#Just one hurricane of disaster after another

[ceilidhtransing]

The discussions around whether or not to vote for Kamala keep being dominated by very loud voices shouting that anyone who advocates for her “just doesn't care about Palestine!” and “is willing to overlook genocide!” and “has no moral backbone at all!” And while some of these voices will be bots, trolls, psyops - we know that this happens; we know that trying to persuade progressives to split the vote or not vote at all is a strategy employed by hostile actors - of course many of them won't be. But what this rhetoric does is continually force the “you should vote for her” crowd onto the back foot of having to go to great lengths writing entire essays justifying their choice, while the “don't vote/vote third party” crowd is basically never asked to justify their choice. It frames voting for Kamala as a deeply morally compromised position that requires extensive justification while framing not voting or voting third party as the neutral and morally clean stance.

So here's another way of looking at it. How much are you willing to accept in order to feel like you're not compromising your morals on one issue?

Are you willing to accept the 24% rise in maternal deaths - and 39% increase for Black women - that is expected under a federal abortion ban, according to the Centre for American Progress? Those percentages represent real people who are alive now who would die if the folks behind Project 2025 get their way with reproductive healthcare.

Are you willing to accept the massive acceleration of climate change that would result from the scrapping of all climate legislation? We don't have time to fuck around with the environment. A gutting of climate policy and a prioritisation of fossil fuel profits, which is explicitly promised by Trump, would set the entire world back years - years that we don't have.

Are you willing to accept the classification of transgender visibility as inherently “pornographic” and thus the removal of trans people from public life? Are you willing to accept the total elimination of legal routes for gender-affirming care? The people behind the Trump campaign want to drive queer and trans people back underground, back into the closet, back into “criminality”. This will kill people. And it's maddening that caring about this gets called “prioritising white gays over brown people abroad” as if it's not BIPOC queer and trans Americans who will suffer the most from legislative queer- and transphobia, as they always do.

Are you willing to accept the domestic deployment of the military to crack down on protests and enforce racist immigration policy? I'm sure it's going to be very easy to convince huge numbers of normal people to turn up to protests and get involved in political organising when doing so may well involve facing down an army deployed by a hardcore authoritarian operating under the precedent that nothing he does as president can ever be illegal.

Are you willing to accept a president who openly talks about wanting to be a dictator, plans on massively expanding presidential powers, dehumanises his political enemies and wants the DOJ to “go after them”, and assures his supporters they won't have to vote again? If you can't see the danger of this staring you right in the face, I don't know what to tell you. Allowing a wannabe dictator to take control of the most powerful country on earth would be absolutely disastrous for the entire world.

Are you willing to accept an enormous uptick in fascism and far-right authoritarianism worldwide? The far right in America has huge influence over an entire international network of “anti-globalists”, hardcore anti-immigrant xenophobes, transphobic extremists, and straight-up fascists. Success in America aids and emboldens these people everywhere.

Are you willing to accept an enormous number of preventable deaths if America faces a crisis in the next four years: a public health emergency, a natural disaster, an ecological catastrophe? We all saw how Trump handled Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico. We all saw how Trump handled Covid-19. He fanned the flames of disaster with a constant flow of medical misinformation and an unspeakably dangerous undermining of public health experts. It's estimated that 40% of US pandemic deaths could have been avoided if the death rates had corresponded to those in other high-income countries. That amounts to nearly half a million people. One study from January 2021 estimated between around 4,200 and 12,200 preventable deaths attributable purely to Trump's statements about masks. We're highly unlikely to face another global pandemic in the next few years but who knows what crises are coming down the pipeline?

Are you willing to accept the attempted deportation of millions - millions - of undocumented people? This is “rounding people up and throwing them into camps where no one ever hears from them again” territory. That's a blueprint for genocide right there and it's a core tenet of both Trump's personal policy and Project 2025. And of course they wouldn't be going after white people. They most likely wouldn't even restrict their tyranny to people who are actually undocumented. Anyone racially othered as an “immigrant” would be at risk from this.

Are you willing to accept not just the continuation of the current situation in Palestine, but the absolute annihilation of Gaza and the obliteration of any hope for imminent peace? There is no way that Trump and the people behind him would not be catastrophically worse for Gaza than Kamala or even Biden. Only recently he was telling donors behind closed doors that he wanted to “set the [Palestinian] movement back 25 or 30 years” and that “any student that protests, I throw them out of the country”. This is not a man who can be pushed in a direction more conducive to peace and justice. This is a man who listens to his wealthy donors, his Christian nationalist Republican allies, and himself.

Are you willing to accept a much heightened risk of nuclear war? Obviously this is hardly a Trump policy promise. But I can't think of a single president since the Cold War who is more likely to deploy nuclear weapons, given how casually he talks about wanting to use them and how erratic and unstable he can be in his dealings with foreign leaders. To quote Foreign Policy only this year, “Trump told a crowd in January that one of the reasons he needed immunity was so that he couldn’t be indicted for using nuclear weapons on a city.” That's reassuring. I'm not even in the US and I remember four years of constant background low-level terror that Trump would take offence at something some foreign leader said or think that he needs to personally intervene in some military situation to “sort it out” and decide to launch the entire world into nuclear war. No one sane on earth wants the most powerful person on the planet to be as trigger-happy and careless with human life as he is, especially if he's running the White House like a dictator with no one ever telling him no. But depending on what Americans do in November, he may well be inflicted again on all of us, and I guess we'll all just have to hope that he doesn't do the worst thing imaginable.

“But I don't want those things! Stop accusing me of supporting things I don't support!” Yes, of course you don't want those things. None of us does. No one's saying that you actively support them. No one's accusing you of wanting Black women to die from ectopic pregnancies or of wanting to throw Hispanic people in immigrant detention centres or of wanting trans people to be outlawed (unlike, I must point out, the extremely emotive and personal accusations that get thrown around about “wanting Palestinian children to die” if you encourage people to vote for Kamala).

But if you're advocating against voting for Kamala, you are clearly willing to accept them as possible consequences of your actions. That is the deal you're making. If a terrible thing happening is the clear and easily foreseeable outcome of your action (or in the case of not voting, inaction), in a way that could have been prevented by taking a different and just as easy action, you are partly responsible for that consequence. (And no, it's not “a fear campaign” to warn people about things he's said, things he wants to do, and plans drawn up by his close allies. This is not “oooh the Democrats are trying to bully you into voting for them by making him out to be really bad so you'll feel scared and vote for Kamala!” He is really bad, in obvious and documented and irrefutable ways.)

And if you believe that “both parties are the same on Gaza” (which, you know, they really aren't, but let's just pretend that they are) then presumably you accept that the horrors being committed there will continue, in the immediate term anyway, regardless of who wins the presidency. Because there really isn't some third option that will appear and do everything we want. It's going to be one of those two. And we can talk all day about wanting a better system or how unfair it is that every presidential election only ever has two viable candidates and how small the Overton window is and all that but hell, we are less than eighty days out from the election; none of that is going to get fixed between now and November. Electoral reform is a long-term (but important!) goal, not something that can be effected in the span of a couple of months by telling people online to vote third party. There is no “instant ceasefire and peace negotiation” button that we're callously overlooking by encouraging people to vote for Kamala. (My god, if there was, we would all be pressing it.)

If we're suggesting people vote for her, it's not that we “are willing to overlook genocide” or “don't care about sacrificing brown people abroad” or whatever. Nothing is being “overlooked” here. It's that we're simply not willing to accept everything else in this post and more on top of continued atrocities in Gaza. We're not willing to take Trump and his godawful far-right authoritarian agenda as an acceptable consequence of feeling like we have the moral high ground on Palestine. I cannot stress enough that if Kamala doesn't win, we - we all, in the whole world - get Trump. Are you willing to accept that?

And one more point to address: I've seen too many people act frighteningly flippant and naïve about terrible things Trump or his campaign want to do, with the idea that people will simply be able to prevent all these bad things by “organising” and “protesting” and “collective action”. “I'm not willing to accept these things; that's why I'll fight them tooth and nail every day of their administration” - OK but if you're not even willing to cast a vote then I have doubts about your ability to form “the Resistance”, which by the way would have to involve cooperation with people of lots of progressive political stripes in order to have the manpower to be effective, and if you're so committed to political purity that you view temporarily lending your support to Kamala at the ballot box as an untenable betrayal of everything you stand for then forgive me for also doubting your ability to productively cooperate with allies on the ground with whom you don't 100% agree. Plus, if the Trump campaign gets its way, American progressives would be kept so busy trying to put out about twenty different fires at once that you'd be able to accomplish very little. Maybe you get them to soften their stance on trans healthcare but oh shit, the climate policies are still in place. But more importantly, how many people do you think will protest for abortion rights if doing so means staring down a gun? Or organise to protect their neighbours from deportation if doing so means being thrown in prison yourself? And OK, maybe you're sure that you will, but history has shown us time and time again that most people won't. Most people aren't willing to face that kind of personal risk. And a tiny number of lefties willing to risk incarceration or death to protect undocumented people or trans people or whatever other groups are targeted is sadly not enough to prevent the horrors from happening. That is small fry compared to the full might of a determined state. Of course if the worst happens and Trump wins then you should do what you can to mitigate the harm; I'm not saying you shouldn't. But really the time to act is now. You have an opportunity right here to mitigate the harm and it's called “not letting him get elected”. Act now to prevent that kind of horrific authoritarian situation from developing in the first place; don't sit this one out under the naïve belief that ��we'll be able to stop it if it happens”. You won't.

[solxamber]

Chasing Fairytales || Neige LeBlanche

Neige is convinced that you're either allergic to him specifically or he's done something to offend you with the way you're avoiding him. You're just trying not to get blinded by his smile.

Neige LeBlanche is baffled. Every time he sees you, your face contorts like you just bit into a lemon dipped in hot sauce while sitting on a cactus. It's a new look, and honestly, it worries him. You used to at least smile at him, maybe even nod, like normal people do. But now? Now, you treat him like he’s carrying some weird medieval plague.

He thinks back to every interaction. Did he step on your foot? Spill something on you? No, nothing comes to mind. One day you were acquaintances—maybe even teetering on the edge of friendship—and the next, you were bolting out of rooms faster than a cat hearing a vacuum.

Which brings him to his current situation: sitting in the house he shares with his friends. They’re all squished together on the couch, and Neige is surrounded by blank stares. These guys are his sounding board, but right now, they’re as useful as a broken umbrella in a hurricane.

“Did you sneeze on them?” Grum suggests, not even looking up from his game console.

“No, no, that wouldn’t be it,” Dominic pipes up, adjusting his glasses. “Maybe you accidentally sent them a weird text? Like one of those autocorrect disasters?”

Neige shakes his head, thoroughly confused. “I haven’t texted them anything strange…”

Hop, sitting cross-legged on the floor, nods sagely. “Maybe they saw you at a buffet once and you took the last of the mashed potatoes. People hold grudges over that kind of stuff.”

Timmy just blushes and mumbles something unintelligible while Snick chimes in with, “Could it be allergies? Maybe they’re allergic to you?”

At this point, Neige is spiraling. Allergies? Mashed potatoes? Is there a secret mashed potato incident he forgot about?

Toby simply taps Neige’s shoulder, holding up a drawing of two people holding hands with a big smiley face. Neige squints at it and tries to translate Toby's silent wisdom. “So… I should hold their hand? Is that what you’re saying?”

The group falls silent for a moment, pondering this profound suggestion. Then Shelpie yawns and says, “Maybe you’re just overthinking it. People are weird.”

Neige sighs, still no closer to figuring out why you’ve suddenly started acting like he’s carrying the plague.

Neige comes back to the club room after a long day of shooting and classes, ready to grab his bag and head home. As he's packing up, something catches his eye—a boxed lunch sitting right there on his desk. He blinks at it, confused. Is this...lost and found material? Was someone in too much of a hurry and just ditched it here?

But then he sees the note. "I’m cheering for you, Neige!" followed by a heart and a little smiley face. The handwriting is unmistakable—it’s yours. He stares at it, even more confused now, and kinda flattered too.

He scratches his head, wondering if he's entered some bizarre alternate universe where the person who avoids him like he's contagious is also sending him homemade lunches. "What did I do to deserve this?" he mumbles to himself, half expecting a hidden camera crew to pop out and yell “Surprise!”

Another day, Neige is stranded on campus, waiting for the rain to stop. His umbrella? Oh yeah, he gave that to a girl with a cold earlier because he's just that nice. Now he’s soaking and shivering under a tree, watching the downpour like it personally offended him.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps and sees you walking by, your jacket pulled tightly around you. It's the perfect chance to finally talk to you, to maybe say thanks for the mystery lunch. He smiles at you, hoping this might be the icebreaker he’s been waiting for.

Your reaction? You freeze like you’ve just seen a ghost, eyes wide and panicked, and before he can even get a "Hey, how are you?" out, you launch your umbrella at him like it's a grenade. "Wha—?" he barely gets the word out before you're gone, running away with your jacket awkwardly balanced over your head like a makeshift hood.

Neige stands there, soaked and confused, holding your umbrella and thinking, "We could have shared that, you know…"

The next day, he spots you again, this time crouched in the courtyard, petting a cat. You're cooing at it, making all those weird sounds people make when they think no one's watching, and the cat?

It's loving it, basking in the attention like it's at a spa. Neige sees an opportunity to approach—no rain this time, no excuses. He kneels beside you, reaching out to pet the cat too. "Cute, isn’t it?" he says, smiling softly.

You, on the other hand, barely look at him. "Yes, cat," you mumble like it's some kind of mantra, eyes darting nervously. Then you do a quick check of your phone and blurt out, “Oh no, I’m late for our class!” before bolting upright and sprinting off like a marathon runner.

Neige watches you go, utterly perplexed. "That class is in five hours," he says to the cat, who just looks up at him with a smug purr, like it's in on some cosmic joke that Neige will never understand.

Neige is lost. He's been called naive before, but this? This is a whole new level of confusion. And maybe—just maybe—a little heartbreak. You used to treat him like an actual person, not just a walking photoshoot waiting to happen.

Now? You're acting like he’s got some sort of rare, contagious celebrity plague, the kind of thing you’d catch from standing too close to a red carpet. Every time you see him, your face scrunches up like you just bit into an entire lemon, rind and all.

He’s walking through campus when he spots you with Vil. Now, Neige likes Vil. He admires him, even. Dreams of the day they’ll sit together, drink tea, and discuss which highlighter makes you look “ethereal but approachable.”

But right now, all he sees is you laughing and waving your hands like you’re auditioning for a role in a one-person circus, and Vil? He’s smiling at you like you’ve just told the funniest joke on the planet. And Neige feels something... alien.

It’s not heartburn from that extra-large mocha frappuccino he had earlier—no, this is worse. His stomach twists, his heart sinks, and it’s official: Neige, the cinnamon roll of the universe, is jealous.

Back home, he gathers his trusty team of consultants: Timmy, Toby, and the rest of the gang, who are sitting around the table, looking like they’re about to solve world hunger or invent a new kind of pizza. Neige dumps the whole story on them, his head in his hands.

“And then,” Neige groans, “they just ran away, like I had some kind of... I don’t know... ‘Famous-People-itis!’”

Timmy leans back, strokes his chin with all the fake wisdom of someone who has never solved a problem in his life, and says, “Neige, it’s obvious.”

Neige perks up. “It is?”

“Oh yeah.” Timmy nods solemnly, like he’s about to deliver a TED Talk. “They’re sick.”

Neige stares at him. “Sick?”

Hop jumps in, wide-eyed like he’s just cracked the code to the universe. “Yeah! It’s so clear! They’ve got a classic case of... uh... ‘Stage-Fright-itis.’ Happens all the time when regular folks meet people like you.”

Neige blinks. “That’s... not a thing.”

Hop waves him off, undeterred. “Totally a thing. Maybe they’re allergic to fame. It’s like how some people get hives around cats. You’re like a walking award show, man. Just your presence makes people break out in nervous sweats.”

Dominic nods sagely. “Or worse. They could’ve caught ‘Starstruck Syndrome.’”

Timmy gasps, clearly thrilled by this new theory. “Yes! Classic symptoms: sudden avoidance, inability to make eye contact, randomly throwing umbrellas at you instead of saying hello—textbook case.”

Neige stares between them, confused but desperate. “So... you think they’re avoiding me because they’re sick? Like, fame-sick?”

Snick shrugs. “I mean, what else could it be? You’re Neige LeBlanche, man! Maybe they’re just overwhelmed by your... Neigeness.”

Neige feels like he’s fallen into some kind of alternate reality where this actually makes sense. He nods slowly, trying to absorb it. “Okay, so... they’re not mad at me? They’re just... allergic to me?”

Timmy grins. “Exactly! Just give it time. Maybe bring them a cup of tea. Or like... a calming crystal. And if it gets worse, well, maybe invest in a hazmat suit. Just in case.”

You don’t know how this happened. One minute you’re chatting with Neige, all sunshine and sparkles, and the next, you wake up in a cold sweat, realizing you are absolutely, horrendously down bad for him. It’s not even subtle. It’s like a piano fell from the sky and crushed your chest with feelings.

But you? You’re... well, you. Neige is a celebrity, practically a walking ray of sunshine wrapped in a Disney Princess aura. Birds sing when he passes by, small woodland creatures would probably braid his hair if they had thumbs. And you? You’re the person who trips over their own shoes and talks to houseplants like they can solve your problems.

So, naturally, you do what any responsible person would do when faced with a crush that could upend their entire existence: you avoid him. Completely.

You’ll still be polite, of course—leave him the occasional lunch with a cute note, chuck an umbrella at him when it’s raining—but actual conversation? Nah.

That’s just asking for trouble. You’re already too attached, and the last thing you need is for this crush to grow into a full-blown romantic disaster.

One day, you’re chatting with Vil—well, "chatting" is a strong word. You’re pacing back and forth like a caffeinated squirrel, ranting about Neige and gesturing so wildly that Vil could probably make a whole meme compilation of just your hand movements.

“And he’s just so... pretty! It’s not fair! How can someone be that perfect? I swear, he’s like—like—” You flail dramatically, trying to find words for the cosmic injustice that is Neige LeBlanche.

Vil, who has been quietly sipping his tea, raises an eyebrow and watches the spectacle. At first, he’s mildly entertained. But the more you rant, the more he realizes something: you’re down bad.

You, who have somehow mastered the art of functional chaos, are completely, hopelessly in love with Neige. And Neige, poor, oblivious Neige, probably thinks you’ve contracted some rare, Neige-specific allergy.

Vil starts to laugh. Not just a chuckle, but a full-on, head-back, hand-over-mouth, this-is-the-best-day-ever laugh. He finds it hilarious that you, despite being tangled in your own feelings, have the emotional awareness of a potato. And Neige? Well, he’s just confused, which is even better.

“You’re fools,” Vil says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Both of you. Foolishly in love.”

You don’t even register his comment. You’re too busy waving your hands around, grumbling, “It’s just... it’s not fair! Why does he have to be that pretty? I mean, does he wake up with that face?”

Vil sips his tea, smirking. This is prime entertainment. And that’s when he notices Neige across the way, glancing over at you two with wide, unsure eyes. Ah, poor, innocent Neige.

With a bit of mischievous spite—and maybe a touch of pity—Vil lets out a soft sigh and shifts his expression. He stares at you with the most lovesick gaze he can muster, his eyes practically glowing with “adoration.” It’s a look straight out of a romance drama, and he knows it’s Oscar-worthy.

Neige sees it. And Vil sees him see it. The realization hits Neige like a freight train. His eyes widen, his mouth opens in a soft, shocked “O,” and Vil? Oh, Vil is living for this. The confusion, the dawning horror, the jealousy—all of it.

Neige, who probably hasn’t had a jealous bone in his body until this moment, now looks like he’s contemplating the meaning of life, death, and why Vil is looking at you like that.

Meanwhile, you’re still pacing, completely oblivious to the emotional chaos you’ve just triggered. “And another thing—how does he smell that nice all the time? It’s not normal, Vil. It’s witchcraft. I bet he’s got a secret team of scent specialists just following him around.”

Vil stifles another laugh. “Yes, yes. Quite the mystery.”

Neige, on the other hand, is staring at the two of you like you’ve just declared war. He doesn’t understand it yet, but for the first time in his life, he feels something dark and uncomfortable curl in his chest.

Vil catches his eye again and gives him the tiniest smirk. Neige stiffens.

You, still on your rant, throw your hands in the air. “I just... I don’t get it. It’s like... he’s too perfect. I can’t deal with it.” And Vil can't even muster the energy to get offended. He thinks this is prime entertainment.

Vil pats your shoulder, thoroughly amused. “Perhaps you should... have a word with him.”

You stop, finally noticing Vil’s smug grin. “What? Why?”

Vil just smirks and takes another sip of tea. “Oh, nothing. Just a hunch.”

You’ve finally decided that enough is enough. You’re going to talk to Neige. You’re not even sure what you’re going to say—probably something awkward about feelings and how he’s so perfect it makes your head spin—but the important thing is that you’ve made up your mind.

It’s time to stop running away like a scared cat and face him like a grown adult. Or, at the very least, someone who’s pretending to be a grown adult.

So, you walk to his house, your heart hammering in your chest, rehearsing about a dozen different ways to break the news. "Hey, Neige, I think I might be a little bit in love with you..." or maybe, "So, uh, funny story, I can’t look at you because you’re too attractive and it’s ruining my life."

But just as you raise your hand to knock, the door flies open, and there’s Neige, looking frazzled and... holding a hazmat suit.

“Here!” He thrusts it at you like it’s a life-saving device. You blink at the suit, then at him.

“Uh... why?”

“Because you’re allergic to me!” Neige says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.

You stare. He stares back, eyes wide and earnest, and you can’t decide whether you want to laugh or cry.

“Neige, that’s not... that’s not a thing that happens to people.”

“But you’ve been avoiding me!” he blurts, clutching the hazmat suit like it’s his last defense. “Every time I see you, you run away, or—” he frowns slightly, “—you throw things at me, like umbrellas! I just thought... maybe you were... allergic?”

You feel a pang of guilt seeing the hurt in his eyes. Here’s Neige, genuinely thinking he’s the problem, when really the only issue is that he’s so perfect it makes your brain short-circuit.

You take a deep breath. It’s now or never. “Neige, I’m not allergic to you. I just...” You swallow, trying to find the right words. “I’ve been avoiding you because... I like you. A lot. Like, in a romantic way.”

For a moment, the world stops. Neige blinks, his face blank as his brain processes your words. Then his heart stutters, and before you know it, he’s dropping to one knee.

You panic. “Wait—what are you doing?!”

Is he skipping directly to a proposal? Is he about to reject you so hard he’s physically collapsing? You stare, horrified, wondering how things escalated this quickly.

But then Neige laughs, a bright, happy sound that immediately sets your heart racing in a different way. “No, no, I’m not proposing! I mean—unless you want me to—but, um, I was just going to ask if you’d be my partner.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and then before you can stop yourself, you grab him by the collar and kiss him. His lips taste like cotton candy and a dream come true, and for a moment, everything feels like a fairytale.

When you finally pull away, Neige’s smile is so blinding it’s a wonder the sun hasn’t given up trying. “I think I was... jealous?” he says, almost like he’s surprised by the revelation. “That’s never happened to me before. When I saw you with Vil... I didn’t like it.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. “Vil? Don’t worry about him. He’s my friend. He was just messing with you for fun.”

Before Neige can respond, there’s a loud achoo from behind a nearby bush. You both turn to see his friends slowly emerge, looking sheepish. Snick is rubbing his nose, and Grum is pretending he wasn’t just crouched in the bushes like a nosy little spy.

“Well, this is awkward,” you mutter, feeling your face heat up.

But they aren’t even phased. They burst out cheering, clapping and whistling like they’ve just witnessed the grand finale of a romantic drama. You can’t help but laugh as they chant congratulations, even though you want to crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment.

Neige turns to you, smiling that bright, pure smile of his. “Maybe this is a fairytale ending after all.”

And for once, you think maybe—just maybe—you’ve finally found your happily ever after.

Masterlist

[diamonddaze01]

for your drabble game.. n what if i say.. minghao + “Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to say I love you.” 🤲

run

pairing: minghao x reader | wc: 1.3k prompt: "Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to say I love you." au: apocalypse au | warnings: injuries, mentions of death a/n: KAEEE!!!! n what if i sob while writing this

The sky burned with an unnatural orange hue, streaked with ash and smoke. The once-familiar cityscape was a jagged graveyard of broken steel and crumbled concrete. Sirens had long since stopped blaring; now there was only the oppressive hum of silence punctuated by the distant groans of collapsing structures. The world as you’d known it was over—reduced to a fragile shadow of its former self. The acrid tang of fire and metal clung to the back of your throat, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The ruins of the city stretched endlessly around you, but you pushed forward, your legs carrying you through the jagged remains of what used to be streets.

It started with the storms. The scientists called it climate destabilization gone critical, but the rest of the world just called it a death sentence. Storm surges wiped out entire coasts; hurricanes battered inland cities that had never prepared for them. The earthquakes came next, splitting open the earth and throwing molten fire into the skies, turning the air poisonous in ways even the best respirators couldn’t filter. By the time the floods came, there wasn’t much left to save.

Governments fell. Supply chains crumbled. People turned on one another in desperation as they fought for dwindling resources. The remaining factions—militarized groups claiming to protect what little remained—were as much a danger as the unrelenting disasters themselves.

You and Minghao had survived the worst of it by sheer luck. Together, you’d fled from one decimated city to the next, avoiding the lawless territories and the groups who demanded loyalty in exchange for safety. He was the reason you were still alive—quick-thinking, sharp-eyed, always calm under pressure when everything else felt like it was unraveling.

