPISE? no. fr. the last two (the boob two) are far too dependent on helen being vain. and helen .... almost not feeling any guilt or shame from what's happened. and we know that's not true from the iliad. these two, to me, are classic. THIS IS JUST HOW HOT HELEN WAS propaganda. cause yknow. ur a greek/roman/ancient dude and you hear that helen of sparta showed you her boobs like 'damn bro i wouldn't kill her either ahahahaha pass the wine, maximus'.

but helen was never vain. she was never arrogant. she was confident and self-assured. but it's pretty much everyone AROUND helen that comments on her beauty and stuff. she never really does herself? which is another fascinating element of her character tbh. so her doing THIS as a means to be spared? doesn't suit me. do i think helen wanted to die/was willing to die? no. but i think she would have gone about pleading for her life a different way, y'know? also i hate the whole 'her tits got her into this mess they'll get her out of it' like shut UP. menelaus is not 12. he's fucking 60 odd at this point. he is tired. he is wounded. he is so beyond mentally well. give him some respect. he wouldn't have been blind sided by this.

but i don't think menelaus EVER planned to kill her. i can accept euripudes' version cause i think there would have been a lot of greek men that would have wanted to see helen dead. it makes sense yknow? they dont see the full narrative. the big picture. as far as they're concerned helen ran away. loads of people died. and now she's gonna get away with it. they're not narrative aware enough to see all the cogs of fate and the gods and all this. so i can respect that some greeks would have wanted her to suffer and menelaus would have risked a fuckin riot if he outright said 'nah lads she's fine lets crack on' so the whole 'wait til we get home' narrative is a good way for him to save time. to buy him and helen some time to come up with a plan, a story. to hear each other out. to work through stuff. they don't get back to sparta for like. 10 more years. they can EASILY have come up with some reason why she's not been killed yet. or why he's not gonna go through with it/why it's all worked out.

in regards to menelaus never wanting to kill her, i believe that because of how menelaus behaves in the iliad. menelaus is constantly lamenting the deaths of the greeks. the needless death and suffering. how these men are working and sacrificing to get helen back. to bring her HOME. what would killing her do? another senseless death. all the sacrifice for naught because menelaus doesnt get his wife back. he goes back to sparta alone. as if he never even went to fucking troy and tried to get her back?????

and also because menelaus loves her. despite everything he loves her and he never stopped. it's why i really like his portrayal in IOA even if he is a giant ass clown. he's a man desperate to get his wife back. and he's under the impression they're just gonna go to troy and get her back. simple as. two months tops. he's frantic and desperate and willing to try anything to get her back (yo bro kill ur daughter for me kthx). and i don't think that desire to get her back changes. menelaus grows more subdued and quiet. and has less fire. but he's still trying. he goes toe to toe with paris, is willing to take on hektor. menelaus is very much: 'i am dying at troy or i am leaving with my wife' and how is that not love? it's literally. he is going to get her back or die trying.

(also idk how much people value to fall of troy texts that are around but like. menelaus kills deiphobus in those. when dei is with helen. the man is insane in those moments he could easily have took helen out too in his madness. but he doesn't. also also. when he's in the horse and he hears helen, he's said to 'groan' when he remembers her and given the context of the other men weeping and stuff. this is like. a groan of pain. hearing helen's voice after so long and remembering her. HURTS him. he's missed her so much.)

menelaus and helen loved each other. you see it in odyssey 4. the healing they must have gone through in those 10 years. is so admirable and powerful. and they did it because they wanted to. because they were gonna see this out. they were gonna make this work. and even zeus acknowledges it. because he lets menelaus into elysium just to be with helen (his own DAUGHTER) for eternity. even though menelaus has LITERALLY no elysium qualities. not even zeus cant bear to separate these two.

they're just so fucking powerful.

[crypt-void]

I'm so normal about Chalk Tablet Towers by Gorillaz. I'm so completely normal about how if you switch the perspective, you can turn it into a story about the original narrator's loved one trying to reassure them in rehab to not give in to self destructive tendencies.

Or if you want it to be even more depressing, the loved one reminiscing on what they should have said to prevent the narrator from dying.

I love the original lyrics and how well the isolation of the song is written. At the same time, I think there's something so painfully beautiful about the idea of the narrator feeling shame and like they have to isolate themself for being in rehab. Then, the loved ones' perspective works as a response to this.

No, the narrator doesn't actually want to hurt themself. They want to come home. If they leave, they aren't just hurting themself. No, the narrator does not need to worry about everyone abandoning them. The loved one still cares for them regardless of their mental state, and they say this in a way where the loved one feels it should be obvious how much they care.

So many times in media and writing, characters struggling are often depicted as all alone and only able to help themselves. While it is true that it is ultimately up to the person struggling to make the choice to save themself, I think the reminder that there are still people there to support them is important. It gives some hope.

I love call and response songs (To Binge and Souk Eye or the English and Spanish versions of Latin Simone for example), and I love the idea that even if two characters aren't communicating face to face, they're still trying to speak to one another, which is what I feel when switching the perspective on Chalk Tablet Towers.

I'll attach the og lyrics with my own response lyrics below here. There really isn't much change, but I feel like the differences in how the narrators feel is important.

My own:

Chalk tablet towers like drawing shadows

Chemical distraction, you are not with me

You departed in the spring to a distant star

But you could not get back, you had gone too far (oh-oh-oh-oh)

You wanna get drunk?

You wanna get stoned?

You wanna give up?

You wanna come ho-o-o-ome.

Watching rockets take off

From the parting sea

How will I ever touch you

If you are not with me? (oh-oh-oh-oh, out here)

There's only silence (out there)

No form of contact (out here)

You am dreaming

Looking into the darkness (oh-oh-oh-oh)

Home (Home)

Home (Home)

Home (Homе)

Home (Home)

Home (Homе)

Home (Home)

Home (Home)

Home (Home)

You say you won't be back 'til the end of summer

Y'know I'll still be here.

I won't give up on you, darling

You know that I care

I don't need no trophies

No cell with a view

There's nothing I wouldn't give

One minute with you, ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

You, ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

You, ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Original:

Chalk tablet towers like drawing shadows

Chemical distraction, you are not with me

I departed in the spring to a distant star

But I could not get back, I had gone too far (oh-oh-oh-oh)

I wanna get drunk

I wanna get stoned

I wanna give up

I wanna go ho-o-o-ome

Watching rockets take off

From the parting sea

How will I ever touch you

If you are not with me? (oh-oh-oh-oh, out here)

There's only silence (out here)

No form of contact (out here)

I am dreaming

Looking into the darkness (oh-oh-oh-oh)

Home (Home)

Home (Home)

Home (Homе)

Home (Home)

Home (Homе)

Home (Home)

Home (Home)

Home (Home)

I won't be back 'til the end of summer

Will you still be there?

I won't give up on you, darling

Just tell me that you care

I don't need no trophies

No cell with a view

There's nothing I wouldn't give

One minute with you, ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

You, ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

You, ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh

Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh.

Alright, thanks for coming to my not so eloquently written Ted talk.