You could still remember the first time you’d met. Minghao had been patching up his own leg in the corner of an abandoned supply truck, his face pale but resolute. You’d stumbled in, out of breath and armed with a crowbar, only to stop short when you saw him sitting there like he’d been waiting for you. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t even looked scared, just tilted his head and raised an eyebrow like he was daring you to try something.

“You don’t look like a soldier,” he’d said after a long moment, his voice steady despite the blood dripping down his shin.

“And you don’t look like you’re winning that fight,” you’d shot back, lowering the crowbar just enough to show you weren’t a threat. That was how it began—two strangers thrown together by circumstance, learning to survive together in a world that didn’t want them to.

You weren’t sure when the bond between you had shifted. Maybe it was during those late nights spent keeping watch for raiders, when his quiet presence made the crushing loneliness bearable. Or maybe it was the day he’d handed you the last of his water ration without saying a word, his eyes meeting yours like he knew you wouldn’t let him give it up without a fight. Slowly, without either of you acknowledging it outright, Minghao had become your anchor. The one thing you could count on when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

Now, as you ran through the remains of what used to be your home, all that history burned in the back of your mind. The thought of losing him was a weight you couldn’t bear, one that pushed you forward even as your lungs burned and your legs threatened to give out.

The memory of his calm, steady voice over the radio replayed in your head—I’ll meet you at the east corner of the tower. Just wait for me there. But the tower had collapsed before you’d even made it halfway. Now, it was nothing but rubble and twisted steel, and you were running blind.

You stumbled over debris, your knees buckling, but you caught yourself before you hit the ground. A sharp pain flared in your palms as you pushed up, but it barely registered. The only thought screaming in your mind was Find him.

You didn’t know when you’d started crying—your tears cut clean tracks down your soot-streaked face. Minghao always said you were stubborn. That you didn’t know when to quit. He’d said it with a soft smirk the first time you’d refused to leave his side during a raid. That was months ago, back when there was still hope that things could get better. Back when the two of you still believed survival wasn’t just an instinct but a purpose.

Now, hope felt like a luxury you couldn’t afford.

A shape moved through the smog ahead, a shadow cutting through the chaos. Your heart seized.

“Minghao!”

He turned at the sound of your voice, his silhouette becoming clearer with every step you took. His clothes were tattered, his hair matted with soot and sweat, and a thin cut ran down his cheek, blood drying against his skin. But it was him. It was him.

You crashed into him with enough force to knock the wind out of both of you, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. His body was warm and solid beneath your grip, and you could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly as he held you just as fiercely.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, his voice firm but edged with exhaustion. His hands shifted to your face, tilting it up so he could inspect you. His eyes flickered over you, taking in the soot and dirt streaked across your skin, the tears still fresh on your cheeks. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“I’m fine,” you echoed, though your voice cracked as you said it. You searched his face for any sign of injury beyond the gash on his cheek, your fingers brushing over his jacket as if to reassure yourself he was still solid and whole. “I thought—when the tower collapsed, I thought—”

“I know,” he interrupted softly, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath was warm and steady, grounding you. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

But even as he said it, the ground beneath you trembled again, a low groan echoing from the skeleton of a nearby building. Time was slipping away faster than you could grasp it, and yet Minghao didn’t move to run. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression unreadable.

“Look,” he said, his voice firmer now. “I don’t have much time, but I need to say this.”

“Minghao, we have to go—”

“I love you.”

The words stopped you cold. For a moment, the chaos around you seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of his voice and the intensity of his gaze. Your chest tightened, the air hitching in your throat.

“Don’t,” you said, shaking your head as tears welled in your eyes again. “Don’t talk like that. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re getting out of this.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, his hands steady on your arms. “If something does—”

“Stop.” Your hands gripped the front of his jacket, clutching at him like you could anchor him to you, like sheer willpower alone could keep him safe. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough to break your heart. “You’re so stubborn,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours. “But that’s why I know you’ll make it.”

“Not without you,” you shot back, your voice trembling. “We’re getting out of this together. I’m not leaving without you.”

His fingers brushed against your jaw, a fleeting moment of tenderness that felt cruel in its fragility. “Together, then,” he said, as though saying it aloud would make it true.

Another tremor rippled through the earth, the sound of crumbling concrete roaring around you. Minghao’s grip shifted, his hand sliding down to intertwine with yours, firm and steady.

“Run,” he said.

And this time, you did. The world was ending, but in that moment, with his hand in yours, it felt like there was still something worth saving.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[translatemunson]

devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes • ttfd

chapter one of the tortured firefighters department

masterlist | next chapter

cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, description of clothes, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, proofread by my bye-lingual ass (let me know if i forgot anything)

You knocked on the white door again, not sure why you feel nervous about all of this. It’s just a small get-together at one of your coworker’s houses. For sure it’s better than spending another night in the library, writing your thesis, but it kinda makes you nervous.

So this is what life looks like when away from the screens that raised you?

From the East Coast all the way to LA to get your PhD, the city of angels was no more than a stranger on the window. Before moving, you had worked on the 9-1-1 call center for your region because the shift’s schedule could actually fit your undergrad and master’s schedule — also the money was enough to survive, and you could check your notes on slow shifts. But once after a massive power outage, your superior thought your desk was too small for your brain.

Not that you were a bad dispatcher — your responses and action times were above average, actually —, but he’d seen how you managed the data influx, pinning all the accidents, teams on call and reported issues on the white board and shouting directions for quicker routes and delay problems. After that, you’d spend more time helping fixing turnaround times and implementing some sort of algorithm and protocols for when the next disaster hits. At some point, they transferred you to Florida during the hurricane season because of your reputation — that spread like a wildfire, believe you or not.

You lasted enough to finish your master’s degree and hop on a plane to LA, for your PhD in dynamical systems theory. You had a job offer, leaving your 9-1-1 days behind for some small desk and endless boring demands. It didn’t last much, though, because, after eight months, it made you miss the adrenaline rush and large income of data from the 9-1-1.

That’s how you ended up at the Los Angeles 9-1-1 call center in Metro, always happy to jump on some calls and help other dispatchers with logistics and patterns. Nobody warned you about tsunamis or earthquakes, but you knew you could manage them just like a pro — if they ever happened again, which was a matter of time.

“Hey! I was starting to think you would bail on me!” Maddie opened the door, the genuine happiness glow irradiating and making her smile almost unbearable. “Please, come in.”

“Got caught up in traffic. Who knew the logistics mastermind would be stuck in a casual traffic jam?” You gave her the flowers you bought and held the brownie pan with both hands. “Hope I’m not too late.”

“Oh no, you arrived just in time! Here, let me take care of this,” she took the pan from your hands and motioned to the living room. “Make yourself at home. And thanks for the flowers!”

“Our last guest, finally!” Howard, aka Chim, Maddie’s boyfriend, left his place on the counter to greet you. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the voice!”

“Hope I didn’t disappoint you.” You hugged him, your extroverted persona finally happy to be in a room with real people, and not just some endless phone calls and work talk. “Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s ok, those guys are too busy with their games to notice we are a little behind schedule. But Jee is getting hangry” He pointed to the couch, where three adults, one child and one baby were too busy with the TV screen to notice your arrival.

“I guess the kid’s table is full tonight.”

“Hey, we’ve heard that!” One of them screamed from the couch, not bothering to look in your direction. He raised his arm, the tattoos across his skin showing against his white skin, in protest.

“Nice crowd.” You followed Maddie into the kitchen, Chim’s voice in the background saying it was the last race.

“I’m so glad you’re here. Water, juice or some alcohol?” She offered while reaching for the glasses. “Oh, Chim made some Margaritas.”

“I’d love one of those, thank you.” You fixed your green dress, somehow feeling overdressed. Not exactly your fault, when Maddie invited you for dinner, you visualized all the scenarios in your mind. Afraid of looking lazy, you went for a flowy green dress and a batch of brownies, to show some appreciation.

Between Margarita sips and after work gossip — because, nowadays, your work schedules mostly were off sync —, you helped Maddie setting the table and dishes. And, as expected, one race became four, with Chim playing the commentator. Maddie took the chance to show you the houses they were applying for, making good use of Jee’s quiet bedroom to talk.

“Are the others not good enough or just too expensive?” She had been talking about house scouting for weeks, and even helped you find a new place while doing so.

“You’d be impressed to see the final price of those houses once you track all the problems.” She played with her hair. “How’ve you been doing?”

“My thesis is starting to follow me like an unwanted ghost, and work has been— no, not gonna jinx it. Moving has been a pain in the ass, but thanks for telling me about that loft. The rent is actually acceptable and the view is amazing!”

“Glad it worked for you! And don’t thank me, actually it was—”

“Hey, Mads, we’re just waiting for you two.” The tall blue eyed guy stood in the hallway and gave the door a weak tap. Oh, tattoo guy, you noticed. “Chim is destroying the dumplings Albert made and Jee is not happy with being left out of the girls reunion. You better hurry up.”

“We are right behind you, Buck.” She said, bringing you with her to the dining table.

After some quick introductions — Albert, Chim’s half-brother; Eddie and his son Christopher, and Buck, Maddie’s little brother —, you indulged in some dumplings and pork ramen. Albert was experimenting with Korean cuisine, talking about opening a restaurant and finally having enough money to move out to his own place.

“Well, I think you should do it. I’d be happy to order this every day,” you said, pointing your chopsticks to the almost empty bowl.

“Thanks– sorry, what is your name again?”

“Everyone just call me Brains.” The nickname stuck since your first major catastrophe at the call center job — and maybe a little because of your bachelor.

“Wait, I think I’ve met you before.” Eddie announced and looked at Chris. “You went to his school a few weeks ago to talk about pursuing math in college, right?”

“I did a small presentation, yeah. My professor asked me for a favor since his kids are students there, but he had a full schedule. I had a nice time with the kiddos.”

“She is super smart!” Chris shared, in his own words, a little about your presentation. Talking to the younger ones about advanced math proved to be a challenge, but once you showed them all the cool things math made possible, you had their attention.

“Why are you working on the 9-1-1 instead of, I don’t know, teaching in college?” Buck inquired, beer in hand.

“Would you believe me if I said I have an adrenaline addiction and I can’t stay away from trouble?” You pressed your lips together and shook your head.

“Oh, he would, because he was addicted to—”

Maddie slapped Chimney on the arm. “Hey, there’s two kids in the room.” 

And all eyes were on Chris, who was too busy with his noodles to notice, and Jee, playing with her bites of veggies. You laughed, leaving your empty cup on the table, and reaching for the last dumpling.

“I guess we are all addicted to something,” you stared at Buck's blue eyes and took a bite. “Maybe once I get my PhD, I’ll go full professor and find some adrenaline on handing out really hard exams. But the chances are very low.”

“You should try being part of LAFD, you might like it,” Albert suggested.

“I can barely carry my boxes upstairs, being that physical isn’t for me.” The admission made you shyly smile, because you were definitely hinting that firefighters were strong. “Math, on the other hand…”

“Please, don’t give her any more ideas! Since Brains started working with us, the dispatching process changed for the better.” Maddie brought her hands together and begged in a joking tone.

A few Margaritas and some dessert later, you were helping Maddie with the dishes while Albert played with Christopher, and Buck was holding Jee so she wouldn’t throw a tantrum. Chim asked Eddie to help with a few construction questions, feeling like he was missing some important topics while house scouting.

“I think I’m done for the night,” you told her as you closed the cabinet door. “Thanks for the invite, Maddie. You were right, I needed a break.”

“I know when I see someone on the verge of burnout.” You looked at her, the tequila making the simple action of laughing much more easier. “Let me know when you’re settled at your new place so I can get you a housewarming gift.”

“Oh please, don’t bother, Maddie. I’m sure you’re too busy with Jee and moving matters.”

“Sure you don’t want some ramen for tomorrow? Albert may be a good cook, but he has no idea of the measurements.”

“You’re sick of the smell, right?”

“A little.” She smirked.

“I guess I won’t have to worry about lunch tomorrow.” 

“Make two, Mads!” Buck approached the kitchen counter. “Leaving already, Brains?”

“Yeah, gonna finish moving to my new place tomorrow.” Maddie left the blue tupperware in front of you. “Thanks, I’ll bring it to you next wednesday.”

“Can I get more brownies?”

“Anything for my favorite dispatcher.” You looked around, opting for a quick goodbye. “It was nice to meet y’all. Again, thanks for the invite, Maddie.”

“Nice to meet you too, Brains,” Buck said, getting closer. “Hope to speak to you soon, dispatcher Brains.”

“I hope we don’t, firefighter Buckley.” You teased him. “Have a good night, guys.”

You left Maddie’s place, drove to your new place, opened the door for an empty apartment, stored the ramen in the fridge, climbed up the stairs and fell face first into your bed, shoes and all. 

If you didn’t know Maddie, you’d say she had second intentions with that dinner. 

author's note: hi guys! chapters will be short because it helps me keep the momentum with the writing (and keep the impostor's syndrome away from my efforts). also yeah i'm using TTFD as an acronym bc i choose a whole ass long title for the fic. huge shout out to my love my bestie my soulmate @munsonsreputation for always supporting me (love you kaaaay). also hi casey welcome to the 9-1-1 fandom, thank you for the endless edits on tiktok haha. i guess i see y'all next week...

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

This story, for which there are seven parts, is dedicated to everyone affected by Hurricane Helene. It was not written because of that, but a water-based natural disaster is part of the plot. It does not focus on it, but is a story of hope. The text of section one is under the cut. I hope to post all sections before the end of the Inklings Challenge. Despite this being my third year, this is the first I've actually posted anything other than snippets, so I hope I'm doing this right. I haven't yet written more than this, but I do have an outline for the other six parts, so hopefully that will work. @inklings-challenge

One: Admonish the Sinner

First of all it must be understood that every world is connected, as every village is. Some are just further away.

This is not a story of Earth; this is a story of a world nobody bothered to name, in a village nobody called anything other than the village. But that does not make it any less beloved—by people or by God. Sometime, a long time before this story is set, someone from Earth came to this nameless world and gave them the greatest gift of all, truth: but that is another tale entirely.

The night sky of this world is strikingly different from ours. Most prominently, two moons watch the world below, and every forty-seven years or so, flooding hits the island. They call it Big Tide, for it is the pull of the two moons combined that does this. It is regular enough, and has enough warning signs, that everyone should be perfectly ready for it.

As is common in humans (and these are humans like us, though the world is different), not everyone believes the evidence laid out in the world.

This is a story of Big Tide, specifically the one of the year three thousand, two hundred and twenty by their reckoning. This is a story of Paula McArthur.

%%%%%%%

The wattles were flowering, and it was Paula’s favourite time of year. There were several different wattles, but this was the deep gold ones she loved the best, the ones she gathered by the armful and adorned her home with. Now she only held a single sprig and enjoyed it to the full. It was too close to Big Tide to unnecessarily damage the wattle trees; they could be badly damaged by the rushing waters, and might need everything they had to survive. But one twig wasn’t going to hurt it.

The sky was a clear pale blue shot with fine clouds, a mass of them shining near the horizon with the sun gentle on them. Paula raised her face to the sunlight and closed her eyes, smiling. It was spring, and she never felt more alive than in springtime. 

She had been working all morning to prepare for Big Tide, largely transport. Her hands were tired of the precise positions needed to be held in order to hover exactly enough to transfer items in mid-air between hoverboards rather than landing to do it, which would waste time. Tide waited on no man, but Paula was skilled enough to know when she could be sloppy about hoverboarding, and enjoyed hoverboarding in a more slapdash manner than most people she knew. She had graduated earlier than most of her classmates from a controller to haptics. Tomorrow, though, she might use the controller again to make sure she was fresh enough to hover efficiently overnight during Big Tide itself. 

Presently she took out her lunch, and ate it while walking. In the distance a kookaburra laughed; Paula came to an abrupt halt as a green-blue iridescent flash clued her into the presence of a river dragon nearby. It turned and looked at her, bright blue eyes wise and calm. After a moment of silence and mutual respect, the dragon moved properly into her view and arched its sinuous back, raising its crest. Paula lifted her chin and brushed back the dark fringe to look more intimidating. The only sign the dragon gave of seeing any change was to raise its scales in a largely vain attempt to inflate its size. Abruptly it put down its scales and ran in a blaze of colour, uttering a high keening cry that faded as it retreated.

Paula turned to see who had disturbed her, smiling as she recognised the intruder. “What brings you here, Martha?”

Her friend grinned in response, lighting up her tanned sombre face. “You, actually. I came in search of you.”

Paula half gestured to herself, merrily. “Why trouble yourself?”

Martha grew serious at once. “I care about you. Aren't I allowed to?”

“Certainly, as I do.” 

Martha smiled a little incredulously. “Anyway, surely it's time to go back now?”

Paula raised a single eyebrow, then tilted her head back and assessed the position of the sun. “I guess. Why did you come to find me, Mar?”

“Oh, you know, I hardly see you now.” Her manner was evasive, which baffled Paula. “You're always out walking.”

“It's spring.” Paula waved the sprig of wattle at her. “The best time of the year. What's your favourite season?”

“Winter,” said Martha definitively. “Cold and empty and bleak.”

“Why do you like it that way?” she asked in surprise. Last time they'd talked about the seasons, she thought Martha had waxed poetic about the dying fire of autumn. 

“It's silent,” was Martha's quiet response. “Nobody bothers you.”

Paula paused to assess the time, decided they had to go back and led the way; Martha trailed her. “I thought you liked people.”

There was a short silence. “People don't tend to like me.”

“That's nonsense,” she responded immediately. Martha smiled, sad and sarcastic. 

“I don't tend to like me.”

Her calmness bothered Paula, and she sped up slightly. “Well, I do. You're fun, conversational and well read.”

“Which is why you disappear alone for hours.” She caught up and shot Paula a sidelong look, as if to say, I know your secrets. Except there were no secrets to know. 

“I like spring. It feels so alive and fresh, like all the past year's mistakes are washed away and there's new growth instead.”

“Very poetic.” Instead of amusement, Martha's tone was sour. She dodged past Paula and trotted quickstep the whole way back.

%%%%%%%

“I don't know what I did wrong,” finished Paula, twisting her hands nervously. “She got mad and I don't know why.”

Her mother glanced hurriedly across to check the next load wasn't ready, then turned to Paula again. “When people aren't happy it can be a temptation to take it out on others, especially those who are.”

“She said she was worried, and then she just changed and didn't want to talk to me.”

“Rebecca!” The shout made her mother focus on her own work; Paula moved her hoverboard closer to her father so he could load it up. This one was three bags of flour, heavy on the back and requiring stabilisation, which Paula remained still for while her father adjusted the controls. When it was done, he gave her a thumbs up and she gestured with her gloves, rising away from the site and on the journey to higher ground. It wasn't as easy to handle the unbalanced board; she would have done a lot more, and easier, with a transport hoverboard rather than the jury-rigged family board, but it was more economical and the decree had been that fuel, not time, was of the essence, since they'd planned well in advance. Indeed, today being the day before Big Tide, they had expected to have no more transport to do apart from the people, but someone had been digging too enthusiastically in their garden and cracked an underground storage container, so all of that had to be moved. 

She was most of the way there, wind in her face, when a fast personal hoverboard raced up beside her, village elder crouched to stave off the wind. He matched her speed, then unwound and said, “I'll take over from here. Take my board and go back—we need you to persuade people to go.”

“What?” She was already moving, assessing how to swap boards without any risk of either of them tumbling into the trees below while stepping across. “Why?”

He grimaced. “Turns out there are people who haven't prepared and don't want elders coming to help. Your dad suggested you could try and help instead.”

She started to shuck the gloves, then changed her mind and pressed buttons, keying them to the elder's hoverboard instead. As ownership switched, both boards lurched violently, and Paula barely held her position. The elder was wearing magnetic boots and so didn't run the risk of falling. Once she had stabilised it, she said, “So where do I start?”

“Ask your dad when you get back.” His expression was calm and focused as he adjusted the settings to accommodate for his weight. “For now, just get going. Time is of the essence. Big Tide waits for no man.”

[itsagoodluckkiss]

I Know The End

Pairings: Roronoa Zoro x f!reader, platonic strawhats x f!reader

Summary: This is based on one of my favorite songs, I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers, and I take the meaning of this song as a "when you're at the bottom, the only way is up" kind of song. Reader is a friend of Nami, she has air powers and joins the Strawhats after they help her save her town.

Warnings: Mild East Blue spoilers, kinda OC Zoro, typical OP violence, otherwise pure fluff, no use of Y/N

WC: 3.7κ

A/N: Oi, hello there! This is my first One Piece fanfic, took me a bit more than I expected but I did it! I have another one for my first request on the way, but since this is my first, I had to post one about my fave! Also, I'm sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. Anyways, hope you enjoy it, and if you do, pretty please leave a comment! Requests are open! ❤️

“I’m not gonna go down with my hometown in a tornado, I’m gonna chase it. I gotta go now, I know. Driving out into the sun, let the ultraviolet cover me up. Went looking for a creation myth, ended up with a pair of cracked lips… A slaughterhouse, an outlet mall, slot machines, fear of God… Big bolt of lightning hanging low. Over the coast everyone’s convinced it’s a government drone or an alien spaceship.”

Feeling out of place is something you get used to when living in this part of the East Blue and seek adventure; it is called the weakest sea for some reason after all. Even if she loved her living place, she disliked the fact that people mostly minded their own business without blinking an eye to the suffering and corruption around them. She couldn’t entirely blame them; it wasn’t an easy thing caring about neighboring regions when your own was constantly hit by natural disasters, causing deaths and lifetime labors destroyed.

She had just learned that the Conomi Islands had been freed by Arlong’s cruel rule after eight whole years. She wondered how Nami was. They had met a couple of years ago when she caught her rummaging her family’s vault and helped her through it without getting her caught. She hid her in her room while the Navy was looking for the thief. She didn’t need the money and it was obvious to her that Nami did. Nami was her first real friend. The week they spent together, drinking and getting to know each other, talking about their backstories, their wants and plans for the future was the best in her life. She had promised that after she’d buy her village back and free it, she’d come to see her again. She hadn’t heard from Nami since.

They said it was because of the Marines the islands were liberated. She could never believe that for one second. Her curious personality always managed to get her into the Navy’s business, making her family’s influence and prestige on the island take a hit every time she got into trouble with them. She couldn’t help that all this talk from the Marines about justice and keeping the peace made her want to throw up on their shiny uniforms. She knew it was all an act for them and their allies to maintain power. How could Marines talk about values when regions and people were enslaved and the Navy turned a blind eye instead of helping, just for power and some berries?

Her dream was to end all that fake order and bring actual freedom to those in need; to become a freedom fighter and help people. She needed the right opportunity but also, she had to take advantage of every situation if she wanted to get away from that place someday and seek what she so wholeheartedly craved. So she learned her family’s secrets and strengths. It’s not every day you see generations of people knowing how to yield the air around them, giving them a bunch of abilities like flying or sucking the air out of their enemies’ lungs or causing hurricanes of every size. She knew when to play nice and be obedient so that her parents would teach her their ways, thinking that she would grow out of her rebellious phase, would learn about and protect her family’s rule. It’s not an easy task for them to cover up the Navy’s dirt on the island after all.  

The more she mastered her power, the more she could see that something was wrong with her family. She had started to notice the patterns. Every time the island was hit by a storm or a natural disaster, they were never home. At first, it would make sense that they’d go and help their people. Then, after the storms, her island’s Navy unit and its captain started collecting “taxes” for rebuilding the infrastructures. Thing was, the taxes would constantly go up, bringing inhabitants to their knees. Meanwhile, her family didn’t seem affected at all. They would just roam the island, giving advices and pacifying the angry voices that protested the Navy. So, she decided, in the next hurricane, she would learn her parents and older siblings’ sketchy business. She had to know what was the cause of all this and what she could do to change it.

~

Meeting new people travelling between islands and seas was a fascinating thing. She loved hearing stories about their adventures, about different places and bigger dangers, fights between pirates and marines or about the golden age of piracy. About the Grand Line, the different weather conditions in each island, the devil fruits and the abilities they gave their users. She would always wander through the port, looking for more myths coming to life by the sailors that docked their ships on her island for supplies.

When she spotted a beautiful pirate caravel, with a sheep figurehead in its bow and its Jolly Roger with a straw hat, docked in their port, she felt a strange wave of excitement and peace. She couldn’t explain it but that beautiful ship radiated so much love and care, like it had a soul of its own and a smile that made everyone feel like home if they stepped into it. She stood there, admiring it from afar, when she felt someone standing next to her.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Her name is Merry! She’s my ship.”

She turned to look at the stranger. A boy around the same age as hers, with a small scar under his right eye and a straw hat on his head, and that made her assume this was the captain. He had a smile so vibrant, it reminded her of the sun. His energy was so welcoming, she felt like she could be friends with him on a whim.

“Hello. She is indeed a sight to behold.”

She gave him a warm smile back, raising her hand to introduce herself.

“That’s a pretty name. I’m Luffy, and I’m gonna be King Of The Pirates!”

She couldn’t help but laugh, but it had no malice. She loved dreamers, being one herself, and even if she met that boy only a couple of minutes ago, she could see he would give everyone in the world a run for their money. A gust of wind blew, taking his hat away, and before he could react, she brought it back to him through the air around her. She placed it on his head and gave him a toothy grin.

“There! You can’t be King Of The Pirates without your trademark, right?”

“THANK YOU! YOU’VE GOT AIR POWERS? THAT’S SO COOL! YOU SHOULD JOIN OUR CREW!”

She was dumbfounded by his enthusiasm and his abrupt proposal. Never had she met anyone like him, so thrilled by her presence and her little air tricks. Before she could reply, she heard footsteps and another male voice behind her.

“Oi Luffy, stop scaring people by asking them to join us like that, will you?”

She turned to look at the deeper voice, and for a moment it felt like lighting coursing through her veins. Taller and more muscular than the boy next to her, he looked a bit older than them both, with short green hair and eyes gray as steel, three golden earrings that gleamed in the sunlight graced his left ear. He had a sharp gaze that radiated a strong and confident energy, one that lacked fear or hesitation. She never believed in love at first sight, but this felt as close as she could imagine it would feel. The man approached them and introduced himself to her.

“Roronoa Zoro? As in ‘Pirate Hunter’ Zoro? In a pirate crew?”

Of course she had heard of his reputation. Who didn’t know the infamous bounty hunter swordsman in the East Blue? He chuckled at her surprise.

“Yeah, well, long story short, this guy here has an effect of convincing people easily.”

“There you are, you idiots! We’ve been looking for you everywhere! We’re not here for me to babysit you not getting lost, we’re here to find my-”

She heard a familiar female shriek before she felt soft arms around her, squeezing her tight, and she immediately knew who it was. She could never forget her best friend’s hugs. She returned the hug as she screamed Nami’s name, before they both started to cry tears of joy. Her hand grabbed her upper arm, and she felt deep scars where her Arlong tattoo should be but was replaced by another, prettier one.

“I was so worried about you! I learned what happened to your village and I didn’t know what to think!”

“You should have known I’d be okay, you know I always pull through. Although, these guys were the greatest help I could get. They are the reason I’m freed and I wanted to keep my promise to you.”

She looked at the boys around them with gratitude, two more joining them, a blond boy wearing a suit, who looked like he would burst into flames from the heart eyes on his face and another one with wavy hair, a long nose and mischief in his eyes.

“I can’t thank you enough for helping my friend. She means the world to me!”

“Whoa, Nami’s your friend? Now you should definitely join our crew! We’ve heard so much about you, the only reason we stopped here before Loguetown was to find you!” Luffy said with enthusiasm.

“Yes, it’s not every day you hear someone born into money giving them away without question, hiding the thief in addition and fighting their way to get them out safely. You must be quite the character.” Zoro smirked at her.

“And to add to that, you’re also a sight to behold, my lady!” the blond boy said as he kissed her hand and introduced himself as Sanji, making her laugh at his advances.

“We’ve heard you have a great mind for plans too. Could use a strategist in this group of idiots that run into danger head on. I always device a plan to beat my enemies. I’m Usopp by the way.”

She was dumbfounded to say the least, taking them all and their kind words in. She met these guys a few moments ago, yet never had she felt such a feeling of being so welcomed by the people around her, she was so used to being ignored that this interaction almost made her sob. She kissed Nami’s cheek before letting her go.

“I… thank you guys… you’re all so sweet… but I don’t think I’m that good-”

“Bullshit, you’ll be the smartest person besides me in this crew. Come on now, I know how much you long to get the hell out of this place, they’ve never appreciated you anyways, and I don’t think anything changed since we met.” Nami proclaimed, smiling at her.

“No… not much anyway. I just learned how to use my powers now… Look, I don’t know what to think of this, I have-”

A loud rumble shook the earth below them. She felt the temperature drop rapidly and she knew what was coming. Now was her chance to find out the truth she looked for, the one that could possibly make her decide to cut ties with her family if her speculations were true. She turned to the Strawhats, as they called themselves, and smiled brightly.

“Thank you guys. But I have to run now. There are rooms for rent down this road, run and cover yourselves and don’t come out before the storm passes. Maybe I’ll see you around after that.”

As they started to protest, she flew off to the source of the hurricane she could see coming from afar.

And sure enough, the feeling of throwing up from disgust and despair overwhelmed her when she arrived at the source. She saw her family controlling the hurricanes and lightings that hit her island, and the Navy captain, who she knew was a devil fruit user, was shaking the ground, causing the earthquake, while his Unit watched from the sidewalks. Bodies were scattered around damaged buildings, scenery of pure horror. Before she could react to stop this, she felt boulders hitting her, splitting her lips and bruising her body, blood running down her jaw as she fell down.

~

Logically, everything fell into place. Emotionally, nothing made sense. She couldn’t comprehend how she could have been raised by such cruel people. Her eyes welled up with tears, but not from the pain she felt on her body, but from the sight in front of her, as her parents approached her, proclaiming she was not mature enough to understand their family’s best interest and how she has always been such a disappointment, never listening, never following orders, an annoying, meddling child.

“Do whatever you want; we can’t do anything about her anymore.” Her parents proclaimed to the navy captain as he too approached.

“You’ve always been a pain in the ass and I can finally get rid of you.” The captain proclaimed as he unsheathed his sword.

She closed her eyes but she never felt the blade on her skin. The captain’s scream echoed as his arm got cut off from the shoulder, his sword hitting the ground.

“Swords are not toys, captain. You don’t get to play with them.”

Her head spin to the male voice behind her and her eyes widen as she saw the five pirates ready to fight. Zoro was the closest to her, having drawn one of his swords that was now covered in blood, leaving a clean cut on the marine’s shoulder. Usopp was standing a few feet behind, a slingshot in his hand as he shoot at the navy soldiers, the collision ended in blasts and the soldiers started to run away. Nami was holding a strange, long, steel pole that seemed by its use to control the weather around them with air bubbles.

“You’re not hurting a lady on my watch.” Sanji proclaimed before his leg collided with the bleeding captain’s face, kicking him to the ground.

“He was already done, curlybrows.”

“Shut your mouth, marimo!”

They were bickering as if they all were not in a life or death situation. The most shocking thing was Luffy, who was stretching his body as he was wielding what seemed to be the bark of a tree around, taking soldiers and her family with it.

“Nami said you had problems with your family. You seemed worried. So we followed you.” He said with a toothy grin.

Zoro grabbed her hand and raised her from the ground.

“You know how to fight I assume?”

“Yes I do.”

“Well then, let’s give them hell, pretty girl.”

~

Either way, we’re not alone. I’ll find a new place to be from. A haunted house with a picket fence, to float around and ghost my friends. I’m not afraid to disappear. The billboard said "The End Is Near". I turned around, there was nothing there. Yeah, I guess the end is here.”

And sure enough, she couldn’t believe the six of them managed to stop the destruction while fighting the whole navy unit and her family combined, who were now running away from the angry crowd that had assembled when the hurricanes stopped and saw the whole thing happening.

“You guys… I can’t thank you enough-”

“Pffff, that was nothing, it was funny being blown away, felt like flying hehe.” Luffy laughed as he grabbed her in a hug. “You’re Nami’s friend, so you are our friend too!”

She had started crying by now as she hugged Luffy back, the feelings she felt in that moment couldn’t be described.

“I think… I think I’ll join you guys!”

~

A week had passed since her family fled off the island that was now filled with marines who listed the damages and arrested their own dirty kind. They had made a futile attempt to take the strawhats in, and before they would even start a fight, the people of the island wreaked havoc, not even letting them close to their saviors. She took the crew in the house that was now hers.

She helped Nami move all the gold from the house onto their ship. She gave Usopp advices for his trinkets and how they would fly through the air easier. She cooked with Sanji and then would catalog the storages that would be taken with them to their journey, with Luffy receiving several kicks from the cook because he tried to eat everything. She had never had so much fun in her life as she had with them. Her favorite moments came at night, usually spent drinking with Zoro. They had talked about their childhoods, he had told her about his family how died when he was a toddler, his promise to his childhood friend who died way before her time, how he acquired that big scar across his chest. The more she got to know him, the more connected she felt to him, like a final puzzle piece falling right in to place.

On their last night, everyone was fast asleep, getting the rest they’d need since they would cross the entrance to the Grand Line the next day. But her anticipation wouldn’t let her sleep. After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, she got off her bed and walked around the house, taking it in one last time. She had decided to gift it to a large family whose home got destroyed. It was a fact that she didn’t want anything to do with that place anymore. Tomorrow morning her life would change forever. Her mind leading her nowhere in particular, she walked to her terrace. The wind, soft and gentle, rustled through the leaves of the trees, creating a soothing melody, and she could see the sea ahead, illuminated by the moon, which casted a silvery glow on the water. It was a peaceful scene, yet she could feel her heart racing when she saw Zoro sitting on the bench of her terrace, polishing his swords. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked as he glanced at her.

“I… I guess I’m nervous about tomorrow.”

“It must be a little overwhelming, I guess. Don’t worry though, we’re a good crew, we’ll take care of you.”

A small smile played on his lips. His words were reassuring, but there was something else in his tone, something that made her heart skip a beat. She bit her lip, walking to the edge of the terrace, her hands holding on to the railing as she tried to find the right words to say.

“I know I’ll be safe with you, guys. It’s just… it feels like the end is near for me in this place… and being in a pirate crew is going to be something so new and big… and I don’t feel like I bring a lot on the table…”

He chuckled softly as he placed his swords down, walking towards to stand next to her, taking her hand in his to give a firm squeeze.

“The end is near for this part of your life, indeed. But you’re strong, you’re brave, and you’re a great fighter. You’ve been through a lot and yet you’re one of the kindest people I’ve met, still standing here, ready to face whatever comes next. That takes a lot of courage, and it takes character. I think you bring a lot, and you’re going to fit right in with us. You’re not alone.”

She smiled shyly, feeling warmth spread through her chest, her eyes almost welling up. He smiled back, his expression genuine.

“Thank you, Zoro. You really have no idea how much that means.”

“I think I do. I know what it’s like to be uncertain about the future, to feel like you don’t belong anywhere. But you belong with us now. You’re going to make a great crewmate. It’s good to have you on board. I have a feeling you’re going to surprise all of us with what you can do.” He paused, his expression a bit more serious. “And… if you need to talk… or vent or… anything… I’m here.”

A deep blush crept up across her cheeks. “I… thank you… for everything. Same goes for me.”

She felt her heart flutter as he continued to hold her hand, her stare moving to meet his gaze. She couldn’t help but feel more at ease with him and he couldn’t deny the way he felt either.

“For now, I think we should just enjoy being together and explore this new thing we’ll find ourselves in. Who knows what kind of trouble we’ll stumble upon?”

“I’m looking forward to seeing what awaits us.” She leaned a bit closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And I’m looking forward to get to know you better too.”

It was time for his heart to skip a beat at her words. Her eyes widened but before she could shy away, he leaned in closer, and their lips met in a tender, hesitant kiss, a slow, gentle brushing of lips. The sounds of the forest faded away, leaving only the beating of their hearts and the rush of blood in their ears.

~

“Take care!”

“Come back soon!”

“Sorry I was mean to you, can’t wait to see you again!”

“Be safe and make us proud!”

“Don’t disappear!”

Most of the town’s people were at the port to give their regards to the strawhats and her. The others were already abroad, her being the last to climb the rope ladder on to her new home. She turned around before hoping on to the deck, and took in how weird and eerie her town looked now, like looking at a haunted house from afar.

“So, the end is near, then?”

She lifted her head to see Zoro’s smirk as he gave her his hand to lift her on to the ship. Someone shouted at her to not disappear. She wasn’t afraid of that. She was afraid of staying still. Her head turned around one last time and she saw nothing there.

“Yeah, I guess, the end is here.”

And she took his hand.

[etraytin]

Emergency Preparedness on a Budget: Part Two (Medicine and Power)

Hey there everybody, time for Part Two of Emergency Preparedness When Money is No! You can find Part 1 (Food and Water) here.

Just a note on Part 1, someone in the comments made the extremely good point that having food is not super-useful if you cannot eat it because you can’t cook it or get into the cans. This is true! My example stash used Chunky Soup and tuna because they can be eaten cold and usually have pop tops, but a can opener is a great addition to the emergency kit. Many preppers will also include a propane camp stove in their food stash, but if you’re on a very tight budget, you can absolutely get by with a few days of cold soup. (A basic propane stove, tank and lighter runs about 30-40 dollars if you are interested in getting one.)

Now on to today’s topics: Medicine and Power

Once you’ve got your 3 days of food and water sorted, you want other important survival stuff in your kit. Being as how we are all here together on Tumblr, the odds are pretty good that you or someone in your house is reliant on at least one kind of medication that must be taken regularly. If that’s the case, you need to have at least 3 days and ideally a week of meds stocked up as well.

“Wait a second,” you might say, “a week of medicine is not going to do me much good if I starve to death after eating my three days of food,” and you would be right, if a bit dramatic. In a disaster situation, however, the food and water supply pipeline is basically the first thing that activates. I was in the Asheville area during Hurricane Helene and though it took about the expected three days for support to really gear up, there was food and water being passed around within about 24 hours despite no gas, no communications and highways blocked in all directions. In almost any situation, you are going to get access to food and water before you get any other kind of relief. Getting your own prescription medicines in the right dose, on the other hand? That’s a lot more dependent on the kind of disaster you’re looking at, so it pays to plan ahead.

If you are in the US and have non-controlled prescription meds, most insurance plans will allow you to refill your meds up to 7 days early. If you can set a reminder on your phone and do that a couple times, you will end up a couple of weeks ahead on your pills without any skipping or rationing. That’s a good place to be even without considering disasters, just because life does insist on happening ALL THE TIME and sometimes it’s hard to get to the pharmacy.

If your medicines are tightly controlled then this is a harder problem. One thing you should definitely NOT do is skip medicines to build up an emergency supply. The whole object of the game here is for you to be healthy and okay even when bad things happen, so it defeats the purpose if you are hurting yourself to try and prepare. Talk to your doctor about what you can do to get emergency supplies of your medicines, or what to do if there is a disaster. Usually they will be sympathetic, and hopefully they can help. If they cannot help you beforehand, they generally have more leeway to help if a disaster is looming and it’s worth trying to call them if the weather report is particularly grim. In a big disaster, especially if you’ve had to leave your home, get yourself to a Red Cross shelter and ask for Disaster Health Services. They can be really helpful in getting those important medications.

For nonprescription meds, it’s helpful to have a small supply of the basics in your medicine cabinet, built up over time. If you go into your Walmart or equivalent when you are not even sick and buy the generic version of all these meds, you’re probably going to save 50%, maybe more, over trying to buy them at the drugstore or gas station when you’re already feeling terrible. They’re just good to have around! Another thing to note is that medicines kept cool and dry will last a lot longer than their best-by dates, so you don’t need to go throwing them away every couple years. Here’s a short list of some of the best meds to have on hand in an emergency:

Painkiller/Fever Reducer: Advil or Tylenol in the US, ibuprofen and paracetamol elsewhere. Good for keeping fever down if anyone gets sick, or for treating sprains, muscle strains or headaches. Be very careful of the dosing since both of these can do bad things in high doses.

Anti-Diarrheal: Immodium or loperamide. It’s easy to accidentally eat something bad in an emergency, and diarrhea can be both a logistical problem (especially if water is off!) and a potentially life-threatening health issue.

Electrolyte Solution: Pedialyte, electrolyte drink, oral rehydration salts. If someone does get diarrhea or if the weather is very hot, hydration becomes a massive issue as well. Someone who is sick or dehydrated enough may throw up plain water, but electrolyte drinks are better tolerated and solve the problem much faster. If you do not have any of these, you can also make your own oral rehydration solution by mixing a three-finger pinch of salt and a one-hand scoop of sugar into about two cups of water.

Antihistamine: Benadryl (diphenhydramine) or Claratin (loratidine) This one’s especially big after hurricanes, tornadoes, or any other storm that really rustles the jimmes on the local vegetation. It can be a little slice of hell to be out clearing all the brush that fell on your house and be surrounded by vast clouds of pollen and the occasional swarm of really unhappy bees.

Antacid: Pepto-Bismol (Bismuth subsalicylate) If you’re already on a proton-pump inhbitor like Prilosec or Zantac, stock those up instead. Otherwise, Pepto-Bismol is a good all-rounder to cover heartburn, upset stomach and nausea, all things that might come from stress and weird food during a disaster.

First Aid: A first aid kit could be a post on its own, but you can get the basics for cheap and keep them in a drawer til you need them. For maximum versatility, get yourself gauze pads and medical tape because you can use them to make whatever size bandaid you need, a few butterfly closures for bigger cuts, a tube of bacitracin zinc for antibiotic cream, a long cloth wrap to brace a sprain or fracture, and a bottle of saline to wash a wound or clean your eyes.

Power:

A lot of the disasters you’re likely to face will involve power outages, whether it be just your neighborhood, half the town, or the ENTIRE TRI-STATE AREA (if you are Dr. Doofenschmirtz.) In our Modern Miracle Age just about everybody has at least one flashlight with them at all times, built into their phones, but that’s only going to get you so far when the lights go out.

Powering your phone is a top priority in a power outage, not so much for the light but because it is your main source of communication and information for as long as the cell towers are working. You will want a power bank for your emergency kit; a little battery pack about the size of a cell phone itself, that holds enough electricity to recharge your phone one or more times before needing charged. A basic power bank can be had for about $15, but they are nearly infinitely scalable both in cost and benefits. You can get them with built-in cords, with solar panels, with flashlights of their own, with capacity to charge multiple phones, etc. Buy whatever one fits your budget and needs, then make sure to keep it charged and keep the appropriate cords with it!

Given that you’ll need your phone for other things, you’re going to want some light sources in your emergency stash as well. The easiest and safest of these are battery-powered flashlights and lanterns. You’ll want a mix of lanterns to light a room, flashlights to carry around, and headlamps for reading and close work. All these come in a huge variety of quality and price, but you don’t need anything expensive, just something that will work. Watch for sales at the beginning and end of camping season. Once you have your lights, buy batteries for all of them but do not store them with the batteries installed! For best storage, put your batteries side by side (not touching end to end because they may discharge over time) in a plastic baggie and rubber band or tape the bag to its light. Put them with your emergency food and you’ll know where they are, even in the dark.

Candles are a power-outage classic because they’re cheap, cheerful and don’t need batteries, but be careful if you use them. Make sure it’s on a clean, hard surface with nothing around it to burn, and that you never leave one unattended or in a room with only kids or sleeping people. A mirror tile or flat mirror is great if you’ve got one because it’s not flammable and will make the light brighter. Make sure your smoke alarm is working! (If you don’t have a smoke detector, call your fire department or local Red Cross and they can get you hooked up with one.) Jar candles are usually the best in terms of burn time and safety, and you can often get them real cheap and barely used at garage sales. After-Christmas sales are also good, if you don’t mind the smell of off-season merriment.

There’s a lot more stuff out there for emergency power, from solar generators to backup power stations to uninterruptible power supplies. Preppers love power almost as much as they love weird food hacks, and that is a _lot._ Unfortunately, once you get past the power bank level, the prices start going up very fast. If you have a few hundred dollars to put into your preparations you can get a portable power station that can not only charge your devices but run small appliances for awhile on AC power. If you use a CPAP machine like me, a power station might mean the difference between being able to sleep soundly or not. If you get one of those, make sure to get one that can charge in several different ways, especially from a running vehicle. They’re really handy in a pinch! Watch very carefully for sales on these stations from companies like Jackery, Bluetti and EcoFlow. They compete closely with one another, and a new model on the market from any of them can trigger price wars. It’s worth doing a little research to get a better deal.

Next time: Temperature Management (Or “Too Hot and Too Cold.”)

[umbrellajam]

*steeples fingers and stares at my tablet with gimlet eyes*

so. Road to NML. You mean to tell me that the reason the rest of the country, Congress, and the President himself decided to write Gotham off, blow the bridges, and isolate everyone left - all criminals and asylum lunatics and 'undesirables', of course - was in large part due to *checks notes* a satanic rock star's unnatural, irresistible charisma and cult-like media manipulations aimed at dooming the city for his own benefit?

and that in order to find out what actually happens to this villain, who disappears from the Batman and 'Tec storylines...I'd have to *checks notes* read Azrael's event issues?

....yeah, PASS. I only included JPV's book on my reading list when I absolutely had to (*cough* whenever Cass pops up *cough*), so it's off to the wiki summaries for me!

...but okay, on the one hand I find it very funny how thoroughly fandom has excised this demonic media influencer aspect from the collective consciousness of NML - or at least it had never made its way to me via either fic or fandom posts. I know how few people read comics in general in this fandom, and even for those who do, NML is a Beast that only a percentage have tackled (see: me just starting to pick away at it!), so honestly it's not that surprising.

and like it can easily be left out of the story and still leave it coherent lmao!! One can certainly argue things are in fact neater that way; certainly it's not something that would ever be kept (or at least not in the same form) if NML were adapted to another medium, except as perhaps a normal media demagogue (or a montage of them).

but on the other hand...hmm. Thinking about Hurricane Katrina hitting all of six years after the NML storyline played out. And the debate over whether funds should be used for reconstructing New Orleans and other massively damaged areas. And people around the country wondering if New Orleans would or should be rebuilt at all. Or if a vibrant, historic city would just be basically wiped off the map.

I know this is a conversation that happens everywhere and every time a major disaster wrecks a city. There are always huge fights over disaster aid and funding allocations of any kind.

but man. It's something to see this fictionalized depiction in such close proximity to a real life disaster that paralleled it so strongly, and to know that - yes, there are always people who Do Not Abandon Their Homes and work to reclaim them. Yes, massive amounts of aid (federal and otherwise) and federal reconstruction funding did get dispensed. Yes, people cared, and yes, we rebuilt.

so...maybe we do actually need the demonic social media influencer's evil powers in order to comic book logic explain how everyone in the country turned their backs on Gotham and created No Man's Land.

like - no, it's not necessary. the narrative would work without it. and yet...

the premise imagines - requires? - a significantly more callous, selfish populace. Still plausible and compelling! Possibly even stronger as a story since the turnaround for No Man's Land still hinges on winning the country over to open Gotham back up, let aid in, and rebuild. But. You do have to start from - kind of a bleaker take on humanity?

it also kind of reminds me of what scintillyyy pointed out a few weeks ago about Dick killing the Joker, and how actually there's an important comic book superpower interaction going on there, too, with Rancor present massively amplifying Dick's hate and anger to push him over the edge.

but so few people ever notice or remember that and it certainly isn't one of those things that gets transmitted via fandom osmosis. (It was news to me!!) People focus on Dick breaking down and letting loose solely due to being pushed too far.

and that's extremely compelling on its own! It is! Just like the no-satanic-Nick-Scratch NML.

just thinking about fandom's tendency to ellide the supernatural or powered influences that are canonically affecting a situation, in order to explore/focus on more purely humanistic explanations or motivations...that actually end up being darker than what we might reasonably expect from real life, or from a character's typical values.

like it's part wanting to brush off comic book nonsense, part wanting to dive into gritty realism (that's not always realistic), part not having all the information because of learning things secondhand so you construct the most reasonable explanation...idk it's just interesting.

anyway.

more importantly: Dick and Tim are adorable in 'Tec 727-729!! Especially love them trading off yelling each other's names in fear/alarm, and also trading off protecting each other - Dick's "You hurt that kid and you're gonna be eating through a tube!" and Tim's clever solo rescue of a thoroughly captive Dick via clever use of a voice modulator and a two-way radio. The Boys 😊

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter One - Cursed

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

---

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Ao3 link

---

Chapter One

Rose was fucked. Some unearthly being had marked her for disaster, she was sure of it.

“This isn’t happening, this cannot be happening,” she chanted over and over to herself. “Hawkins is way too small for us to be lost. I’m cursed. And it’s not even nine a.m.”

Her mother sighed from the driver’s seat. “You are not cursed. I just took a wrong turn at the Memorial Hospital. Maybe if I loop around...”

“How do you explain the alarm clocks? You can’t blame faulty wiring this time, all of the electrics were replaced last week.” Rose gestured wildly.

This morning she had woken slow, bleary-eyed and heavy-limbed, with the gnawing feeling in her bones that something was just wrong. Something beyond the weird disorientation of being in a new bed, and a new house. Wooden beams flexed and creaked - no surprise with half the walls stripped down to boards in the remodel - and it hit her: no radio, no cheery blast of synth or guitar or whatever popular music central Indiana’s finest radio stations had to offer, drifting from the alarm on her bedside table.

One glance at the alarm clock confirmed it; grey pixels where the neon red numbers should be. Dead. Another power cut, she thought. But no, as she sat up, brain-fogged, the light from the floor lamp still glowed buttery yellow, casting a faintly pulsing light on the faces of Simon Le Bon, David Bowie, and the newest addition to the posters that covered the exposed brick wall: Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones, his rumpled shirt slightly unbuttoned, fedora askew, whip hooked on his belt.

No time to ogle Indy, she’d thrown herself from bed, a clumsy hurricane tripping, hopping and falling down the winding stairs to the second storey hall. The old clock was just about visible through the walnut bannister, its gold pendulum swinging back and forth and heralding her own personal doom: seven forty six, just fourteen minutes until Hawkins High closed its doors and classes began.

“Bollocks! Fucking hell!” She’d cried out.

One alarm clock dead? Fine, no problem, plausible. But when her mother and Jerry stumbled from the master bedroom, awakened by her foul mouth instead of their own alarm clock - which also happened to be dead, despite the rest of the electrics in the bedrooms working fine - an eerie feeling of the unnatural crept up her spine. After a manic rush to brush her teeth, grab her neatly stacked books and throw on some clothes, she found the washer dryer had stopped-mid cycle, and her carefully planned outfit options all lay in a damp, musty heap in the machine drum. It only confirmed that fate, karma, whatever one might call it, was stacked against her.

“Jerry said it might be a power surge,” her mother said, eyes on the road and foot on the gas pedal. “The plant is running on a skeleton crew until they fix the new conductor...convection...honestly, I don’t understand anything he says, but it sounds important. He’s called in additional engineers from Indianapolis to help.”

Rose chewed her lip, literally biting back the dozen denials and witty remarks that came to her mind all at once. If the power had surged, the old bulbs in the lamps should have been the first to go. But Jerry was no-man’s land in the battleground between her and her mother; though her stepfather’s goofy behaviour sometimes begged for it, he was too nice to mock. After meeting her mother two years ago, he launched an all-out campaign to win her over, bringing her tapes, magazines, and a new VHS player so they could watch her favourite films together. But most of all, he made her prim and proper mother laugh more than she had ever seen, even more than when Dad was alive. Against all odds, Rose kind of, just about, liked him.

“The teachers will understand, Rosebud. It’s your first day. And besides, you’ll only be ten minutes late.”

“Exactly,” Rose’s head thumped back on the headrest of the passenger seat. “It’s the end of the fucking world.”

The streets here were endless, a thick wall of trees speeding past in a blur of green, broken by the occasional driveways of modest one-storey homes. All unfamiliar, and strange.

They turned a corner, passing bright yellow school buses, already empty and relieved of their precious cargo, but were met with oncoming traffic and a chorus of loud car horns.

“Jesus, Mum, you’re on the wrong side of the road. Right, go right!” Rose said shrilly, panic swirling in her gut and sending her voice a few octaves too high.

A sudden jerk of the wheel had the tires screeching and her stomach flipping upside-down; the car tilted as it swerved into the right lane, Rose’s fingers digging into the beige leather interior of the station wagon like a drowning man clinging to a liferaft.

“Oops,” her mother muttered mildly. She had no longer than Rose to get dressed and run out the house, but somehow she looked just as mumsy as always. Hands perfectly positioned at ten and two, not a hair out of place in her blonde bob or a single crease in her frumpy crochet cardigan, despite the chaotic driving. “I don't know if I'll ever get used to driving on the wrong side of the road. Jerry would have taken you, but he has a meeting with the Department of Energy at the plant this morning. About the promotion.”

“It’s OK. I’d rather be here with you. As much as I like Jerry, you’re my mum.” Rose said.

Hawkins High School appeared at the end of the street, its squat, single-storey front building surrounded by bikes and cars. They pulled into the parking lot, taking up a space by the front doors. Only a few stragglers remained in the lot: someone chaining up a bicycle, another girl running through the front doors with cheeks pink from exertion, a teacher with a worn briefcase.

Rose instinctively grabbed her mother’s hand, and they sat for a moment in pleasant silence. It was always like this, when mum drove her to the hospital. A minute of respite before the shitshow began.

“Ready?” Mum squeezed her hand.

Nope. Not at all. American high school, a more terrifying prospect than any hospital ward, or any of the sixth form schools at home where she would be unnoticed and normal...well, perhaps not normal, but only the sick girl, not the new kid with a different accent, with no idea how any of this worked. Too late to turn back now.

She launched herself out of the passenger door, clutching her leather satchel to her chest. “Ready.”

The shiny window of the station wagon reflected her own image back to her, a mess of long, red-brown curls that looked like a bird's nest, no time today to tame it with a brush and half a can of Aquanet. She dragged her hands through her hair in a vague attempt to tidy it up, until something else caught her eye in the reflection.

“We have to go back. The dress...I can’t wear it,” Rose said. It was faded green and floral, with a square neckline, and ending just above the knee. A bit old fashioned, maybe, and not exactly her first choice, but her favourite clothes all sat mouldy and damp in the washer dryer at home. It was bought at least four years ago, before Rose’s last growth spurt, when she really filled out. But it wasn’t the close fit of the fabric or the definite visible cleavage that had her worried.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her mother was leaning over to the passenger side of the car, brows knitted in confusion. But when she realised the source of the panic, her whole demeanour changed. Mum’s hands flew to her own chest, and she unbuttoned her cardigan hurriedly. She flung it off her shoulders and threw it to Rose out the passenger door, who swore like a sailor as tugged it over the green dress, buttoning it all the way to the top. The cardigan was shell-pink with a cream Peter Pan collar. It clashed horribly with the dress, but it covered her all the way to her collarbones.

“I'm sorry, are you Rose?” A sweet voice called out behind her. “Rose McAllister?”

Rose turned slowly. The girl behind her was a foil to Rose, hair styled, blue pastel skirt perfectly matching her eyes. She looked like she’d just stepped from a John Hughes movie in those white leather boots, scarf artfully tied at her neck. Preppy with a capital p.

“Hi?” The girl smiled weakly.

“Hi? Am I?” Rose spluttered. “Hi. Sorry, I am Rose. That’s what I mean to say. That’s me, I am she.”

Oh god. Nought to crazy in under ten seconds. It really was her superpower.

Put-together-girl smiled, seemingly not put off by the bundle of awkwardness before her, and shook her hand. “Great, I thought you’d accidentally ended up at the Middle School for a while there. I’m Nancy. Nancy Wheeler, part of the school welcome committee. If you want to say goodbye to your mom, i’ll take you to register for your classes. Janice in the principal’s office has all the forms ready for you, it shouldn’t take too long.”

Rose gave her mother a final smile. “Thanks Mum. See you at three,” she closed the car door soundly.

But nope, instead of leaving, the drivers’ window rolled down and her mother’s blonde bob leaned out the window. “Just one thing before I go...Nancy, you couldn’t point out the nurse’s office, could you?”

Nancy Wheeler paused for just a second, and nodded toward a small brick building over to the right. “It’s just there, Mrs. McAllister. It’s shared with the Middle School.”

Mum smiled as she got out of the car, and turned to Rose’s guide. “It’s Mrs. Gruber, but thank you, dear.”

“Do you have to?” Rose asked her mother through gritted teeth. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“I won’t be long. I promise, Rosebud.”

Oh god, the shame. She was eighteen, not eight. Nicknames were acceptable at home, but not in public.

“Sorry Mrs Gruber.” Nancy waved to her retreating figure.

Distance. Rose sought it straight away, shiny new sneakers pounding on the cracked pavement beneath the great big tiger poster on the wall, bounding toward the door. Nothing like your mother tagging along on your first day of school to make classes seem more appealing than hanging about outside.

“So,” Nancy caught up quickly, guiding her into hallways striped orange and green. “I should tell you a little about the school. There are almost a hundred students, about seventy per year. We have band, math club, AV club, drama club, and that’s just for starters. Girls have a soccer team. Usual sports, but you should know basketball is bigger than football here. Go Tigers!” Nancy’s little cheer was lukewarm at best, but she seemed genuinely nice. “ I guess it looks a little lame to someone who just moved from England. I mean, the teachers here are good, but you’re probably used to more academic rigour, right?”

“Not really.” Rose eyed her surroundings nervously, big colourful notice boards peppered with hand-drawn signs about pep rallies, someone offering French tuition, and a whole list of dates and match times. “School is school, but I don‘t think we had as many extra curricular activities at home. Except hockey, and the pub.” And definitely not so many weird ones. In one corner, a wad of chewing gum was stuck on the board, pinning up a strange devil-like drawing, letters H E L L interrupted by a pastel yellow flyer advertising auditions for A Streetcar Named Desire. She desperately wanted to lift it up and find out what kind of hell Hawkins High School was hiding.

“Still, must be hard joining in senior year. You must miss your friends.”

“So much.” Rose lied, plastering on a smile. “I’m just calling and writing to them all the time.” Surely her gran counted. And she did call her friend Elaine from the hospital ward, when Elaine could breathe well enough to actually talk back. One benefit to being new? No reputation to overcome. A new slate, a chance to shine. If only shining didn’t involve being so visible. “Thank you for doing this, I know you probably have to, but it’s nice to not be faced with a thousand faces at once, you know?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nancy shrugged it off with a wave.

Janice in the principal’s office gave her a stack of forms, and she went through them one by one with a freshly sharpened pencil whilst Nancy filled her in on the school.

“People here are friendly, most of the time. If you want, I could hook you up with some clubs. I run the school paper and the yearbook committee. It’s a lot, but I plan on early application to colleges - i’m in this fight with my mom and dad about applying to any Ivies - and then i’ll have a lot of time in the second half of senior year. That should tie in nicely with the production of the yearbook.” Nancy was in full flow, working through all the things on her clearly enormous brain. Rose handed back some of the papers to Janice and got a schedule in return, and Nancy led her into a maze of hallways,

“Here’s your locker.” Nancy smiled, patting a metal grill whose beige paint was flaking away. “Your combination is 2-2-6-2, but you can change that anytime. Your first period is English with Mrs O’Donnell. This semester they’re working on classic short stories. Oh, you should know that homecoming is next week. I’m on the committee for that too, since Heather and...uh...a couple of the members left over the summer. And that means I’m probably on the hook for prom committee too, unless Jennifer P shapes up and actually orders the decorations. I know it’s really soon bearing in mind this is your first day, but I could probably get you a homecoming ticket, if you wanted? My boyfriend moved to California a few weeks ago, so i’ll be there stag, manning the punchbowl probably. What I mean is, I don’t know if you have a boyfriend or anything, but girls go stag all the time. Guys too.”

Rose’s face was flushing warm just listening to it. She followed Nancy with her head buzzing, her smile cracking as they stopped halfway down the hall.

“Nancy, I'm going to level with you. I only understood about half of what you said. I have this very vague understanding of the word homecoming from watching a couple of John Hughes films, but what is the difference between homecoming and prom? Isn’t it all just dancing to shit music without alcohol - something which I'm pretty annoyed about, by the way. At home the pubs will serve you from about fourteen, even in your school uniform if the police aren’t about.”

Nancy was shocked, frozen as Rose started rambling. And once she started, it was like a broken pipe, overflowing without any sign of stopping.

“What’s a yearbook?” Rose continued. “Why do you need a committee of people to make a book? College is University to me, but I couldn’t tell you if it’s early to apply, because I have no idea when people actually apply. And you said basketball instead of football, but then you also said girls play soccer...soccer to me is football, so now I'm thinking to myself, McAllister, have you been living under a rock? Do Americans call it football for boys and soccer for girls? Or do the girls get to play football, but the boys don’t - and by that I suppose I mean soccer, not your football where you have to strap on a helmet and thirty pounds of foam padding just to play a bit of bloody rugby. Because at home, girls play basketball, only we call it netball. But not the tough girls, they play hockey. God, when I think about it, everything about sports is so unbelievably stupid, isn’t it? I have no idea why it's life or death to some people. Sorry, I don’t know if you are big on sports.”

Rose laughed hysterically, “You seem really nice, and I can’t believe I'm already proving that I'm a lunatic with no social skils. I feel like I'm trapped in a film or a play and I don’t know the lines, but everyone else does. And at some point, I'm going to end up naked in front of a chalkboard whilst everyone laughs at me, and then hopefully wake up sweating in bed at home in Oxfordshire. Except this isn’t a bad dream, this is fucking real.”

Nancy covered her hands with her face, blue eyes wide with horror. Her gaze drifted from Rose to a point behind her shoulder that suddenly seemed to be interesting.

Rose’s stomach did another flip upside-down. “Someone’s right behind me, aren’t they.”

Nancy nodded. At some point during her unhinged rant they had arrived at an open door. A door to a class full of open-mouthed teenagers gawking at her, like she had three eyes or an extra head.

“Miss McAllister.” A bespectacled woman in a tweed pencil skirt and addressed her, “How nice of you to join us. I’m Mrs O’Donnell, and it seems I'll have the dubious honour of teaching you English for your senior year. Now I don’t know how you do things in Britain, but in America, we arrive at our classes on time.”

Yep, that checks out. All those years wishing for a clean slate, and within moments she’s covered it in dirt. So much for a new start.

“This is my fault.” Nancy bravely interjected. “I’m the reason she was late, Mrs O’Donnell. I just babbled on and on about school, and I didn’t even think about what I was saying. Truth is, the welcoming committee doesn’t really do that much welcoming. We’ve had one new student in the last year, and he was from Illinois. Not counting Billy...” her face clouded over for a second. “Please don’t punish her for my mistake.”

“Hmm.” O’Donnell hummed, fiddling with her tortoiseshell spectacles, clearly swayed by the appeal on Rose’s behalf. “I don’t like tardiness, and I don’t like disrespect. But perhaps I can let you off this time, Miss McAllister. Why don’t you come in and introduce yourself to your classmates?”

With a nervous apology to Nancy, Rose clutched her books and papers, and stepped into English class as gingerly as if it were Dante’s seventh circle of hell. Thirty teens sat expectantly at their tables, books spilling over desks, bags on the floor. They watched her every move , and at least half of them in some kind of sports gear. Which she just insulted, of course. If only the ground could swallow her up, or make her invisible. Anything to take her away from the thirty pairs of eyes that prickled across her skin. Yup, cursed.

A guy with a mullet and one of those fancy green jackets sniggered behind his fist. “Chalkboard’s right there. You gonna take your clothes off, or what? We can do it elsewhere honey, I wouldn’t mind a more private show, if you know what i’m talkin’ about.”

“Nice cardigan,” someone mocked. Rose’s closed her hands in fists, to stop herself from fidgeting with it. Laughter spread across the class like wildfire. Great. Just fucking great.

“Andy, I will not tell you again,” O’Donnell pointed at the lewd-mouthed jock, chalk in hand. “Talk back once more and you’ll join Mr Munson in the principal’s office. Go on then, introduce yourself Miss McAllister. I’m sure the class is just dying to hear more about you.”

Dead. She was dead alright. Deceased. Six feet under. Nancy Wheeler can write her obituary and put it in the school paper. Rose McAllister, gone, and totally forgotten. Cause of death: foot in mouth.

“Hello.” Her voice cracked. “I’m Rose. I moved to Hawkins a month ago, after my stepdad got a new job. Or, he got his old job back at the power plant. He grew up here. As for me, I Iove to read, classics mostly-”

“Nerd alert.” Quipped a girl in a polka dot blouse, just under her breath enough for the teacher not to notice. Cue more laughing from the sporty side of the class.

“I speak French, I, um, I saw Live Aid this summer in London, just before we moved out here.”

A silent pause. A peppy blonde cheerleader clapped her hands together. “Oh my god, that is so bitchin. Who was the cutest? Was it Spandau Ballet? They’re British too, right?”

Relief washed through her, almost as intoxicating as the cranberry and vodka mixers all the cool girls at home drank in the Nag’s Head. Not that Rose was often in the popular crowd, not since she got sick. “I’m more of a Queen or Bowie girl myself. Freddie was unbelievable, couldn’t take your eyes off him. Status Quo and The Who were amazing too. But...uh...Spandau Ballet, yeah. Martin Kemp is cracking to look at, isn’t he?”

“That’s enough, that’s enough,” O’Donnell quietened them down. “I see we’ve devolved into cute musicians or whatever you young people class as music these days. Settle down. We have a lot to work through before this assignment. And before you ask, Andy, it’s due next Friday, despite the interruption.”

Andy, that wonderful mouth-breathing specimen of idiot found in schools everywhere, flipped off the teacher as soon as her back was turned.

“Was Edgar Allen Poe on your curriculum at home, Miss McAllister?” She said, whilst writing on the chalkboard.

“No. I haven’t read any.”

“That’s alright, just take a seat and listen. You can get caught up over the weekend.”

The class returned to their books, and Rose fled the front of the classroom for an empty desk at the back of the room. At least this way she could wallow in eternal shame without eyes on her back. Her bag deposited on the floor, she collapsed quietly into the wooden desk, shrinking down as far as she could in the arse-numbing seat. Pencil tapping nervously on her book, until her neighbour took mercy on her and passed over a dog-eared copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories, pages folded over at The Tell-Tale Heart.

Shit. Not one she was familiar with. Give her Shakespeare, give her Hardy or Dickens or any of the Bronte’s - hell, even Tolkein or McAffrey or Pratchett - and she’d be talking a mile a minute about them. Poe, not really in her wheelhouse.

Minutes passed as the class read passages aloud, and talked about the imagery. She scanned the story, reading it through as quick as possible, scribbling down some notes as the class discussed it. Rose flipped over a page and found the story was over already, five punchy pages of compact gothic imagery. Concise. That was a blessing, for her first day.

Behind the battered book, something on the desk caught her eye. A grim reaper in a hooded cowl, hand clutching a gruesome looking scythe. The lines were clean, and it wasn’t just inked on the desk, it was etched, scratched into the wood with a pen or a pin or something sharp. It was good. Clearly someone found O’Donnell’s class so riveting, they turned to the visual arts instead.

“OK.” O’Donnell sighed heavily. “So what do we think about the themes? Someone? Anyone? Becky, how about you?”

Polka dot shirt girl ummed and ahed. “I guess, madness?”

“Yes, Becky. Well done. The concept of madness. Anyone else?”

A hand shot up. Jock number two, sat next to his mullet-haired buddy Andy. “I don’t know about the class, but I have some concerns.”

“What a surprise. I would ask you to share them in private, Mr Carter, but that would be a foolish hope, wouldn’t it.”

“That’s right. Mrs O’Donnell. I think my fellow classmates are counting on me to speak the honest truth, and say what we’re all thinking. I’m shocked that impressionable young minds are being asked to read this explicit material. The narrator killed someone in cold blood, and we’re being told he’s not insane, because he was careful and calm whilst doing it?” Blonde jock paused and looked around, working the crowd like a pro. “I mean, to commit murder, to hack a guy to pieces and bury him under the floorboards...that’s the worst kind of evil.

“And don’t we all deserve to spend our formative years studying something that shows the best of humanity? I don’t know about you, but I turn my mind to Psalms 141: Do not let my heart be drawn to what is evil so that I take part in wicked deeds along with those who are evildoers. Mrs O’Donnell, I say we remove this book from the curriculum. My father supports the idea, and he’s willing to take it to the school board next month.”

“Yeah, what Jason said,” Andy piped up, bumping his friend’s fist. “Let’s throw it in the trash, and the assignment due next Friday. I did like the haunted house part though, with the ghost stuck under the floorboards. Don’t know how a ghost has a heartbeat, though. Weird.”

Rose stifled a smile, and turned back down to the grim reaper on the desk. At some point in all the talk of beating hearts her hand had settled over her chest, over the cardigan covering her dress. still buttoned up. A sudden impulse had her grabbing for a red marker pen, and drawing a heart onto the desk, in the path of the grim reaper’s scythe. She was careful not to overlap the original, so the artist could scrub it out if they didn’t like the random addition to their work.

“I’m sure the school board will give it serious thought, Jason,” O’Donnell grumbled, already ground down before second period. “Any more themes in the work? Come on, come on. This will help in the assignment. Miss Buckley, are you with us?”

A girl blatantly napping on her desk in one corner jolted awake at the prodding of a neighbour, her eyes wired, and hair tousled from lying on the desk. “Themes? Right, yeah. Themes. It’s got haunted houses, and death.” The girl turned introspective, eyes glazing over. “There’s guilt, for having lived through something so scary, right? Like he did all these terrible things, and survived. He kinda wants to get it off his chest and admits to murrder straight away, which is a stupid move for someone who calls himself smart, a lot. Reminds me of a dingus I know. He’s so desperate to talk about all the creepy stuff that happened in that house, even though it will get him in trouble. Guilt just eats away at you. Yeah, definitely guilt.”

The teacher looks almost surprised. “Very astute, Robin. If you can keep awake for the rest of your senior year, you might just get an A in this class.”

“Nice,” Robin smiled. “The previously mentioned dingus will be hearing about this later. So much for the senior slump.”

Rose had little time to ponder what on earth a dingus was, as O’Donnell was talking again. “What about comparisons to other work? Does it remind you of anything we studied last year?”

Silence. It was nice and quiet in the back of the room, and being thrust into the spotlight was the last thing Rose wanted. But this was books, this was her element. Something compelled her to raise her hand.

“Miss McAllister, I realise you won’t have covered last year’s work either, i’ll set you up with a reading list.”

“I had some thoughts about this part,” Rose held up the book. “‘There came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart.’ There’s something so gothic and logical about the prose. It reminds me of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

���Sir what-now?” Polka dot girl muttered.

“Uh, Sherlock Holmes,” Robin added, feigning holding a microscope to her eye and pulling a funny face. “You know, its elementary, my dear Watson.”

“Yes, exactly.” Rose grinned, delighted. “Sherlock Holmes. And Lovecraft too. I think they both came after Poe, so he might have been an influence.”

O’Donnell looked like she’d sucked on a lemon, her thin lips pursed until they almost disappeared. “I thought you hadn’t read the material?”

“I just did.”

“Just now?”

“Yes.”

“And you came to that conclusion within the space of a few minutes?”

Rose eyed her suspiciously. “Yes?”

The teacher looked down over the rims of her glasses. “It would not look good for you to lie on your first day, would it.”

“I assure you, Mrs O’Donnell, I am not a liar. Just a quick reader.”

Snickering floated through the air, disturbing the silent battle of wills stretching across the little classroom. “See? Nerd,” Becky in the polka dots said. “But I thought you weren’t supposed to be smart. My mom said you’re eighteen already, and she works in the office at the power plant. You’re a super senior.”

Desks shuffled, heads swivelled, and now everyone was staring at Rose again. Great, just bloody great.

“In case you were wondering,” Andy said mockingly. “A super senior is someone who repeats the year, cause they failed.”

“Strangely enough, I could deduce that,” Rose said bitterly.

“Enough, class,” O’Donnell tried to regain control, throwing her hands up in the air. “We are not going to discuss the intricate personal lives of our students. Save that for the cafeteria. Back to the book.”

Where was that hole in the ground when she needed it? Rose blocked it all out as best she could, focusing on the cool grim reaper on the desk. Whispers and titters floated across the room again, until Jason the preacher-in-training spoke. “Wait. I know who you are. Your dad - or stepdad, whatever - is Jerry the Goober, right?”

“It’s Gruber, not Goober,” Rose mumbled.

He slapped his jean-clad leg. “Yeah, I knew it. He was class of ‘60, same as my dad. You guys bought the old murder house on Morehead.”

Even O’Donnell stopped, making no further attempt to hold back their stampede of questions

“The creepy old place opposite the playground? Jesus, that place is definitely haunted.” “How many people died there?” “Is there still blood in the floorboards? I bet there is...gnarly.”

Her new home was five times the size of her house in England. Hell, ten times. A wrap around porch, original fireplaces in half the rooms, enough space to swing a family of cats. Three floors and a basement, each room panelled in walnut and grander than the last. True, it was a little...different. Grant, gothic, pretty much in ruins. And yes, Rose had heard there were some horrific acts in the house’s past, something she’d rather not dwell on. But it wasn’t haunted.

“Haunting isn’t real, dumbass.” A guy in a plaid cut-off shirt actually said in her defence, aimed at the one of the jocks. “People watch a lot of Ghostbusters and horror movies, it doesn’t make that shit real.”

“God damn freak,” Andy retorted under his breath. “How’d that place even get sold? Isn’t the old dude that owns it still alive?”

“Someone broke into it last year and cut themselves on a pane of glass,” Rose explained. “The Roane County Housing Board declared it unsafe, so they forced the sale. They said it was a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

The bell rang out and made Rose jump, each and every teen grabbing up their books and fleeing for the door. Except Jason Carver, who stayed back for a few seconds to glare menacingly.

“Assignments. Friday.” O’Donnell cried out the door. “And will someone find Mr Munson, he needs to pick up his...never mind, why do I bother.”

---

The crush of students in the hallway moving to their next classes provided Rose with a little anonymity, and the map pushed into her hands by Nancy Wheeler, plus the small size of the school, meant she could navigate to her Chemistry class without asking for help or accidentally pissing off an entire class of peers.

Mr Kaminski’s class was far less traumatic. She said a simple hi to the room and sat down at the back once again, working diligently on a hydrocarbon pop quiz that kept the class mercifully quiet, and focused on something other than the new girl. Chemistry was hardly her favourite, but it was material she had learned long before, schoolwork splayed across the sterile white sheets of a hospital bed, one eye out the window on the world below.

Then the bell of doom rang out again, and the most nerve-wracking forty-five minutes of the day dawned. Lunch. She marched to the cafeteria like a soldier to battle, scouting out the exits, the seating hierarchy and potential to hide from enemy combatants in a corner or behind a pillar of a room.

Yes, the student body of Hawkins High School stared at her. No, they did not approach. Either the students didn’t care about the new girl, they hadn’t worked out who she was yet, or her episode this morning had spread so widely throughout the school that no one wanted to talk to her. So she swiped a tray of congealed looking meat in grey sauce and green beans, and found a spot on an empty lunch table in the corner of the room, poking at the food until her stomach calmed down enough to eat it.

The basketball team entered the cafeteria to a round of applause, their green and white uniforms lurid under the harsh fluorescent lights, smiles brittle as they cheered for some kind of game tonight in the gym. She supposed this was what happened when your first day of school was three weeks into September, on a Friday. Novelty worn off by early afternoon.

Justin from her English class held court in the centre of the room, holding a bright orange ball as he worked the room. She heard a thump, thump, thump as he dribbled it up and down by the cheerleaders’ table. They all preened as he spun it around on his finger, and it looked so ridiculous she almost choked on a slimy green bean.

Another thud, another voice, this one louder. White sneakers hit a different tabletop and plastic lunch trays bounced, an earthquake of dark hair, denim and leather, upending some poor kid’s apple and carton of milk. The guy on the table pranced about, spitting out words so quickly she couldn’t make them out. Whatever it was, his friends laughed. His voice dropped mockingly, arms flailing at the jocks dribbling balls across the room.

Denim rocker guy squatted down with the awkward grace of an alleycat, a jean chain smacking against the table, and dragged his knuckles around, grunting like an ape. His friends laughed harder, each one looking up at him as if he hung the moon.

“Eat it, freak,” Jason shouted across the cafeteria.

Denim guy grunted and beat his chest with his fists. It only enraged the jocks; the more they cursed and shouted at him, the more he responded like a monkey. Rose snorted with laughter. His confidence was off the charts, no fucks to give, shame completely absent. It was kind of hard to look away from. Magnetic, really.

“Brutal, but effective,” a voice agreed at her side. “I think that’s the longest I've seen Munson go without talking.”

Robin from English class casually leaned on her table, with a ‘I care so little about this that it's cool’ vibe about her tousled hair, check shirt and an honest-to-god tie tucked into high waisted trousers. Very Annie Hall. “Sup, new girl. What are you doing on the ghost table?”

“Ghost table?”

“The one place in the cafeteria that’s hidden from the view of the jocks table, great exit path to the doors. Yeah. I see your attempts to hide, new girl. Is it OK if I call you that, or is that totally presumptuous? God, it is, isn’t it. Stupid Robin. What about McAllister. Has a nice ring to it, kinda like a detective’s name. McAllister. Buckley and McAllister, one’s a straight-laced pencil pusher, the other’s a beat cop with a dark past who doesn’t play by the rules, together they must solve a murder...or no, old fashioned detectives like Holmes and Watson,” her accent changed to a strangled attempt at a posh accent. “The curious case of the Hawkins High murder.”

Rose beamed, watching Robin’s elbow slip off the table, the girl reeling backward and clumsily righting herself.

“Mystery solved, partner,” Rose joined in. “Victim, one Jason Carver, brutally killed in the cafeteria, bled of his dignity in front of a hundred witnesses. Suspect, one suspiciously intelligent gorilla wearing a curious sleeveless denim jacket. Murder weapon, a crude, yet cleverly executed, parody of his bestial behaviour. And in front of the cheerleaders too.”

“I knew it,” Robin slapped the table. “I knew you’d be cool. I could just tell. And I may have slept through the incident in the hallway, but several reliable sources have since told me it was crushing to the fragile male ego. I love you already. Come and sit with us, you’re not languishing here all alone.”

A flood of warmth spread through her chest. “Really?”

“Really. Come on, partner. And by us I mean Beth and Linda, we’re over here.”

Rose snatched up her tray, led by the frenetic Robin to a table by the stage, walking right around the table of jocks. Jason Carver shot her a look of...disdain? Intrigue? It was something weird, anyway.

Beth and Linda were leaning over the table, whispering in hushed voices when they arrived.

“Buckley and McAllister, reporting for duty,” Robin dropped onto the bench with a thud, saluting at her friends. “This is the legendary new girl I mentioned earlier. Rose, this is Beth Wildfire, retired goalie, with a leg so full of metal she can’t ever go near a magnet,” she waved at a brunette who sat stiffly, with her leg propped on the bench. “And this is Linda Chen, our fearless leader and captain,” she poked the lunch tray of a girl in a numbered sweater, dark hair pinned back with bubblegum-purple barrettes.

“Football girl,” Linda said appraisingly. “We heard about you. So soccer is for wimps, huh?”

Rose winced and choked on a sip of juice from a carton. “Technically, I didn’t say that. I said the tough girls at home played hockey. But everyone plays soccer at home. It’s clearly the superior sport.”

It got a little awkward after that, each of the girls finishing their lunch wordlessly.

Robin cleared her throat. “Oooh, I forgot to mention we’re the girls’ soccer team, didn’t I...” she trailed off. “All the drawbacks of using the sweaty locker rooms, none of the perks of having a letterman jacket or a sweet spot on the social hierarchy. Hey, did I mention Rose went to Live Aid this summer? In London?”

Robin’s contagious smiles and easy banter made it almost easy; the four of them spoke for half an hour and more, Rose cross-examined on her thoughts about every band from the last ten years (Wham was so overrated, obviously) to movies (anything with Harrison Ford) to fashion (in her head, a slightly more punk version of Princess Di. In reality, whatever looked passable at the time). Having the spotlight on herself was not entirely comfortable, but by the end of the lunch hour she may have just avoided being a complete social pariah.

“So,” Robin drummed her hands on the plastic lunch tray. “I admit, I had an ulterior motive in bringing you here.”

Rose braced herself. “Which is...”

“Soccer tryouts,” Linda interjected, rolling up her sleeves. “We’re seriously down on numbers this year. Two of our team were killed in the fire a couple months back...I don’t know if you heard about that.”

“Shit,” Rose said. “I’m so sorry.” The mall had devastated Hawkins just before she arrived. No small place could lose that many of its people without touching the lives of everyone in the town.

“And Veronica’s parents pulled her out of school over the summer; they moved to Maine. Said this town was cursed, which it probably is,” Linda admitted.

“Ha.” Robin croaked. “Yeah, cursed. Like...like that magic shit’s real. Nope, just a regular old mall fire. Nothin’ to see here, except a whole lotta pain and sadness. And ash. From the totally natural fire.”

Linda eyed her suspiciously. “After Beth broke her leg, we’re down to four players. I don’t think we’ll be able to field a team this season, not unless we find another player for a five-a-side. We have tryouts tonight, would you wanna maybe come?”

“Oh,” Rose’s brows raised. “I’m not sure I can. I can’t do gym this year.”

Beth looked confused. “What do you mean, you can’t do gym?”

“I have a note that gets me out of gym for the whole year. I have free periods instead.”

Robin squealed and stood up. “There’s a note to get you out of gym? For the whole year? It’s senior year...that’s all of gym, gym forever, gym never again. That’s an option? What does one have to do to get one of these notes?”

“Major health issues,” Rose said. She didn’t elaborate. It would be nice to go one full day without being sick girl. “Mum had the note signed by three specialists at the hospital, and I think the school nurse.”

Robin sat down again, flushing and averting her gaze. “Okay then, permanent gym-pass is a no-go. Damn, I was excited for a minute there.”

A thousand questions ran around in Rose’s head. “So you like soccer, but hate gym?”

“Yes, and yes,” Robin blurted out. “I can’t face that rope climbing thing one more time. I might be fast, but I have the arm strength of a cabbage and I fall over like a lot. Wait, does that mean you can’t run or move around quickly or do anything strenuous? Should we be watching you carefully?”

“Not really. I’m better, or at least I should be. It’s just my mum, she’s over protective.”

Cogs were turning in Linda’s head, and she chewed and swallowed a forkful of carrot before speaking. “So technically, you can’t do gym. But what about sports teams outside of school hours?”

“Yeah,” Robin clicked her fingers and pointed them like guns. “I love a good loophole. If it’s out of hours, it doesn’t count.”

Rose hummed noncommittally.

“Oh come on,” Robin whined. “None of the other girls want to come, and I won’t even have to explain the offside rule to you. That takes half the tryout! Otherwise it will only be me and Linda.”

Did she want to throw herself into sports on her first day of school? Probably not. In fact, she didn’t really like soccer, and she only pretended to understand the offside rule when the lads in the pub screamed at the telly, cig in one hand, pint in the other. But the vague promise of a friendship group was too strong a lure. “OK. I’m in, i’ll come to tryouts. But I don’t have a change of clothes, i’m completely unprepared.”

“Yes, McAllister!” Robin punched the air, tie coming loose from her pants. “Come to the girls locker room after last period, i’ll find you something. You know where the gym is?”

Rose hung her arms like a gorilla, imitating the rebel rocker raising hell on the table earlier. “If I get lost, i’ll follow the monkeys in letterman jackets.”

“See?” Robin walked backwards out of the cafeteria, tripping over a bench and recovering swiftly. “Knew you’d be cool.”

---

A quick call to her mother on the school payphone by the front door set it in stone. “Pick me up at seven instead of three please, I have an after school club, think I made some friends, love you, bye.” She said it quickly and slammed the receiver down, so her mum couldn't draw breath to argue or question the change in plans.

Rose nearly skipped to her first free period, immersing herself in the library like a drunk stumbling into a bar after a dry spell. She was in school full-time finally for the first time in a couple of years, and she had a year of uninterrupted studying to look forward to. Her fingers skipped over the spines of Chaucer, Austen, Shelley, until she found the works of Hawthorne, Twain, Fitzgerald and Salinger. Most of them were new to her, one of the benefits of moving across an ocean and beginning a new curriculum. The librarian Ms Miller just about died on the spot, having an avid lover of literature to speak to for an hour. Things for Rose McAllister were looking on the up.

History went by in a blur; most of her classmates were not in Mrs O’Donnell’s English class of misery this morning, so she got to introduce herself all over again, without fucking it up with an epicly bad monologue. Her other classes were fine, turns out mathematics pretty universal and if you’re good at it there, you’re good at it here too.

Two forty-five. The home stretch. Her pencil tapped the desk in agitation, thinking about soccer tryouts. Yes, she might be rusty, but she wasn’t half as weak as her mother made her out to be. And she did know her way around a football pitch, even if it was from watching the boys from the sidelines on the rare occasion she was in school and had a few friends to tag along with. This madcap plan of Robin’s might just work.

When Mr Fitz let the class out ten minutes early so he could make an appointment, she was out of her chair like a shot, peering at her school map. Right past the tiger mascot painted on the wall, through the double doors, and into a room...that was dark, and full of shelving. Ah. Definitely not the locker room.

“I just don’t know, Rob.” Linda Chen’s muffled voice sounded on the other side of a cupboard door; clearly the locker room was just next door. “She pissed off every sports team in the school within five minutes of arriving. Basketball, football, soccer...the cheerleaders just by association. If it wasn’t so damaging to me socially to be seen with her, i’d be kind of impressed.”

“Come on,” Robin whined. “I’m a grade-A klutz and I have verbal diarrhoea, and you guys like having me around, right?”

“That’s different,” the other one, Beth, reasoned. “You’re our friend. I know you’ve been a little off since Starcourt, but-”

“Off? Of course i’ve been off. I saw shit you wouldn’t believe, Beth. Forgive me if i’m not as peppy as I used to be.”

“I know you were there, Rob, but we all lost people that day. And I don’t think I have the energy to be all fake nice to this new girl, when i’m just sad and tired, you know? It’s senior year, its too late for that kind of bullshit.”

“Yeah, well clearly this was a bad idea, Forget it.” Robin spat out. “I just wanted you to be happy, but I won’t be making the same mistake twice.”

Doors slammed and voices faded. The darkness was kind of foggy and Rose couldn’t see far ahead of her, but she stood in the dark for a few minutes, still processing what she had just heard. Hopes crushed, balloon deflated. Can't say she was surprised. Don’t want too much of a good thing, that would break a lifelong pattern. Yes, she could tell that Linda and Beth were hesitant, but Robin too? The one person she formed a connection with on her first day?

She crept out of the janitor’s closet, marching toward the front doors of the school...where her mother wouldn’t be for hours, because she had just called to change her pick up time. Shit.

Rose was not above admitting she considered getting back in that closet for a moment, but that would be completely absurd. Instead she trudged back to the library, where tall bookshelves might keep her hidden and their contents keep her occupied for a few hours on a Friday evening.

A steady trickle of people were heading her way, going from classes to the gym for whatever ball-in-hoop sports stuff she had mocked and derided by accident earlier, clearly alienating the more popular half of the student body in one fell swoop.

Head down, with a notebook covering the bottom half of her face, she inched through the thickening crowd and found the welcome fortress of the library doors...closed. Open hours, eight til three.

“Motherfucker,” She mumbled.

More people streamed toward her, but Rose couldn’t face another witness to her shitty day, and ducked behind the lockers.

An unknown guy’s voice floated through the halls. “...I bet Tommy will break up with her, now he’s at community college in Cartersville. Pretty faces are a dime a dozen in college, and Carol P is yesterday’s news.”

“Carol’s hot.” Meathead Andy from English class offered. “I’ll pick up the pieces if her ass gets dumped.”

“You are such a dick.”

“Just saying what we all think, man. But i’m not counting on it. Maybe I should make a move on the new girl. She might be a nerd, but she’s got a couple of redeeming features, if you know what I mean. Probably hotter than Carol.”

“Did you ever think you just have a thing for redheads? Besides, the new girl is irritating as fuck. And she’s not exactly cheerleader material. I thought she was kinda fat.”

Andy sniggered, his voice fading as he walked away. “Nah, she was just standing next to Nancy Wheeler. Wheeler’s built like a broom handle. And I don’t need a girl to be a cheerleader, just give good head.”

The jocks slithered away to the gym, and the garish orange and green walls began to feel suffocating. She pushed hard on the library door hoping it might somehow be unlocked, but it didn’t budge. Her chest was aching, skin flushing and breathing hard. She tried another. Classroom after classroom, door after door, all fucking locked. What is this, a prison?

Her feet pounded the hallways, pushing blindly until one of the doors yielded and she burst into a darkened space. Content there was no one else around, she flung her back across the room like a discus, crashing into some kind of clothing rack, almost exploding in a puff of red velvet and pink taffeta as it dragged some costumes to the floor.

“Aaah,” the roar came out before she could stop it. Some kind of drama room, filled with dark curtains and crowded rows of props, dominated by a big table. She slammed her fist on it impulsive,, scattering some of its contents to the ground in a metallic crash.

This was as good a place as any to wither away and die, so she walked to the far corner, leaned back and slid down the wall, knees folded beneath her.

There was something comforting about defeat. At least, sitting on the floor in a dishevelled heap, she’d hit a literal rock bottom. Nowhere to go but up.

Yes, she could call home and get a ride back home within the next fifteen minutes. But that meant admitting defeat, reliving the entire experience over and over, prodded and poked by an interfering mother. She couldn’t even hope that Jerry would answer. He was far too honest to keep a secret. Nope, she was stuck here amongst the stage lights, costumes, and decaying dreams of Midwestern theatre kids until seven, which was three and a half hours away.

Plastered on the stage curtain was a sign coloured in orange and red, a cool drawing of a horned demon that looked eerily familiar. Just like the flyer from this morning. Sprawled in bold letters: HELLFIRE. Interesting.

Her velvet-lined, backlit refuge from the high school world didn’t last long. Deep voices bickered passionately in the hall, footsteps squeaked on linoleum, and the door was flung open with so much energy that it nearly popped off its hinges.

“...i’m telling you, man, the frozen lair of Iymrith is just a warm up campaign. I needed to test the mettle of you sheepies before the good stuff next semester. I had to see if you knew your ass from your elbow.” Someone breezed into Rose’s view, a mop of dark frizzy hair, just visible over the huge wooden table that dominated the room.

A squeal of laughter followed, a younger guy’s voice. “Or our class from our elbow. Get it, our class? Our characters’ class?”

“Oh my god, stop Dustin,” a third person protested. “He gets character classes. He’s probably been a DM since we were, like, toddlers.”

“Jesus, Wheeler. Crit hit. I’m not that goddamn old.” The older guy spoke, coming into Rose’s view. He stumbled backward with his hand over his denim and leather jacket combo, as if punctured in the heart. The menace from the cafeteria, gorilla boy, now sentient and walking on two legs. “But the DM in me does thrive on this servant-master dynamic, so keep the subservience coming. My ego could do with a little stroking.”

“Ew...” The ‘Wheeler kid’ moaned; he was lanky, with a grown-out bowl haircut and a grimace peeling apart his lips.

Their leader was unperturbed. He leapt onto a heavy carved chair, wobbling, arms outstretched as he balanced on the makeshift throne. “Bow down, minions. Kneel and pledge obeisance. Damn, I could get drunk off this power. I should get a crown, or something.”

“You already have a throne, isn’t that enough? Or have we birthed a tyrant?” A dark skinned guy with braces shook his head, a trace of envy in his narrowed eyes.

Rose froze like a rabbit in headlights. Her position on the floor was hidden by the clothes rack, but not hidden enough. There were more of them, a hurricane of teenage hormones, awkward haircuts and matching Hellfire shirts swirling about the table and taking off their leather jackets, setting up the table with boards and boxes and...game pieces? She had no clue what they were doing, but they had wider grins and more buzz than the all manufactured cheer in the cafeteria put together.

“Uh...Eddie?” One of the older guys says, holding up something beige and cylindrical. “Drama kids have been messing with our stuff again. I can’t find your goblet, and a couple of the candles are broken.”

“Goddamn thespians,” the rocker Eddie’s voice dropped, all gravelly and menacing. “Completely out of touch with the real world, acting out bullshit stories for the man, nothing but corporate message after corporate message. Harris is gonna know about this the next time he wants to buy off me. Touch Hellfire’s stuff, and i’ll add ten dollars to the going rate. S.A.S. Special asshole supplement.”

“I thought you had to be a girl to be a thespian. If Harris is a guy, does that mean he likes girls, or other guys?”

A kid in an eye-wateringly bright shirt over his Hellfire top, and a cap covering his curls, held up his palms in desperation. “He said thespians, not lesbians, Jeff,” he lisped, pent up with manic energy. “Thespians are lovers of the theatre, not girls who like other girls.”

“Ha. Lesbians.” Someone giggled. Laughter erupted. It might appear to be a weird cult, but they were teenage boys after all.

“Silence,” Eddie the rocker snapper. Commanded, even. One word and the group shut up, watching him warily. He dropped to his ripped-denim kees and crawled under the table. “First Sinclair shakes us off for tryouts - I don’t know how big shiny balls have a greater lure than the harsh, yet beautiful, plains of the Icewind Dale, but hey, critical thinking doesn’t really kick in until you at least finish puberty, freshies - and now my goblet has vanished? It’s all stacking up against me, man. I don’t know, i’m not feeling good about this.”

“Careful Dustin,” one of the group warned. A voice she knew, the one from her English class with the torn up plaid shirt. “You do not want to mess with Eddie’s ambience. I did that once in sophomore year. Set up a session in my garage during the holidays. Let’s just say, the more immersed the DM, the nicer he is during the campaign. You guys don’t want to see him grouchy.”

Wheeler scoffed. “Come on, Gareth. This isn’t grouchy?”

“Not. Even. Close,” Gareth crossed his arms over his plaid-covered chest. “Your buddy Lucas really messed up, skipping out on the third Hellfire night of the year. It’s not even October, and we’re gonna have to bring out a secondary character or something. At least the place could look good.”

“Gareth the Great is right, children. Ambience is a key part of storytelling. It’s all about the mood,” Eddie replied, dragging out the last word. He manhandled the bags on the floor, peering into nooks and crannies, nosing around like a stray dog looking for scraps, completely beneath the table, facing away from Rose. Until, abruptly, he wheeled around on his knees.

Doe eyes met hers, liquid dark and wide, framed by frizzy rocker hair. His manic, dynamic presence froze perfectly, like a VHS tape on pause, cogs in that brain working overtime. He stared blankly at the interloper in his domain, who was scrunched up on the floor, hiding all along in the corner. And right in front of her feet, his shiny pewter goblet.

Rose held her breath. She waited for it. Cursing, shouting, orders to leave. Instead, his lips curled up in a grin, one so contagious and earnest that she couldn’t help but smile back. He raised a finger to his mouth, silver rings pressing against his lips, asking for her silence. She nodded back once. Permission sought: request granted.

Ten seconds passed by without either of them breaking eye contact; Rose hadn’t appreciated just how long ten seconds really was, when you were caught in someone’s gaze. Snared like a rabbit, unable to move, unable to look away. Bordering on weird, but not necessarily bad weird. A standoff, destination unknown.

“Eddie,” The Wheeler kid moaned and kicked his chair leg. “Can we find your goblet later? My sister’s leaving school at seven, and she’s not above ditching us if we’re late.”

“Mike’s not lying,” Dustin backed him up. “She has totally done that before. Ruthless. And every minute we lose searching for goblets is one minute less in the frozen wastes of the Icewind Dale. Just think of how much storytelling you can fit into a minute, Dungeon Master.”

That phrase hit her in the chest. She maintained eye contact, and mouthed Dungeon master?

Eddie, still beneath the table, gave her a wolfish grin, split from ear to ear, teeth shining pearlescent white in the light of the candles. He tried to motion something to her, but knocked his head on the underside of the table in the process.

“Earth to Eddie,” the bigger of the guys called out.

The man in question rubbed the back of his head, snapped out of some deep thinking. “Right, goblet. We have a problem. A naughty nymph must have snatched it and run back to her lair.”

He winked at her, dimple etched into his cheek, and she had to stop her shoulders from shaking with laughter.

Jeff sighed a second time. “What the hell’s keeping you down there? I cannot sub again, I was a terrible DM last year when you had mono. I let you guys defeat Asmodeus in fifteen minutes. Asmodeus, ruler of the Nine Hells. It took me five times as long to plan the damn campaign!”

Rose and Eddie conversed in gestures as the guys above them spoke. A full blown wordless conversation captured with a tiny shrug, a smile, a raised eyebrow. He was clearly trying to tell her something, and wouldn't give her up to the group.

A theoretical light bulb flipped on over Eddie’s head, and he flapped his hands wildly, pointing at the rack of costumes just to her side. Implication clear - get behind it. Wait, what? This wasn’t an escape plan; duck back there would lead her further from the door. Did he expect her to stay there until seven?

“Eddie!” Jeff called out.

Eddie’s shoulders sagged in defeat, and he addressed the group above. “Yup, that’s me. But as Wheeler so kindly pointed out, i’m an old man now. Knees aren’t what they used to be.”

Rose peered behind over her shoulder, checking out the fully hidden spot behind the clothes rack. Target acquired. Unfortunately she couldn’t make it without being seen by the minions at the table.

She nudged her chin toward it and Eddie caught on. Another grin, another gleam in his dark eyes. He rolled out from under the table, groaning theatrically, arm held out.

“Give us a hand, Henderson.”

The freshman smiled so wide his braces almost popped out and complied immediately. It was endearing, actually. He stepped forward, forearm grasping Eddie’s, planting his feet on the floor firmly. But not firm enough.

Eddie grabbed him and tugged him hard, toppling the kid on top of his stomach, wind knocked out with a dramatic groan. They landed in a heap of tangled limbs, with the kid’s neon cap flung across the room.

“Oh my god!” He cried out.

“Sorry, Henderson. Shouldn’t have had that second tray of mystery meat at lunch.”

“You only ate half a bag of pretzels, dude.”

They were distracted, backs turned. She sprung into action, launching behind the clothing rack, cursing under her breath as she nudged the goblet accidentally.

A pink costume became her refuge, layer upon layer of taffeta, the size of a small sedan. She felt hot and itchy just looking at the scratchy fabric. A dress for a princess, or maybe the good witch in Oz?

“This is hazing, isn’t it? Mom told me all about it.” Dustin lisped, hands on hips. “Keep it up, Dungeon Master. If you think a little rough housing will deter this halfling bard, you are seriously mistaken.”

But just as the guys finished helping Dustin to his feet, Mike shooting forward to grab his hat, the goblet where Rose just sat began to roll.

“Gentlemen!” Eddie roared, even more maniacally than before, diverting them again. “Before we begin I propose a detour. A side quest, if you will.”

Rose inched out her hand, slowly enough not to attract wandering eyes, and retrieved the goblet, just as they took their seats, wooden chairs scraping heavily on the linoleum.

“What kind of side quest?” Gareth from English class asked.

“Your party is weak. Your ranger Lucas the Fickle-hearted has abandoned you upon the road-”

“That’s not his name!” Dustin protested.

“Yeah, well, i’m rebranding him,” Eddie declared. “Like I said, Lucas the Fickle-hearted has fallen prey to the cheap thrill of a local tourney, drawn to test his mettle upon the melee ground and take his place as a totally righteous, totally boooring knight of the Kingswatch. But you, good sirs, you make it to a humble tavern on the edge of the forest. There you are greeted by an old companion, Eddie the Bard. Tears streaming down his face, he tells you his cherished goblet is gone, a ring of dried crimson wine staining the table where it once sat.”

He sprung forth, grabbing the back of Mike Wheeler’s chair and narrating directly into his ear. “What’s that, you say? Tis merely a pewter cup, worth nothing more than a couple of coppers on the open market? No, gentlemen. This cup is the secret to the bard’s otherworldly music, spelled to give the bearer great luck and fortune. Charisma off the charts, baby. A Goblet of Rock.”

She had no idea what this Hellfire club was actually doing, but it seemed like a cross between a board game and a storytelling exercise. And this Eddie was...good. Really good. But a knot wound tight in Rose’s stomach as he belaboured the importance of the cup in her very hands. A cup he was no doubt trying to work back into the story.

“I say we retrieve the goblet,” Gareth folded his hands under his chin. “Our party is one man down, and we need all the help we can get if we’re going to defeat the storm dragon Iymrith. Maybe this bard will owe us a favour, and give us a companion or an artefact to slay the dragon.”

“Hear hear,” Dustin thumped the table, shaking about some small pieces Rose couldn’t see. “I walk into the tavern at the head of the party-”

“Hey,” Jeff protested, shooting Dustin a jealous look. “I’m the senior member here. I should lead the party.”

Eddie raised a hand. “No one disputes your position, Jeff. But let the little halfling make his move.”

Dustin took a deep breath. “I open the tavern door, toss my hat onto the table, and flag down a serving wench. Our throats are dusty from the road, so I take a few of our silver coins from the last dungeon crawl and purchase six flagons of mead. Eddie brings them to us.”

Eddie leapt onto his chair, squatting on his heels. “Welcome, patron. I would stay and sup a flagon of mead with you fine warriors, but my troubles overwhelm me. Without the Goblet of Rock, my charisma remains too low to wield my mighty Warlock, and shred to my heart’s content. No guitar, no revellers, no coin for Eddie the Bard. I'm in need of help to keep bread on my table and patrons in my tavern.”

Chris chuckled low and ominous. “If it’s steel you’re after, I, the dwarf Thordus Boulderbash, will take my battleaxe and face any man who dares take the Goblet of Rock.”

“Thordus has a fearsome reputation in these parts, my chaotic-good friend,” Eddie pats him on the back. “But this cup thief is no warrior. A nymph of seriously high stealth crept into the tavern as the guests slept, and made away with the cup before dawn’s light woke me from my slumber.”

For a moment, Rose was too captivated by the story to absorb her supposed leading role in it.

Gareth cleared his throat. “This nymph, she pretty by any chance?”

Eddie leaned in, weight on his elbows. “Fairer than the sunrise over the Greypeak mountains.”

Rose’s brain tripped, lights out, power surged. Even someone with her abysmal track record could recognise the flirtatious tone in his voice. Wait...was this just part of the game? Was he like that with everyone? She wished another girl was in the room, so she could get a sense of normality, something to compare this to.

“Niiice,” Gareth drawled.

“Wait, how would you even know it was a nymph in the first place?” Dustin asked, twirling a pencil between his fingers. “She was gone before daybreak, we have no evidence.”

“Well, gentlefolk, I happen to have an enchanted mirror in the tavern. Caught a glimpse of the wild little thing just as she booked it out the window, leaving behind a lock of auburn hair. And we all know that a nymph cannot be slain by steel alone, so break out your charisma, boys, we’re gonna have to find her, and convince her to return the Goblet of Rock.”

They whooped and applauded, more revved up than a crowd of football hooligans, and Rose had to fist her hands in her crochet cardigan to stop herself from joining in. Something was about to happen, and she was hopping around on the scales between terror and excitement, brimming with a nervous energy.

She couldn’t see the table close up, but she heard dice roll and gasps from the guys at the table, Eddie narrating something about scores, determining the outcome of a battle, or perhaps a decision. It was hard to tell, without any context. It took a few minutes, and her brain didn’t take much of it in.

“Adventurers,” Eddie addressed them after a brief burst of action. “The forest glade beckons, a sea of autumn-gold leaves rustles in the wind. You’ve fought hard to get past the elemental spirits, and emerged bloody, but victorious. Now place down your swords, for the final hurdle is one of wit, not one of might.”

“As our party’s bard, I step toward the tranquil pool,” Dustin says gravely, as if the weight of the world lay on his shoulders. “I take out my lute, and play a tune of such beauty that the nymph hiding in the forest must-”

“Hold on there, halfling,” Eddie silenced him. He looked on edge, his silver rings tap, tap, tapping against the wooden table incessantly. “There are some things a guy’s gotta do himself.”

Mike gawped. “DM’s don’t join in like that, man.”

“You’ll live, sheepies,” Eddie said, dripping in sarcasm. “I, Eddie the Bard, thank the halfling for his admittedly awesome lute playing, and step toward the glassy surface of the forest pool.”

He took a deep breath, stood up suddenly, and turned toward her hidden lair behind the costume rack. Oh god. She was going to die on the spot, she was going to combust from embarrassment if he brought her out. But somehow, even stronger, was the fear that he wouldn’t. He stepped slowly toward her hiding spot, eyes scanning the piles of clothes for a rough idea of where she might be.

“Lady nymph,” he began, voice cracking a little. “You fled my tavern before we could meet, my goblet in your clutches. If you would honour this humble bard with your name, we might determine what you desire in return for the Goblet of Rock.”

“Dude, please don’t make me do a girl's voice again,” Gareth begged. “My vocal cords can’t take it.”

Fuck it. This was the most entertained she’d been all day. All year, probably. Rose swept aside the hangers of clothes with a flourish. She stepped out, to a chorus of shouts and an ear-splitting scream.

Dustin shrieked like a banshee, his hat lost yet again as jolted out of his chair and into Mike’s lap.“Jesus! What the hell?”

“Get off me, man.” Mike said, pushing him away.

“Oh my god, a plant?” Jeff roared. “This is fucking unprecedented Eddie. It’s without precedent!”

“I must be high right now,” Gareth mumbled. “You guys see what I see, right?”

Eddie was right there, tall and frizzy-haired and only two steps away, eyes as wide as saucers. Rose barely had time to notice how tall he was before he dropped to one knee like a chivalrous knight, hand outstretched toward her.

Rose gripped the goblet hard, fight or flight kicking in hard. Ten paces and she’d be out of the door, into the night. Or, at least, into the bleak corridors of Hawkins High.

“Hey,” Eddie said low under his breath, ignoring his friends’ drama behind him. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

He held out his hand again, palms wide, sleeves rolled back, ink snaking up his forearm. Close up, he was even more intense, with a jack o’lantern grin. He spoke again, this time loud enough for the group to hear.

“The nymph dares to emerge from the forest pool, bearing the goblet. But will she tell a humble bard her name?”

Brain whirring quickly, Rose realised she’d need a story. Her social skills? Dubious. Eclectic book knowledge, and rambling profusely at the worst of times? Proficient. She couldn’t just use her real name, could she? Nymphs...nature, mythology, natural places. Might just be enough to go on.

“Lady Thorn,” she said, doing her best to imitate his dramatic narrative voice. She placed her hand in his; skin warm, rings cool, surprisingly gentle. “But you, good sir, can call me Rose.”

The group were whooping, chaotic energy rolling off them in waves. Dustin was still hyperventilating, and the guys were giving him shit for reacting like a ten year old girl.

“Lady Thorn,” Eddie clutched her hand in supplication. “We seek the return of the Goblet of Rock. Name your price, fair maiden.”

An hour ago, she’d name a one way ticket back to the Shire. Now, the road to Rivendell was starting to look a little interesting. Question is, was this the Council of Elrond, or a table of leather-jacket clad, hormonal, teenage Nazgul?

“Is that his girlfriend?” Mike asked, face scrunched up in confusion.

“Nope,” Jeff answered. “We have sighted a UFO: unidentified female object. Contact made, presence yet to be explained.”

Rose frowned at being called an object, but there was too much going on in the room to be distracted by it. She held the goblet in her free hand up to the stage light, pausing for dramatic effect, and to figure out what on earth she might say. “I am new to the land of...”

“Icewind Dale.” Dustin supplied quickly, braces sparking in the spotlights as he grinned.

“...to the land of Icewind Dale,” Rose continued nervously. “I was torn from my simple hedgerow in the Shire and cast to these frozen forests without hope or expectation of returning home again. I seek...uh...I seek a guide to help me navigate these new lands.”

“A guide, huh?” Eddie pondered, turning to the table behind him. “Can we do that, gentlemen?”

Mike was the first to respond. “No traveller walks the road alone on our watch. But first, we roll. She has to have a skill check.”

Eddie threw back his head. “Uh, kid Wheeler, remember what I said about my omnipotence earlier? Don’t forget who the DM is here. Me, buddy. I call the shots.”

Gareth sighed dramatically. “Besides, what are you even rolling against? She has no stats, no abilities, just a name and a goblet!”

Chris shuts his gaping mouth just long enough to ask her: “You don’t happen to have a character sheet, do you? Do you have any thoughts on your alignment? I’m sensing lawful good, but nymphs are pretty wild. Maybe chaotic good?”

Rose was at a loss. “Wait,” she said, brandishing the goblet. “I can’t believe i’m about ramble at completely unknown people again, because it worked out so well for me in English class this morning, but I have no idea what you are talking about. What’s an alignment? A character sheet? Stats?”

“I truly hate to use a sports term, but time out, people,” Eddie declared. He stopped, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, weighing up something behind his dark doe-eyes. “Sweetheart, either that is a world class fake accent, or you’re not from these parts. Have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are Dungeons and Dragons?”

“What?” Eddie let go of her hand and paced up and down, hands on his hips. “Really? Like, never? Not heard of a dungeon master...the D20...the ‘we’ll sacrifice your firstborn’ brand of satanic panic troubling the hearts and minds of parents all across America? ”

She thought about it. “Is D20 a band? I don’t really watch much MTV, though my stepdad did just get cable. Are they any good?”

He reeled backward until he hit the table, arms flailing in the air. Anyone else would have left it there but Eddie threw himself backward, rolling on top of the table like an invisible hand was dragging him. “No way. No way. That can’t be happening. But you just played along like a pro!”

She burst out laughing. He was really hamming it up, knocking over everything on the table - the candles narrowly snatched by the guys, whose quick thinking prevented the drama room going up in a puff of smoke.

“It’s not a band, it’s a twenty sided dice,” Mike said slowly, like he was talking to a toddler. “There are other numbered dice too. Not just six.”

“Yeah, we use them to make decisions on our actions, the success of our attacks...you know, it’s just how we roll.” Dustin squealed a laugh. “I said, how we roll...’cause it's a dice.”

Groans echoed across the room, second hand embarrassment so strong you could cut it with a knife, but the corner of Eddie’s lips still turned up into a smile. Their teasing clearly stayed on the right side of friendly.

He vaulted off the table clumsily, and staggered back over, approaching Rose gingerly, like she were a flight risk liable to run at any second. “Wait, wait. Before we return to the Icewind Dale I have to ask. Who are you, and how in the nine hells of Asmodeus did you appear in the centre of Hellfire on a Friday night?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Dustin interrupted. “You two really don’t know each other?”

“We go a long way back,” Eddie boasted, chest puffed out. “All the way back to that table incident thirty minutes ago. And trust me, if I'd seen the lady before, I would have remembered.”

That feeling bubbled up again, like warm whiskey coursing through her veins. “I’m Rose. It’s my first day of senior year. My first ever day of high school since we moved. So naturally I've pissed off half the school, some of the teachers, and got trapped in a supply closet whilst the nice girls talk behind my back. My social life has withered and died in a single day, like a fragile desert flower.”

Eddie nodded along. “So a quiet Friday, then.”

“Just fucking fantastic. I found a dark corner to hide my shame, only to find myself in the middle of a satanic cult. Those two John Hughes films that I watched over the summer did not prepare me for this American high school experience.”

“Yeah. It’s less Sixteen Candles, more Nightmare on Elm Street.” He smiled a dopey, lopsided smile, and fidgeted with his hands. “I’m Eddie, by the way. Munson. First days suck, I would know, I've had more than my fair share. The gentlemen behind me here are fellow D&D enthusiasts and members of Hellfire: Jeff, Chris and Gareth are long-time members, and we have some new little sheepies, Dustin and Mike. Lucas too, if he can drop his shiny rubber balls long enough to commit to the campaign.”

A chorus of Hi’s and waves introduced the players to her, but watching them from the corner of the room had given her a decent sense of their personalities and dynamics.

“Come on, guys, shuffle round the table and make space for the lady,” Eddie commanded. He dashed over to the wall and manhandled a heavy wooden chair into place, directly on the right side of his ornate throne. He bowed and gestured at the empty seat, then the colour drained from his face. “I didn’t even ask if you wanted to join, did I. It's not an obligation. You can walk right out of here having nailed the best side quest in Hellfire history.”

“We should warn you,” Gareth imparted wisely, “if you’re looking to be popular around here, this is the wrong place to be. We’re not exactly tight with the jocks or the party kids.”

Eddie pointed to himself with both thumbs. “They don’t call me Eddie the Freak for nothing.”

Her decision was already made, the moment Eddie spotted her from under that table and smiled. Here was a group of strangers going out of their way to make her feel welcome, without knowing a single thing about her.

Rose felt a lump in her throat. “You would put up with a complete idiot who doesn’t know her class from her elbow?”

Dustin’s fist pumped the air. “Yes! Puns are totally cool, I knew it.”

“I don’t mind,” Mike said. “I taught my girlfriend D&D, she had to start somewhere.”

Eddie did a double take. “You have a girlfriend, freshie?”

“She moved to California just before the school year.”

“Ah,” Jeff drew out the syllable knowingly. “Out of state. Convenient excuse.”

“I wouldn’t call it convenient,” Dustin disagreed. “My girlfriend Suzie is in Utah, and that totally sucks. It’s been forty-six days since Camp Nowhere finished, which means two hundred and ninety-nine before I see her again next summer.”

Gareth groaned. “Come on, man. Both the freshmen have girlfriends? How is that even statistically possible?”

Dustin leaned forward intently, “Well if you look at the number of D&D players, profile them by age and cross reference them with the number of-”

Eddie’s hand smothered Dustin’s mouth. “Shh, halfling. He did not mean literally. Besides, the lady hasn’t given us her answer. Sweetheart, do you wanna help us take down Iymrith, the storm dragon? I have a feeling these novices will need a helping hand. It is going to be brutal.”

Rose took a seat at Eddie’s right hand side, and picked up the many-sided lump of red plastic on the board. “I suppose I could join you. Do you know why?”

He fell for it, hook, line and sinker. “Why?”

She dropped the D20 on the table. “Because this is how I roll.”

Dustin dislodged the Dungeon Master’s mouth; fuse lit, laughter exploding from his chest like a stick of dynamite. Groans turned to laughs.

Eddie smiled, and opened his arms wide. “Welcome to Hellfire.”

[goatsandgangsters]

So we had lots of fun in Chicago, it was a really great time, we liked it there! 

UNTIL THE SINGLE WORST FLIGHT EXPERIENCE OF MY ENTIRE LIFE

it took 💫✨ 28 hours ✨💫

like, I fly multiple times a year and no hurricane or blizzard has EVER fucked up my day like this

so our original flight out of Chicago was Sunday, but bc of the storms every flight to NY from like noon onwards was delayed. and you know how delays are, every hour they push you back another hour, until you've wracked up Many Hours of delay

And finally, at like 9 pm, they canceled every flight to New York. This was at MINIMUM seven flights all cancelled. at 9 pm. with 7+ planes full of people now stranded 

And then the gate agents all left!! Didn't help rebook people, didn't answer any questions. Just left. Literally "not my problem, call customer service number." there was NO ONE in that entire airport To Help

Oh also fun fact: because the cancellation was due to ~weather, their policy is that they don't have to provide any overnight accommodations. For several planes full of stranded people. 

And there ARE no alternative flights because MANY PLANES OF PEOPLE all tried to rebook to the same place at once. There is not a SINGLE flight on Monday to any of the 3 New York area airports, or to Philly, or to those little airfields in Connecticut, or to Boston

There is absolutely nothing until Tuesday. It is Sunday. They are refusing to put anyone up in a hotel. Also it's Chicago on the night before the DNC, so good luck on last minute hotel reservations 

Finally, after an hour on hold, I get a (GENUINELY LOVELY, I love him) customer service guy who's like "I can get you back to New York tomorrow via three different flights" and when you've been stranded already for several hours that sounds like a recipe for further disaster. So instead we opt for a direct flight to DC the next morning and then spend additional money getting train tickets home from there

We are now left overnight in the airport with nothing but a $15 food voucher and those shitty tissue-paper airplane blankets (which, also, I had to walk to an entirely different terminal to get myself so.)

(There are also additional flights full of stranded New Yorkers who weren't even IN Chicago originally, they got rerouted mid-flight from other places and grounded, it is well past midnight and some of them aren't going to be able to get a flight out until WEDNESDAY)

We spend the night in the airport. I sleep for maybe 50 minutes. Do you know they vacuum airport terminals at really weird irregular intervals all night long? 

Also additional fun: I checked a bag. I am concerned about this. I express this concern to an employee who tells me to just track my bag in the app. The app says my bag is going to DC. I have doubts. I talk to the gate agent. He says the computer says my bag will go to DC. I still have doubts. 

I am correct. It does not go to DC. So I call the baggage helpline. I am on hold for an hour again. I finally get someone who tells me that my bag is still in Chicago and they won't mail it to my home address, but they WILL send it to my nearest airport and THAT airport can decide if they're going to mail it to me or not?? No, this doesn't sound right to me either. But fret not, because he put a NOTE in my file that an AIRPORT IN NEW YORK CITY should GIVE ME A CALL PERSONALLY when they receive my bag! Do you want to hold your breath, because I don't. 

So to recap:

Total trip time from door to door: 28 entire human hours

Hours of sleep: one.

18 of these 28 hours were spent in an airport and I no longer have any sense of reality

I also do not know where my bag is. I do not know how I will obtain my bag. It contains my all-time favorite shirts AND our gorgeous jstor tote bags that we got for free so like, this is somewhat Dire

I've had an hour of sleep 

I have not yet had the time to call and demand both a refund for my flight AND compensation for having to book additional expensive amtrak tickets just to get home because they couldn't get us any closer to New York thAN OUR NATION'S CAPITAL

I was told by the (genuinely lovely and ONLY helpful person in all this) customer service guy who rebooked me that I absolutely will be refunded. I am again not holding my breath, because I have been told many things and very few of them have been true

[razorblade180]

Safe Bet

[Swarm Disaster V]

Qingque:I heard you like to gamble?

Aventurine:You could call it the spice of my life. Let me guess, you’re betting I will do well?

Qingque:Oh that’s way too simple. We will have no healer.

Aventurine:…What?

Qingque:I tend to try to take things easy but after numerous failures here it’s only natural to form plans. I’m not betting on you doing well, I’m wagering your ability to protect us long enough for us to gather blessing I need plus curios.

Aventurine:And how long to you typically last in here?

Silver Wolf: The first elite. Sometimes we make it.

Sparkle:If we get resonance. Though your fellow gambler over here has gotten much more reliable since our last attempt.

Aventurine:..Alright. Let’s do it. Should be fun. Let’s see what’s about curio option number one!

Nullify attacks

QASS: (Oh shit this might actually be the run…)

Floor 2

Aventurine:Little lady, is there any reason why you refuse to keep a shield?

Silver Wolf: It’s not my fault these enemies understand who the real threat is. I’m alive aren’t I? Good job, but I recommend investing in speed.

Aventurine:Learn to take a hit.

Qingque:Don’t sweat it guys. It’s time for the easier part. *presses downloader*

Acheron:Hey. Oh, it’s you.

Aventurine:I think that’s my line. To think I’d get your aid in a place like this.

Acheron:I’m just here to cut through the fodder and potentially give you a chance to win it big. Consider me your guide.

Aventurine:We’re bound to get lost then.

Acheron:Heh, then I guess you’ll be getting enough blessings. Stay close.

xxxxx

Knight of beauty appears

Aventurine:Well would you look at that!

Sparkle:Okay, so I typically don’t care how far these runs go, but if you somehow ruin this I’m actually going to be disappointed.

Aventurine:Oh you know a situation is dire if I have a Fool acting serious. I was already planning on proving my value anyway.

Floor 3

Silver Wolf: Well it’s be real everyone. Don’t really need me for that oversized bug. It’s got every weakness you need.

Sparkle:What an interesting way of saying “I am a liability.”

Silver Wolf:It’s simple strategy. We didn’t come all this way to gain nothing. I’ll just cheer from the bench. Qingque, don’t miss your crits. *

Qingque:I literally can’t.

Silver Wolf:And don’t eat too many points. *leaves*

Qingque:…No promise. *hits downloader*

Ruan Mei: Shall we begin?

Aventurine:All this talent and you needed my help?

Ruan Mei:Have you ever felt the wind shear of a Swarm Disaster? Some people say it’s like a personal hurricane on your body.

Qingque:I’m “some people”

xxxxxx

20+ Propagation blessings. Various Curios, interplays achieved, and additional blessings gained. Danger level Eight

Swarm buzzing violently

Qingque:I’m gonna be honest guys, I don’t know if I’m trembling because I’m nervous, or because this is about to be pretty spectacular. Aventurine, if you would? *holds out tiles*

Aventurine:Heh, you really want all the luck possible huh? Alright then, strut yourself.

He leans over to his left and gently blows on the pieces.

“Let’s play a game!” Qingque tosses them into the air and twirls as metamorphosis begins; catching the pieces as they fell. Without stopping, she throws out a four of kind then immediately flicks her wrist like a slite of hand trick to reveal another set of tiles to throw.

The experienced gambler watches the girl pass the tiles between her hands twice before throwing another eight, killing a bug and keeping the pace by tossing a new set once before suddenly slamming down a tile that shakes everything and hands her another four of a kind she quickly turned into eight. It’s still her turn. Gambling is partly a numbers game, and Qingque has clearly crunched them.

Aventurine:(Oh shit…)

Sparkle:Wooooo! Don’t stop the fireworks!

Three more tosses before another hit! No worries! Qingque happily took a single tile and beamed it another insect before slamming down another that caused it to explode. She tossed her set to a corner bug as she took another break turn to eat up all four points before hearing Sparkle laughing as she topped off the difference.

Qingque: Can’t stop won’t stop!

Another eight tiles exploded and knocked the main bug down briefly. Aventurine was thinking he didn’t need to be here, until it got back up and tore through the shield like paper. Without hesitation he let his wealth pour down like rain and redeployed a shield. He confidently scoffed, but Ruan Mei could see his hand twitch in his pocket.

Ruan Mei:Fear is a healthy way of understanding your current situation as well providing alertness. Are you alert?

Aventurine: Vividly. *stacks shield*

Ruan Mei:Welcome to the Swarm Disaster.

Qingque:You get a front row seat to VICTORY!

1,500,000

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Ryan Bort and Asawin Suebsaeng at Rolling Stone:

But as Trump sat in the White House, holding Bernard’s fate in the palm of his hand, he had a pressing question for his staff, according to a former Trump administration official and another source intimately familiar with the matter: Trump wanted to know if one of the murder victim’s parents, who were urging him to allow the scheduled execution to go forward, had voted for him. At the same time, he was refusing to hear pleas from Kardashian on Bernard’s behalf — all because he saw her social-media post celebrating Joe Biden’s victory over Trump. Bernard was executed on Dec. 10, at a federal facility in Terre Haute, Indiana. Bernard’s death came at a time when the nation was consumed with the chaos of Trump’s final few months in office following the election, making it especially easy for Bernard’s story to get buried under an avalanche of other news. It was also just one of many examples of how Trump allowed raw partisanship — and self-obsessed considerations about who did or didn’t vote for him — to influence his decision-making in life-or-death situations while in office.

Trump’s decision wasn’t an isolated incident of personal grievance or cruel preference. The former president using whether Americans support him or not to make life-or-death decisions is an actual, serious prescription for federal policies that reaches far beyond just one inmate and one execution. In recent weeks, Trump has been explicitly campaigning on a platform of turbo-charging that attitude in regard to how a second Trump administration would help or not help his fellow Americans — including in dire emergency scenarios. The former president has on multiple occasions down the stretch of the 2024 campaign threatened to withhold federal disaster relief from California — putting the lives of its citizens at risk — unless the state’s Democratic governor, Gavin Newsom, gives in to his demands. He made the threat as recently as last weekend during a rally in California’s Coachella Valley, telling supporters that if Newsom doesn’t get on board with Trump’s water policy, “we’re not giving any of that fire money that we send you all the time for all the fire, forest fires that you have. It’s not hard to do.”

“We’ll force it down his throat,” Trump said. Trump made the same threat while speaking from his golf course in Rancho Palos Verdes in September. “If he doesn’t sign those papers, we won’t give him money to put out all his fires,” Trump said. “And if we don’t give him all the money to put out the fires, he’s got problems.”

Newsom warned on X that Trump would apply the same quid-pro-quo to the rest of the nation. Trump “just admitted he will block emergency disaster funds to settle political vendettas,” the governor wrote. “Today it’s California’s wildfires. Tomorrow it could be hurricane funding for North Carolina or flooding assistance for homeowners in Pennsylvania. Donald Trump doesn’t care about America — he only cares about himself.” Hurricane Helene rocked the Southeast a few weeks later. Trump responded by pushing conspiracy theories about the federal response, including an absurd accusation that the Biden administration was deliberately withholding aid from Republican areas. There was no basis whatsoever for the claim, but it isn’t hard to understand why this is where Trump’s mind went.  Politico later reported that while president in 2018, Trump initially refused to approve federal aid for California to fight wildfires because he felt some of the affected regions didn’t support him. It was only after Trump was shown data about the regions voting for him that he approved the relief. “We went as far as looking up how many votes he got in those impacted areas … to show him these are people who voted for you,” Mark Harvey, then Trump’s senior director for resilience policy on the National Security Council staff, told Politico. A year earlier, Trump blocked congressionally approved aid to Puerto Rico, an American territory populated by American citizens, in the wake of Hurricane Maria — during which Trump was publicly attacking Carmen Yulín Cruz, then the mayor of San Juan, for not being more grateful to him — and then tried to obstruct an investigation into what happened to the money. Trump also notably tried to intimidate Democratic governors during the Covid-19 pandemic, when states were desperate for federal aid. “It’s a two-way street,” Trump said of offering New York and other states federal help as the crisis continued to claim American lives. “They have to treat us well, too.”

Donald Trump’s dangerous pitch to voters is “vote for me or you get no disaster relief.”

Vote Kamala Harris if you want sane and fair disaster relief.

[chloecherrysip]

all the pain will change into a memory of when we were amazing (mario & luigi-centric post-movie fic, part 1!)

(My weekend got a little busier than I was expecting, but I was still DETERMINED to get this up today and hey, I succeeded!!! I will eventually post an AO3 version as well, so if you'd like to wait for that, you can (and I will of course link it here), but sharing on tumblr is just a little easier for me to start out with. :)

Remember that this is just the first part and there will be at least two or three more coming soon!! Like I've already said in other posts, this fic has become SO LONG that it needs to be split up a little just for ease of reading. The title comes from the song Casey by Darren Hayes, which for the record, is a song about siblings and really fits movie!verse Mario & Luigi's relationship, in my eyes. Also, just so you know, this part (and only this part) has some Mario/Peach moments as well! I hope you enjoy!)

+

It took roughly eleven hours to put Brooklyn back together. 

Not to how it was before, just to be clear. Not even close. Just enough that you could no longer tell right away that it had been subjected to a catastrophic tear between dimensions or alternate realities or whatever the two worlds were in relation to one another — who even knew? Instead, it looked more like it had suffered a few earthquakes in quick succession, or a hurricane closely followed by a tornado for good measure. Y’know, normal disasters.

It would no doubt require weeks of work to fix the cracked roads, replace all the crushed cars, reassemble the shopfronts enough to reopen and finally, finally get rid of all the black chunks of molten rock and huge mushroom stalks that were still being found in the strangest crevices and alleyways. But there was a lot to be extremely grateful for too. It was an outright miracle that Bowser’s airship had happened to crash down into the empty construction site mere minutes before the workers were scheduled to get started, somehow missing all occupied buildings. Everyone on the block was unhurt and accounted for, and they all still had a mostly-intact place to sleep that night. That, Mario reasoned, was more than good enough for now.

He’d jumped headfirst into helping with the emergency cleanup efforts as best he could, of course. It was the very least he could do after unintentionally causing the whole mess to begin with, and Luigi had jumped right in alongside him, ready to go. The star had worn off  — even if Mario was still seeing glimmering afterimages of rainbows in the corners of his eyes every time he blinked — but it seemed like there were some lingering aftereffects. They felt better than ever, every injury down to the slightest bruise or cut completely healed, an overflow of joyful energy humming pleasantly all through his core. Mario guessed it was some kinda mixture of leftover magic and his own adrenaline and relief, which probably could have kept him going strong for a long time all on its own. They’d actually made it home. They’d seen their parents and family again. His brother was back within arm's reach, smiling and solidly warm and safe. How could he not feel like he was on top of the world?

So they’d spent the rest of the day working with neighbors to clear debris and shattered glass, move cars safely out of the way that were too crushed to move on their own any longer, nail up boards to cover gaps where windows once were. There were various damaged water fixtures and pipes that desperately needed some TLC before they came entirely undone and caused more damage (thankfully, Mario knew two talented plumbers who were more than up to the task). And of course, there was the not-so-small matter of rounding up all of Bowser’s minions and stuffing them back through the pipe before they snuck further into the city and started causing mass chaos. Most of that went smoothly, thankfully (other than one notable incident of some Koopas messing around at a bowling alley and accidentally getting stuck in the ball return). The magician in the blue robe, the one with the wand, had vanished entirely, though. Luigi had been the first one to notice, nervously mentioning that he’d seemed important, like a second-in-command to Bowser. Mario didn’t like that one bit, but Peach reassured him that they would stay vigilant.

Speaking of Peach, she’d taken charge of the chaotic situation right away, her leadership skills shining bright in a way that left Mario quietly in awe. She’d personally overseen Bowser’s transfer and imprisonment back in the Mushroom Kingdom while also coordinating efforts on both sides of the warp pipe, DK and Toad providing support as they all passed back and forth between worlds several times throughout the day, transporting as much of Bowser’s broken-up airship back to where it came from as possible. Toad Town was still a mess from the invasion as well, and many of the Toads who’d evacuated needed to be helped back from the forests. Mario had only spent a little time there, but thinking about such a lively, cheerful place in abandoned disarray troubled him. He considered going back for a little while to help out there too, just to make sure everyone got home safe.

But the familiar warp pipe loomed before them, and Luigi’s smile strained. Mario, hand lightly pressed to his brother’s back, registered the sudden, new tenseness, the way his breathing became shallower, despite his best efforts to not let it show. And there was Mario’s answer. He wouldn’t put Luigi through that again, not so soon, and if Luigi wasn’t going, Mario wasn’t going — end of story. The thought of being an entire world away from him after everything they’d just struggled through, even briefly, was too much to handle. All day, that uneasiness had hung around him, the one wrinkle in his light-as-air happiness and boundless energy. He hadn’t even liked Luigi being out of his sight for too long as they worked on the cleanup, which he fully knew was silly and unreasonable. That was why he'd never breathed a word of the feeling outload, even when the discomfort settled in heavily like a bad stomachache.

It'll get better once a little more time goes by, Mario kept insisting to himself with a sure, stubborn forcefulness. What's there to be worried about? We made it, both of us. We're together. Everything's gonna be okay. It really is.

“Don’t worry! We’ve got it all under control,” Peach reassured him. “I promise. The Kongs are helping, and so are the penguins from the Ice Kingdom. We’re going to work with them to rebuild their castle as well. On the bright side, I think our alliances will be much, much stronger after this mess.” 

“Are ya sure?” Mario couldn’t help but press, interlacing his fingers tightly. “I dunno, I just feel like I need to do something. If it wasn’t for you, all of you, I wouldn’t have gotten to Luigi in time.”

“Oh, and like you didn’t do even more to help us?” She gave the brim of his cap a flick that was somehow both playful and graceful. “Mario, you and your brother stopped Bowser in his tracks. Both of our worlds are safe from him now because of you two. If anything, we owe you! Toad was already talking about organizing a parade, or giving you both a chest of gold coins!”

“What? No, no, who needs all that?” Mario insisted, his face flushing a little. “Besides, those coins won’t even fit in my wallet! There probably isn’t an exchange rate or anything here for ‘em. Just my luck.”

“I thought as much.” She placed a fingertip to her pursed lips, tapping lightly as she pondered. “What about a house?” 

“A whole house!?” Mario nearly choked on the air. “For free?”

Peach gave him an odd look and a shrug, as though it was perfectly reasonable in her world to offer someone she’d just met a few days ago real estate with absolutely no strings attached. “Why not? You and Luigi are always going to be known as heroes in the Mushroom Kingdom, you do realize. It's the least we could do. But…” She thought in silence for a moment longer and then smiled, the curve of it a little heavier, more subdued. “A house doesn’t do much if no one will be living in it, huh?”

Mario considered that. Across the sewer room, the black of the warp pipe’s insides spread out behind Peach, vast and unending. “That’s…yeah, that’s true,” he said, his shoulders sinking a bit. “For now, don’t worry about doing anything for us, all right?” He swallowed around a strange, new lump in his throat. “Before anything else happens, I just really need to make sure my family’s all right.”

Peach nodded. “And I need to make sure mine is too,” she said, voice warm with understanding.

She shot a meaningful glance over Mario’s head, and he followed her gaze to where Toad and Luigi were sitting off to the side. Toad was excitedly talking, making big, bombastic gestures with his pan as though he was reenacting something. Luigi, for his part, looked a little bewildered but interested, following along as best as he could manage with lots of nodding. The strain in Mario’s chest eased.

“But you’ll both visit before too long, right?” Peach brought his attention back to her, her tone pointed. “There’s still plenty of beautiful places to see in our world. We barely scratched the surface! But we can start with a nice cup of tea in the castle, of course.”

Mario couldn’t help but smile widely. “Definitely,” he said. “And besides, I already made a promise to DK before he headed back. Me and my “stupid overalls” have to give him a rematch at some point. C’mon, how can I pass up a chance to kick his furry butt all over again?”

“And I want to come back and visit this world again too!” She added excitedly. “I want to know more about the bowling we saw, and video games, and — what did you call that one thing? A calzone? — and well, everything!”

Mario laughed outright. “Sure, come back anytime! Luigi and me know allll the best spots in Brooklyn like the backs of our hands. With us, you’ll never have a bad time, guaranteed.”

Some bright, delighted mischief flashed in Peach’s eyes. “And besides,” she said, “your mom said she would show me some of your baby pictures next time. I have to see that because I can’t imagine you without a mustache, honestly. It just doesn’t seem possible.” 

Mario’s laughter got less boisterous and much more strained in a big hurry. “Right, right,” he said, voice cracking. “Gotta remember to, heh, burn some of those before then.”

“Don’t you dare!” 

With more than a little reluctance, she waved over at Toad, signaling that it was time for them to say goodbye. 

“I’ve got to get out of this wedding dress already,” she joked, holding up the skirt so Mario could clearly see all the tears and scorch-marks and dark staining, all intermingled with white and glittering pink. On the top, she was wearing a new, light pink “I LOVE NY” shirt from a cheap souvenir store; Luigi had actually been the one to get it for her, having noticed that she was spending a lot of time standing out in the sun with her shoulders uncovered. At some point along the way, she'd also tied up her blonde hair in a messy ponytail to keep it out of the way. “What a disaster, huh?”

Mario honestly thought that she looked beautiful. But there was no way he could say that, and he also didn’t want to agree because that sounded rude. Thankfully, he had only had a few more seconds of mounting internal panic left to go on that subject before Toad and Luigi came over.

“Your brother’s just as cool as you are, Mario!” Toad brightly announced out of the blue, which in turn made Luigi jolt and blush behind him. “But I should have guessed! You guys are the SUPER Mario Brothers, after all!” 

“Hey, I coulda told you that a lot sooner!” Mario grabbed Luigi around the middle with one arm and squeezed tight, enough to make his brother wriggle with a hoarse, surprised laugh. “He’s always got my back!”

“Hey, hey, I’m flattered, but there’s no way I’m as cool as Mario,” Luigi insisted, grabbing and squeezing Mario right back, playfully poking at his stomach. “Are ya kidding? This is the best guy in the world, c’mon! No contest!”

"You c'mon! Who came up with using a manhole cover as a shield out of the blue, huh?” 

Luigi blinked a few times and then ducked his head down with a big, bashful grin. “Okay, maybe that was me.”

“Exactly.” He smushed his brother’s cap, ruffling his hair underneath. “What were you guys talking about, anyway?”

“Ohohoho, wouldn’t you like to know,” Toad insisted right away with a thick air of secrecy. He mimed locking his mouth with a key and then tossing it away, winking in Luigi's direction. “No need to be jealous, Mario. I can have two best friends.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mario replied dryly.

“It was no big deal, r-really!” Luigi backed Toad up, a little too loudly. His eyes looked somewhat glassy, as though he was teetering on the verge of tears, but when Mario met his gaze full-on, worried all of a sudden, his brother smiled back, big and sincere and seemingly very happy. “We’re all good! Better than good! We’re great!”

Peach stepped forward, then. “You really made a difference when it counted most, Luigi,” she said warmly, taking one of his hands in her own and patting it. “Thank you again for that. I know you didn’t see the best our world has to offer, but I hope you’ll give us another chance soon enough.” 

Luigi, having stiffened a little at her touch out of sheer surprise, relaxed again. “Of course, Peach — I mean, Princess Peach. Your highness? Ma’am!” He gave her a salute with the other hand, for some reason. “I, uh, definitely appreciate it.” 

She let go of him and reached for Mario’s hand in turn. Out of the blue, he thought about kissing the back of it — she was a princess, right? Wasn’t that what people did in all the fairytale books? — but that was a silly idea, stupid enough to make the back of his neck burn from embarrassment. Instead, he simply held onto her tight for a long moment, reflecting her sweet smile back at her, his heart pleasantly fluttering.

Further down, Toad grabbed one of Mario’s legs and one of Luigi’s legs in both arms and hugged them fiercely at the same time, sniffling a little. They gave his head a few soft pats in return (and winced when he loudly blew his nose into their overalls). 

“See you around, Mustache,” Peach said softly. She took a small step backwards towards the pipe but didn’t let go of him, their arms stretching out further. “And don’t forget what we talked about,” she added after a beat, delicate, maybe even the tiniest bit hopeful. “What I offered…it’s always on the table, if you ever do decide you want it.” 

“I won’t forget,” he said in return, softer too. “Stay safe.” 

She squeezed his hand one last time, and then she and Toad were gone. The warp pipe’s signature sound bounced off the impossibly high walls of the room they were in until it was just a tiny echo. Mario took a deep breath. He turned to find Luigi beaming at him, eyebrows raised high and wiggling a little at the ends.

"Shut up," he sighed.

“What!? I didn’t even say anything!” Luigi insisted, even as he continued to grin.

“Yes, you did. I can read your mind.” Even Mario’s sternest do NOT go there, I’m serious look could never do much when Luigi was ready to do some ruthless teasing, but he tried it anyway as they started to trudge towards the stairwell at a much slower pace then when they’d first come down it. When had he started to feel so tired? A big yawn fought its way up his throat before he could continue. “I just met her! We’re friends. That’s all there is to it, thank you and goodnight.”

“Look, you can't prove a thing, but if I was saying something, well, I'd start with the way she was looking at you.” Luigi whistled. Mario pulled down the brim of his cap, if only to hide the sudden warmth creeping into his face a little better.  “She certainly seems like a princess with good taste, y’know?”

“All right, all right. Ya done?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m not! She’s already got a dress too, which is really convenient. After all, weddings are expensive—”

“Stop, Lu. You better not breathe a word of this back home! Cause you’re gonna get Ma and Dad all riled up too and then I’ll never hear the end of it."

“Are ya serious!? Oh, my poor, sweet, naïve Mario. They already smelled the blood in the water at least five hours back. They were talking about little blonde grandkids when you were in the bathroom and everything.” 

At least the long trek ahead of them out of the sewers would give Mario time for his face to cool down to a normal temperature again. “Great, great, just what I need,” he grumbled. “Now I gotta find a princess for you to get the heat off me.”

“W-What!?” Luigi sputtered. “I mean, I wish. But a kingdom only has one princess, right? And you’re the lucky guy.” 

“There wasn’t just one kingdom,” Mario mused. He was climbing the stairs by then, metal clanging with each step. “I betcha all the money I have that if I went looking around long enough over there, I could find a real cute royal out there who has a thing for the color green.”

He reached behind him to give Luigi’s shoulder a playful shove, only for his hand to meet nothing but air. Turning fully, he saw that his brother was moving a lot slower than he’d expected. He was still at the bottom of the stairs, clinging to the railing and blinking furiously, his gaze focused on nothing in particular. 

“Luigi?” Mario asked hesitantly. “You good?”

Luigi perked up at that and gave a thumbs-up. “A-okay!” He chirped, starting to climb. “I just — whew. I’m a little, uh, dizzy. It feels like that crazy star hung around for a while, eh? Like, we weren’t super-powered anymore, but nothing hurt, and I still had tons of energy to do whatever I wanted. But now…”

“Yeah, I’m definitely feeling that too.” Mario realized it more clearly, his breathing already labored after only climbing one flight of stairs. The injuries weren’t back, thankfully, but he was aching all over, a new heaviness creeping into his bones more and more. Luigi was hurrying to catch up with him, moving unsteadily. 

“Just go slow,” Mario called. “We’re not in a hurry. Be careful.”

It didn’t seem like Luigi heard him, still trying to talk as he climbed, huffing and puffing. “I mean, wow! We were running all over the place! We were fixing things! We were saving Brooklyn! But…huh. Something’s kinda weird.” His voice had dropped down into a mumble, so quiet and fast that Mario almost couldn’t understand him. “I’m having that pins-and-needles feeling, like my legs are asleep, but I’m still walking just fine. Right? Do I look normal walking? Be honest. I…I can’t tell.” He looked sleepy, and then he suddenly looked frightened, unfocused, as though he wasn’t even sure where he was at all. “Wait. Am I upside down? Mario…”

It happened so fast. With one last shuddery breath, Luigi’s eyes rolled back into his head. He started to fall backwards, about to topple down a nearly full flight of stairs. 

Mario’s heart seized. “Luigi!”

He covered several steps in one desperate jump. Somehow, he managed to get one arm around his brother and pull him back with every last scrap of strength he had left, crushing their bodies together. The other arm, he wrenched over and around the railing blindly, worn metal scratching and squeaking against him painfully as he struggled to hold onto it. For a long, agonizing moment, the fight against gravity seemed like it was going to be too much to overcome, and Mario, teeth gritted, mentally prepared himself to turn them around in the air so he would take the brunt of the long fall. But miraculously, his shoes found enough purchase on the steps, and his aching grip lasted just long enough for Mario to pull their combined weight back in the other direction. The two collapsed in a heap against the ascending stairs instead. 

Mario’s gasping breaths seemed like the only sound in the world, the echoes bouncing wildly all around.

“Luigi,” he finally managed to wheeze — quiet at first, then again, much louder. As gently and carefully as he could manage, he scooted up into a sitting position and turned his brother over onto his back, cradling him. He was still out cold. Mario patted his face. “Hey, Luigi. Come on, Lu, wake up for me, all right? I’m here. I’ve gotcha.” He patted a little harder, steadfastly ignoring the way his hands were trembling at that point. Every second passing with no change stretched on, an eternity and then some. “You’re all right, everything’s all right. Come on, Luigi, snap out of it…” 

Up close, Luigi looked extremely pale, sweat beaded along the line of his cap. How had Mario not noticed that before? He’d been too caught up with all the cleanup efforts, too distracted by Peach and Toad and the thought of that hypothetical house. How could he not see that Luigi was starting to struggle? What kind of brother was he? 

The kind that does something really, REALLY stupid because of pride or "destiny" or whatever you wanna call it. The kind that not only drags his brother down with him to do the stupid thing, but almost gets him killed because of it. 

Mario's shoulders sagged. He gripped Luigi tighter, pressing his little brother's face close to the crook of his neck, if only to try and desperately ground himself in the knowledge that he could feel him breathing still, at least. Their injuries were gone, it was true, but for Mario, it was suddenly like the star had just shifted the pain around instead. He could feel it pressing up from under his skin, a deep well that was ready to split him open all the way through if he let it.

It no longer seemed like he'd just been in a magical world on a whirlwind adventure, or that he'd defeated a spiked turtle monster with anger issues and saved Brooklyn in a glorious, technicolor blur. Now, he was just a small, ordinary man in a dark sewer room underground, exhausted and terrified and unable to help the person he loved most.

All of a sudden, Luigi jolted under his hands. “Noooo more flambé for me, thankyouverymuch, I’m-a good!” He shouted, the words slurred together to the point of being nearly unintelligible. With a handful of slow, very confused blinks, he finally managed to focus on Mario’s extremely relieved face overhead. “Waaaaaaait. Whuh happen?”

Mario bundled up all those sharp, aching feelings behind a new wall and regathered himself. No matter what, he was going to stay strong, stay in control. He needed to do that for Luigi’s sake. There was no other choice. “You went down like a big sack of bricks, ya lug,” he tried to joke, even as his voice cracked badly on the last word. “Nearly gave me a heart attack! Are you okay?”

Luigi considered this information, eyes unclouding bit by bit. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, soft, a little embarrassed. “Y-Yeah, I think I’m good. I, uh, don’t really know what happened there! It was like…it all just hit me at once, I guess.” 

“Yeah, no kidding.” Mario worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “When’s the last time you slept, bro?”

Discomfort crept into Luigi’s expression at that. He looked away from Mario, not able to meet his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. “Well, I dunno if I — I was wandering around for a while, and then I couldn’t really sleep in that cage, y’know? All that lava made the metal real hot, so I had to keep moving to not get burned, and you have no idea how hard it is to nod off when there’s a creepy star laughing its head — body? — head off in the next cage over, and, and...well, I’m sure I got an hour here and there,” he scoffed lightheartedly, waving off the thought with a wobbly sweep of his hand through the air. “Nothing worse than those all-nighters in high school!”

“You almost had a nervous breakdown because of those all-nighters,” Mario said. His grip on Luigi’s shoulder tightened, fingers winding snug in the green material. “And…what about food? Water? We’ve been go-go-go all day. I didn’t even think about…”

A brand-new sense of dawning horror came over Mario, sudden enough that he trailed off. He couldn't remember them ever taking a break, even sitting down in the shade for a few minutes. There'd just been so much to do, so many people in need of help, and the two of them had felt so good, laughing and joking and keeping up with no problems whatsoever. The time had flown by. But now...

“Pfft, who needs it?” Luigi said, extremely casually and extremely unconvincingly. He coughed, closing his eyes again for a long moment, resting his cheek sleepily against Mario’s chest. “Hmm. A guard gave me some sips a couple of times? And there was some weird bread. I think it was bread. Who even knows? It was stale like croutons. Not like the really good garlic ones Ma makes, though. These were like…like erasers or something. Blech.” 

A few sips of water and some "bread." A couple of hours of sleep, if that. Luigi was on his own, scared and struggling and eventually imprisoned in a maniac’s floating lava airship, for over two full days.

“Well, no wonder you passed out,” Mario sighed, rough and very quiet. He had to talk like that — any louder, and his voice was going to become too unwieldy. It already felt like someone had promptly stuffed his heart into a blender and cranked it up to the highest setting. “Speaking of Ma, she’s probably got a full spread out by now. I’m gonna get you home, you’re gonna eat until you pop, and,” he had to pause for a moment to swallow, his throat hurting, “and then you’re gonna sleep until you can’t anymore, okay? That’s what we’re doing.”

Luigi sighed too, his smile resurfacing. “Man, that sounds like heaven. What are we waiting for?” He started to sit up with newfound determination, only for the dizzying sight of the stairs descending down into the dark beneath them to make his motions distinctly more rubbery again in a hurry. He sunk back into Mario’s arms, breathing faster, eyes closed again.

“Just, uh, one more minute," he half-wheezed. "Nothing to worry about, I’m getting up right now, I swear, but…is it just me or is it really, really hot down here? Those burns I had, they’re all gone, which is great, but I can still kindaaaa feel them? Is that a medical thing? Or am I freaking out? Because, heh, it’s starting to feel like I might be freaking out, and not to toot my own horn but some might consider me an expert when it comes to the signs of freaking out—”

“Just breathe, Lu,” Mario interjected, gently but firmly, the way he always did when Luigi got lost in a thought process that wasn’t going to lead him anywhere good in a hurry. “We can wait as long as ya need. No rush at all.”

Mario pressed back the brim of Luigi’s cap so he could brush his hairline soothingly, wipe away the sweat. He leaned down, gathering Luigi close enough to bump their foreheads together so they could breathe in slow, deep unison. He’d done that little motion to Luigi their whole lives, an unspoken shorthand that only they understood. When his little brother was scared or anxious, touching foreheads was a way to make the world smaller, less overwhelming, if only for a few seconds. It was an easy way to say: who cares about any of that? Focus on me instead. It’s just the two of us. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.

(And he’d tried, hadn’t he? He tried, and he hadn’t been good enough this time, when it mattered most. Luigi had suffered because he couldn’t hold on tightly enough. Because he hadn’t fought harder, been smarter, pushed to move faster throughout every part of the trip. And at the end when he’d finally found his brother? It had just been dumb luck, really. He’d squinted up at all the cages at the right time through the haze of the lava heat, breathless from the climb and still half-focused on trying to stay in the air without plummeting, and he’d seen his brother fall, and his body had just reacted without any thought, desperation and adrenaline screaming in his veins, the only word in his head echoing out as faster, faster, FASTER. And if one little thing had gone differently — if he hadn’t found that specific powerup, if he hadn’t figured out how to use it properly, if he'd been looking anywhere else, if he’d misjudged the speed or simply missed his grab entirely — then that would have been it, and it would have been all his fault. The sight felt seared into Mario’s head, something he could see whether his eyes were open or closed. He saw Luigi tumbling in the air, terrified and yelling and out of control, hurtling towards the lava at full speed. Only this time, he couldn’t reach him, he couldn’t move at all, he could only watch helplessly and in horror as he—)

“Mario?” Luigi asked quietly. “Are you okay?”

Mario jolted back into the moment. He was breathing too hard, too fast; a tremor ran through him, bone-deep. Luigi was holding one of his arms, his eyes big and shining with newfound worry.

Mario smiled reassuringly for him, as easy and unthinking as a reflex. He took Luigi’s hand and wedged his fingers through his with a tight squeeze, resolving not to let go again until they were safely at home. That awful drowning feeling was rippling all through him, but he could keep his head above it if he focused hard enough, if he refused to let it sneak up on him again. He could do that. He would do that, no matter what it took.

With a slew of careful, slow-going movements, the two brothers finally stood up together on the stairs. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Mario said, and turned to lead the way. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here."

[saturniandevil]

October 2024 Important Dates

AKA my notes on The Astrology Podcast's October Forecast, hosted by Chris Brennan and Austin Coppock.

Here's a graphic from honeycomb.co showing the exactness of planetary transits throughout the month as well:

September Recap: We're starting the month in the middle of eclipse season (there was a lunar eclipse in Pisces on September 17th). Chris talks about how the biggest intensity of events usually occurs within 10 days on either side of an eclipse. For example, on the 10th there was the US Presidential debate, which fell in Harris's 10th house/North Node and indeed represented an improvement in her public image. The Vice Presidential debate also takes place today, October 1st, right before the next eclipse. Another Pisces eclipse story is the second assassination attempt on Trump--Chris & Austin connect these to the close square of Uranus on his natal Mars and on top of his natal Midheaven. Using nativities, Chris points out that for the past 20 years the winning presidential candidate has had an eclipse in an angular house, which would point towards Harris winning. However, using zodiacal releasing, Trump is set to enter a new era of prominence in April of next year--whether from presidency or another set is unclear. There are a lot of factors indicating this year's election (and the time between then and the inauguration period!) will be confusing and full of surprises.

Another eclipse story is Israel's attack on Lebanon--the pagers were detonated on the day of the Pisces eclipse. The current war in Palestine began under last year's Libra eclipse, and escalation with Iran occurred along an eclipse as well. They predict October 2nd may very well be the date Israel starts a ground offensive into Lebanon, with implications of a regional war (A/N: this episode was recorded September 29th). There will be another eclipse in Aries before the nodes move off this axis, but the Pisces eclipse's coincidence with the electronics attacks and assassination of Nasrallah may be foreshadowing another 2 years of conflict.

The Pisces eclipse also highlighted Saturn's transit through Pisces: the OceanGate submarine wreck was finally found (crushed during Saturn rx), as well as the sunken wreck of the Erebus, a 19th-century polar exploration vessel. In other water disasters, Hurricane Helene ravaged much of the Appalachian US, the worst storm in a century for many cities and small towns. There were also devastating floods in Europe, Nigeria, and India and typhoons hitting much of East Asia.

October 2nd - Solar eclipse in Libra

Immediately afterwards, the Sun and Moon move towards a square with Mars, boding ill for world events with its significations of war, anger, and aggression. Eclipses on a particular axis often indicate a series of events over about a year and a half (this one began early October), so we know already know which stories are going to wrap up to make way for something new. In our personal lives changes may be for the better--for example, for one viewer this indicates the end of a relationship making room for a new one. Mercury has just separated from a cazimi with the Sun (11♎), and Mars is waiting at 15 Cancer to square all of these planets after they conjoin each other. The changes will take place abruptly, jarringly, and painfully for some. Eclipses shock us, even when they're positive. Mars-Mercury indicates arguments, fighting words, and foul language (goes direct at 17 Libra/Cancer on the 6th). Be careful with your words, as this may represent a longer conflict than you realize, as Mars enters its pre-retrograde shadow period soon after:

Like all retrogrades, Mars brings revisions, repeats, and unexpected delays. With Mars hanging out in the same few degrees of Cancer & Leo for awhile, we'll be spending a lot of time and energy in those areas of our chart. Mars retrograde can work well for those born under one, though--for Mars rx natives sometimes it's when big projects finally come to fruition with them.

During the Mars-Mercury conflict, we will have some support: Venus (14♏) will trine Saturn (14♓) on the 4th-5th, and on the 8th she'll (18♏) trine Mars (18♋) with reception. She comes in to offer a bit of a salve after the chafing of Mars contacts. Also on that day, soon-to-retrograde Jupiter (21♊) will trine Mercury (21♎) with reception, soothing some of the previous hard aspect to Mars. These are the kinds of situations where a terrible accident occurs, but you miraculously escape major injury. This can also represent extremes of good and bad happening at the same time.

October 6th - Mercury square Mars (discussed above)

October 9th - Jupiter stations retrograde He's going to hang out in the same few degrees of Gemini for a long time. See eclipse above for some details on transits leading up to this.

October 11th - Pluto stations direct From the 11th-13th Pluto, while slowing down and stationing, squares Mercury as the inner planet moves from Libra to Scorpio. We've been having Pluto stations in Capricorn since 2008-9, and this is the last he'll be in Capricorn for the rest of any of our lifetimes. Mercury brings the underworld planet's hidden matters to light: think investigative journalism, mystery stories, and exposés on dark scandals. Conversely, we can also see manipulation, control, and suppression of information by forces who prefer to remain in the shadows. Pluto is like a doorway to the underworld: it both plunges things into obscurity and brings up secrets from the depths. This is one last burst of intensity in late Capricorn/cardinal signs for those of us who've been feeling its effects--think of molting, with its vulnerabilities and benefits alike. This also marks the end of the United States' Pluto return--an uncertain evaluation of the next 250 years.

October 13th - Mercury enters Scorpio

October 14th - Sun square Mars While the Sun (21♎) squares Mars (21♋) with Jupiter (21♊) attempting to mediate by trining the Sun, Venus (26♏) opposes Uranus (26♉). With Uranus-Venus we may see some surprises in our relationships. (Chris notes Mercury is at 01Scorpio this day, same as Kamala Harris's natal chart, so the news will probably be about her.)

October 17th - Aries Full Moon, Venus enters Sagittarius

Normally we'd breathe a sigh of relief that eclipse season is over, but the luminaries (🌙:24♈,🌞:24♎) are coming right off a square to Mars (22♋), and are headed right into a square with Pluto (29♑). Thus, by the end of the month, Mars and Pluto begin to oppose each other, an intense configuration that will stay with us for the rest of the year thanks to Mars's retrograde. Don't ignore the little issues that Mars is highlighting in your life; nip things in the bud or keep an eye on them because the problems will only intensify over the next few months. The Mars-Pluto opposition will go exact right around election day in the US, or early November. Thus this full moon sets an ominous tone for the months ahead.

Mars signifies cutting, separation, and conflict, while Pluto takes themes to their utmost extremes, making the small massive and the massive small (think of a mushroom cloud explosion borne from mere atoms colliding). Combined, this indicates annihilation, survival responses, severe overreactions, power struggles, aggression & confrontations, manipulation and control. Other keywords are ruthlessness, forcefulness, and lashing out at perceived enemies, real or imagined. Pluto really enjoys hidden power as well--we may fall for decoys of where the real power lies. Unfortunately this strongly overshadows the US election. Overall, with Pluto involved we can't see clearly, so paranoia and conspiracies abound. It can also indicate horrific acts coming to light, like CBS News publishing the first photographs of torture at Abu Ghraib during the Mars-Pluto opposition of late April 2004, and financial developments like the 2008 bank crashes.

In our personal lives, this may be a period of extreme mental or physical exertion where you accomplish more than you thought possible. Austin cautions us not to react to negative things in a way that makes the situation worse, which is our impulse with Mars in Cancer. Sometimes we have to accept that events beyond our power--control what you can and accept what you can't. Uranus in Taurus will also get folded into this background tension via sextile with Pluto.

October 22nd - Sun enters Scorpio

October 25th - Auspicious electional date

This is a difficult month, but if you have to do something important, the 25th is a good time. A few different times will work; Chris likes around 3PM local time, adjusting until the Ascendant is at about 20 Aquarius. This makes the ruler Saturn in the 2nd house in a day chart, good for financial matters. The Leo Moon applies to a sextile with Jupiter, boding well for earthly events--as long as you can catch it when the moon is applying (at a lower degree; moving towards the aspect) rather than separating (at a higher degree, moving away). (Viewers on the West Coast of the US, for example, may have to move it back a day.) With 20Aquarius rising you get a nice, supportive trine from Jupiter in the 5th house, good for games and leisurely activities. Venus in the 11th house is also helpful, and in Denver they were able to get her near the Midheaven as well, though it's not a dealbreaker if you can't get that to line up. Venus in the 11th, ruled by Jupiter, does well with friends and alliances. Furthermore, though she is applying to a square with Saturn, in this chart it has her in contact with the Ascendant ruler, affirming and supporting you and the actions you take at this time. Not recommended for health or routine matters with a cranky day chart detriment Mars in the 6th house, and beware of Pluto in the 12th house of hidden enemies and self-undoing. Thus, it's not ideal, but we can get some things done.

October 28th - Venus square retrograde Saturn Venus would normally be happy to get out of her detriment Scorpio and into a neutral sign like Sagittarius, but she has to get past this square to Saturn before she can really party. However, this does put her in a whole-sign opposition to Jupiter while being received by him (in his domicile), giving a silver (copper) lining to everything else going on. When one benefic is setting, the other is rising for us.

October 30th - Mercury opposes Uranus (not pictured) At 25 of Scorpio and Taurus respectively, this may be an "October surprise" news scandal (or events in our personal lives).

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART]

If you didn't see that post, I've started cross posting this on ao3! This one was a lot of fun, a lot of angst, just how I like it. I wasn't that satisfied with the last chapter, so I consider this one a fix for it lol

“PRICE!” Ghost bangs on the door. He jolted out of his shock after minutes of staring at the blood slowly seeping into the tarmac concrete, and immediately sped towards the Captain’s office.

Price shoots through his head “stop making a scene and get in Lieutenant, fucking hell”

He enters and slams the door shut, “what the fuck happened on Soap’s mission?” he spits.

Price in silent for a few moments, and Ghost realizes he’s looking at the mental image burned in his brain, of Soap, leg missing, face half-burnt, remaining eye dead and staring through him-

“Did he go to medical?” Price interrupts his thoughts.

“He- Garrick followed him. Don’t know where he went.” Ghost sputters.

Price clicks his mouse a couple of times, “I should have the report from his CO here…”

His brows furrow and moustache twitch, “Says here he infiltrated an underground facility, which stored weapon manufacturing equipment.”

Ghost sighed, “and it exploded.”

Price gazes at his eyes. Ghost clenches his jaw when he sees pity in them.

“It collapsed on him. The unit got orders to stay back, MacTavish radioed in to inform them he can’t walk, but they didn’t want to risk rescuing him with all the chemicals burning…”

Ghost’s chest shuddered.

Price continues, “Soap dragged himself to exfil… it took him three hours.”

The Captain said more afterward, but Ghost wasn’t listening anymore. He’d seen a lot of wounds, hell he inflicted the worst himself, but something about the image of Soap, helpless and alone, dragging himself through miles of wreckage…

“Captain.” Ghost lets out in an eerily calm voice.

“I won’t let Soap on another mission under a different CO.” Price’s eyes narrow as they see his thought process.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, Ghost, it would be wise not to vocalise it.”

Ghost looms over Price, eyes itching to close. The Captain launches a flurry of thoughts, distractions, tearing his mind away from the call of Limbo. 

They both stare at each other, eyes wide. Ghost hasn’t lost control like this in… years.

“...I’ll do what I can, Lieutenant. For now, go take care of Soap, make sure he gets to medical.”

Ghost hardens himself to the hurricane of emotions fogging his head, “yes sir.”

Medical is quiet, the nurses barely glancing at him before doing another take to gape at the Lieutenant. He asks the head nurse about MacTavish, and the man shakes his head, face confused.

Where the hell did Soap go?

He decides to search for Gaz instead, hoping one leads to another.

Ghost didn’t have to go far, and after calmly demanding from several recruits information on him, finds the man looking dejectedly at a door, Soap’s door.

“Why didn’t you take him to medical?” He voices behind him. Gaz visibly jumps and turns around, his face crestfallen.

“Bloody hell… Soap went straight here. Didn’t listen to a word I said.” Garrick returns to look at the door, “Just locked himself up and hasn’t made a sound since.”

Ghost stares the door up and down, and knocks. He’ll try to be civilized, even if his blood is close to boiling.

“Sergeant? Open the door.”

Nothing.

“That’s an order, Soap.”

Not a squick.

Ghost’s hands form tight fists, he takes a step back, and mutters, “don’t say I didn’t fuckin’ warn you…”

He’s about to kick the damn door to high hell when Garrick stops him, “are you mental?! Let me get the lock picking kit from your room, you fuckin’ animal”

“How the fuck do you know I have a lock picking kit there?” Ghost growls.

Gaz just gives him his signature ‘are you shitting me’ look before turning around to go get the kit.

The lock easily clicks, and Ghost hesitates for a split second before entering. There is no place for things such as emotions right now. The earlier almost-disaster showed him so, he needs to be the Lieutenant now. A soldier first, human last.

The room reeks of tangy metallic blood, and is shrouded in darkness, the light peeking through the shitty military blinds is all that lets Ghost see the vague shape of Soap. The Sergeant has curled up in his bed, facing the wall, hugging his blanket tightly. 

When his eyes start adjusting, Ghost can see blood already seeping through it.

“You were supposed to go to medical, Sergeant.” 

Gaz joins him in the small room, and flicks the light on.

Soap instantly shoots up, a furious way to his movements.

“Shut it off! Why the fuck are ye all ‘ere!” He near screams.

Garrick frightens, “we just wanted to know if you’re bloody fine-”

“TURN THE LIGHT OFF” Soap yells. He makes an effort to hide his face.

Ghost reaches over and slams the switch off. The room plunges back into the dark and Ghost’s chest is hammering confusingly. Gaz seems as equally shaken as his mind.

“Sergeant-” 

Soap cuts him off “Aye aye ‘ye need teh go teh medical Sergeant’ what’s the feckin’ point of it huh?!” His silhouette goes rigid, voice tense, “ye all know they don’t help me. CAN’T help me. So why are ye all really here?”

Garrick tries to start, “we were worried-”

“Worried?! About what? It’ll all heal anyway.” He barks a chilling laugh, “a month or two and there won’t even be a scar. No, I know why yer all here.”

Ghost grinds his teeth as Soap continues, “yer here to tell me ‘I told ye so!’, yer here to tell me how feckin’ dumb I am, how ye all saw it coming, and I didn’t listen to any of it.”

It’s at that moment that Ghost notices Soap’s fingertips hadn’t been lit since he came back.

He notices because his hands suddenly ignite, flames going up the back of them as he gestures.

“Well, I’m sure ye all are laughing now! Gaun yerselves! Piss off!” Soap’s one good eye shines oddly at the light, the fire casting sharp shadows on his mangled features.

Gaz opens his mouth, but Ghost grabs his shoulder, and turns them both around. Only when the door is shut behind them, he tells Garrick, “we heard enough. Price will handle it from here.”

Gaz mouth turns downwards, “but-!”

“That’s enough Sergeant.” 

The Sergeant sighs before storming off. Ghost doesn’t blame him.

Price has notified them that Soap is currently on medical rest, and according to his previous injuries, should be able to walk around in the next 5 or so days.

8 days later, Ghost hasn’t seen the door to his room open once. He knows Gaz has been leaving meals outside his room, and that Price often communicates with the Sergeant through it.

The Captain tells him on the eighth day that Soap isn’t healing as fast as he should, and hasn’t left the room because he can’t. It’s on that day Ghost decides he had enough, and against Price’s orders to leave Soap alone, comes to stand in front of the accursed door and knock.

As expected, no one invites him in, so he opens the (luckily) unlocked door, and shuts it softly behind him.

Soap is sitting in his cot, looking cleaner than over a week ago, but Ghost can’t tell the extent of his injuries under the blanket and the new medical face mask adorning his nose and mouth.

The Sergeant is warily looking up at Ghost now, like he’s readying for an attack. Ghost takes a sit at his desk chair, and maintains eye contact. Soap looks more uncomfortable by the minute.

“Heard you haven’t been healing.” Ghost slowly remarks.

Soap turns his head away, looking straight on at the wall. “I… I’m not sure why.”

Ghost taps a finger on the desk, “you feel like it’s pointless.”

Soap laughs humorlessly, “does it matter what I feel?”

“The brass loves to act like our powers are explained by science, by logic.” Ghost drags a nail on the fake wood grain, “like to say they can control it, when we barely control it ourselves.”

The Sergeant nods slowly.

He decides to drop the question that’s been at the top of his list of ‘Soap’s mysteries’, “Why do they not let you use your explosions?”

Soap then looks back at Ghost, partly amused, in a sad kind of way, “they allowed me to use them. I demanded not to.”

“6 years ago I was…” Soap sighs. “It’s classified.”

Ghost’s throat chokes on red tape yet again, “tell me what you can.” he encourages.

The Sergeant is lost in thought for a moment, shifting in bed.

“When I died, my Reaper asked me what I wanted most”, Soap inhales, as if the next words need more space in his lungs, “I said I wanted to live.”

Ghost edges closer to Soap, almost whispering, “what did it say?”

Soap leans in, “that I was wrong. That I wanted… revenge” His eyes bright with untold stories.

Revenge.

    “WHAT DO YOU NEED, SIMON RILEY?

I need 

      To kill him.

                         I need to kill all of them.

                                           YOU NEED REVENGE”

A mirthless laugh echoes in the small room, “and I got it, but not in the way I wanted…”

Soap grims, “I never wanted… to murder all those people…”

“And you don’t use explosions because… you’re afraid?” Ghost inquires, mind still whirling with emotions he’s not made to be capable of.

“I don’t deserve to use them.” Soap said with an air of finality.

“But you deserve to get blown up every other week?” Ghost reacted incredulously.

The Sergeant didn’t reply.

Flames dance in his palms, flickering to imaginary wind, almost as fast as the emotions did on his face.

“Killing yourself won’t bring them back. It won’t change a thing.”

“It might make me feel less shit.”

“Did it?”

Soap purses his lips “...no.”

“You’re a good man, Soap. Guilt’s a sign it’s true.”

Soap side eyes him, “You don’t know what I did. You don’t know how…” He grasps his blanket tightly, “how much destruction I…”

“You know, some of the rumors about me are true.” Ghost spares him from the self flagellating spiral.

Soap frowns, “which ones?”

“About me sending friendlies into Limbo.”

He feels the horror that those words represent leak into the air.

“The higher ups were mad with power. Saw me as a cheat code.”

Ghost regards the twisted expression on Soap, “used it as much as they could.”

Soap swallows and whispers, “what made them stop?”

“The costs outweighed the benefits. Limbo became something even I can’t fully control.”

The phantom pain, the loss he felt all those years ago, Ghost sees it in Soap’s eyes. In the way he acted all those weeks ago on the training grounds, as if rediscovering his own powers. But in his case, he held his own leash. He handed the controls to the brass, to men who see numbers instead of sky blue eyes.

Ghost won’t let him go on this path anymore. It may be the easiest, but it’s killing him. No matter how ‘explosion proof’ he is.

“Show me your face” Ghost says.

Soap’s eyes narrow in amusement, and he shoots back, “that’s very rich coming from ye.”

Ghost rolls his eyes, should’ve seen that coming. The decision to lift his hand and roll up his mask up to his nose was, a little worryingly, easy.

Soap’s mouth drops in surprise, and a smile almost forms on Ghost’s lips from how dumbfounded the Sergeant looks.

“Well? Got any other excuses, MacTavish?”

Soap blinks rapidly and glares at him, “right bastard you are…”. He carefully takes off the medical face mask, to reveal the still burnt flesh, and the teeth poking through his cheeks. He averts his eyes down, the little confidence he built up during the conversation dissipating into nothing.

“Still as shite as I remember.” Ghost says, half sarcastically.

The flesh around his mouth contorts into a mockery of his usual smile, “always had such a way with words, LT”

They become silent for a moment, Ghost thinking about his next course of action.

“Haven’t seen Price this active in revenant training in a while” he muses.

Soap looks at the blanket confused.

“Since you arrived, he’s been talking about how much potential you have.” He elaborates.

“Fat load of shite that gave him…” Soap mumbles.

Ghost used his commanding voice, “Are you saying I’m lying, Sergeant?” 

Soap startles and straightens his back, “no sir”

Ghost exhales, “because I’m not. Gaz has been much more happy with you around. Finally found someone as annoying as him”.

Soap’s mouth stretches in a smile, and Ghost watches the wounds starting to close, “oi! Someone has to bring fun to you old sods.”

“I know how to have fun.” Ghost mutters in fake incredulity.

Soap laughs, and the flesh on his cheek covers his teeth completely, “Aye LT, yer a real party animal.”

Ghost feels a small smile grace his face. The burns are now barely visible, the Sergeant looking more like himself than he has in days.

“I’m… glad to work with you again, Sergeant.” Ghost lets out.

Soap stops his giggles, and he smiles in that way that makes Ghost feel warmer, “I missed ye too, LT”.

They stay like this, talking and taking the piss for who knows how long, all while Ghost watches the various injuries disappear from Soap’s body.

They may be broken beyond repair.

But maybe they could find a way to heal.

Anyone that caught the reference to the comic will receive my eternal love.

[joy-haver]

Let’s talk a little bit about hurricanes!

Let’s discuss where the danger lies, individual preparedness, community preparedness, and mutual aid efforts around these storms and their aftermaths.

To start, the thing to remember about hurricanes is this: It’s not one disaster. It’s hundreds of different disasters at once.

Hurricanes have their own massive winds. They also spawn tornadoes. Hurricanes bring storm surges like tsunamis, but they also bring heavy rains, swelled rivers, broken dams. The vectors for flooding are multitudinous.

With any disaster, the danger isn’t always direct. While many people die die in the immediate storm, often the deaths continue to accumulate for months after. This is because people don’t just go on living just because the storm is over. All of us have lives that are dependent on infrastructure. Medical infrastructure, food infrastructure, social infrastructure, transportation infrastructure, electrical infrastructure. When any of these fails it can put strain on the rest. People go hungry, go lonely, their disabilities go untreated, injuries are more likely in the wreckage, they die of infection and disease and suicide because it seems so hopeless. So many become homeless, displaced, losing everything. And often there is nothing in the way of aid.

And bigotry can often exacerbate. white supremacist groups and police become vigilantes, killing those who scavenge the wreckage. Even in milder hurricanes, police violence and violence from store proprietors increases. Disabled people are often pushed out of hospitals to die at home. People are euthanized.

Hurricanes exacerbate the worst parts of the system of domination.

But they also bring out the best in communities and people who believe in caring for one another.

After every hurricane, tens of thousands of volunteers go out in their airboats to save people from the floods. People prepare food, develop water filtration. People open their homes to those who have fled, those who often have lost everything. These volunteer armies of aid workers are from all accross the south east, from many paths of life and from every conceivable part of the political spectrum. On the flat boats of the Cajun Navy, in their supply lines, you will see maga hats standing next to anarchist abolitionists, both concerned primarily with how they will get an old woman both just met her medicine. Months and years after the storm you will see flocks of children flittering like bees around stripped down homes, helping to remove what is tainted and rebuild towards home again, and they will be working aside those same people who helped in the immediate aftermath.

Even when government aid does come in, it is not the government that manages all of it. They pass off many of the resources the mutual aid organizations for distribution.

The environmental cleanup, the saving, the feeding, the rebuilding; the vast majority of the work is done by everyday people. That can include you.

So, What Do We Do?

1. Individual and household preparedness.

The biggest step is preparedness. A pound of cure is nice, but it is better served with an ounce of prevention.

Individual Preparedness begins with risk evaluation.

Ask yourself these questions;

-what is the likelihood of my home flooding? Has it flooded before? How much could it flood if it did? Do I have sand bags or flood walls to prevent minor floodwaters? Do I have roof access in high floodwaters?

-what is my evacuation plan? Do I have friends in a safer area (away from coasts, outside of a flood plane)? Do I have transportation to their? If not, how can I find other people that do?

-how long can I live without power? Do I have life saving medical equipment that needs power? If so, who do I know with a generator?

-how much water do I have stored? What vessels around my house can hold water? (Remember, you can always use less than drinkable water to flush toilets).

-how much non perishable food do I have stored? How would I cook it without electricity? How much cooking fuel do I have access to? How would I continue to cook and wash dishes if I had limited access to water?

-What would keep me going if I lost everything I own? What motivations to live and keep going could I hold onto?

-do I have home insurance? Do I have pictures of the things inside my house stored on the could or a third party location incase I need to make a claim?

-where are my important documents stored? Are they safe incase of a flood, or the house falling down?

-how acclimated am I to the heat? Have I been spending enough time outside? Will a loss of air conditioning make me unable to function? Do I have a plan to get cool if that happens?

2. Community preparedness

Of course, individual preparedness is not enough, nor is it the most efficient. Survival and rebuilding comes from communities working together. So how do we do that?

Let’s talk a bit about skills you can have, and skills you can look for in your community, that might come in handy in a hurricane or post hurricane disaster.

-airboat and pirogue navigation! This is how you save lives. Flat bottom boats you can get people into.

-food storage and preservation. Networking with folks who doing canning, save beans, store large amounts of rice, gather nuts, dehydrate greens and fruits. These folks will often provide much of the food before outside aid arrives, and after it dries up.

-outdoor cooking!

-water purification. This is huge. Clean water is the hardest thing to come by. Having water purification tablets and devices, or knowing how to make your own, can save hundreds of peoples lives.

-cautious eyes. Everyone needs help spotting downed power lines in these environments.

-ham radio enthusiasts. These folks can be the lifeblood of rescue operations, resource distribution, and medical assistance. This is probably the most under utilized skill in disaster response and management

-construction. This is huge. Rebuilding requires many many volunteers. The wonderful thing tho, is you can just show up and learn most of the time.

- cleaning. Mold is a huge problem post hurricane.

-first aid!!!!

-physical strength. Many frail old people need to be carried out.

-a strong sense that flood water is dangerous. This might not seem like a skill. It is. Being willing to instill this sense of fear and respect in others will save lives.

-networking. This is huuuge. Somone has to connect all the rednecks and Cajuns and gays and aid organizations and churches and restaurants and whatever else. None of this works without relationships. Knowing people, building trust ahead of time. Being the person they come to with their resources.

-grant writing. Get that government money into the community.

3. Resource evaluation

Skills to offer your community are very important, but that’s not all we have. We have access to other resources, and if we leverage those right, those too can save lives.

Community preparedness begins with resource evaluation, and needs evaluation.

Here are some resources you might have, and how you can use them.

-a safe home, high off of flood zones. You can be an evacuation destination.

-a generator. You can be the place with power that people flee to to save their medications, or to use medical equipment, or simply to keep from having a heat stroke

-a large pot and propane burner. You can be the person who cooks for masses of displaced people. Or you can let someone else use it and cook.

-flat bottom boats. You can save people, or let others use them to.

-construction equipment and supplies. You can bring these in after a disaster to help.

-access to large buildings with generators. If you are the janitor at the stadium, you can open the gates to that high ground. If you are the secretary of the church, you can unlock the doors of shelter.

-contacts with people in nearby cities who have been through this before, and have their own resources. Hurricanes are terrible, but they don’t hit the whole south at once. We can take turns saving each other

- a pool full of water people can use to flush toilets.

- storage of food.

-space others can store any items listed

-access to lots of sunscreen, insect repellents, and mosquito nets

-access to soap, detergent, toothbrushes, toothpastes, menstrual products, and deodorant. Specifically go for free and clear soaps, dial gold, and dawn. They all have different applications.

-an excess of phone chargers. Phones are lifelines. They are one of the most important things you can have.

-an excess of medicines. Rationing and saving prescriptions might save your life or others.

-first aid equipment

4. need’s assessment.

All of this is great, but to make best use of it, it’s best to know ahead of time where resources will be needed, and who might need the most help.

Begin learning this by focusing on these things.

-do you know the people who live around you? Do you know who’s old and alone, and might need to be checked on in a storm? Do you know who is disabled? Do you know who lives at the bottom of your hill by the flooding creek, and who lives at the top where it’s safest? These questions can save lives!

-do you know who might need help evacuating? If you plan to evacuate, do they know you could take them with you?

-do you know who needs access to generators for life saving equipment?

-do you know who is too poor to afford to be prepared?

-do you know who might need help putting sand bags around their home?

-do you know which mutual aid and charity organizations might need help connecting to local communities?

Thank you for reading!

Stay safe out there, and help as often as you can, while still keeping yourself stable enough to help again later. Right now many homes are flooded in Florida, power is out in Georgia, and a dam broke near Asheville.

Volunteer : https://stability.org/default.aspx

Donate : https://nonprofit.resilia.com/donate/

https://nonprofit.resilia.com/donate/