#Silver is also the one laying dead to the world on the asphalt after taking his own Meteor Smash to the face

[true-blue-sonic]

One of my favorite Silver pictures 🙏

We have found ourselves a ✨drama boi✨in the house!! And you know what I think is hilarious about these two presented options?

NEITHER OF THAT WOULD HURT BLAZE IN ANY WAY.

Burning? This chick commands flame like it's nothing. Boiling? She can stand in fire and it doesn't affect her negatively, I see no reason why hot water would suddenly be so harmful to her. The one one who would suffer any consequences of being burned or boiled is Silver, sulking little drama king he is being here. I figure the script writers did not make him say those two things specifically because Blaze would not be harmed whereas Silver would be, but still, in a way that makes it actually quite sweet that these are the two options he explicitly suggests. He doesn't want Blaze to be hurt, after all!

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Gibbous Chapter 9

Chapter Title: The Thought of Fresh Meat Is Making Me Ill

Summary:  It was October. A month full of cheer for the macabre. A month where humans gleefully wore the skins of those they saw as monsters. A month that Virgil generally enjoyed. It was the one month out of the year where he felt the most alive. Yet somehow, for this year’s October, he felt dead inside. Like his body had turned into the rotting corpse of a zombie and his soul was somehow still trapped inside.

Pairings: platonic lamp & platonic sleepxiety

Chapter Word-Count: 5503

Warnings:  Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Anxiety, Depression, Paranoia, Arguing, Disassociation, Sensory Overload (Yeah this one isn't gonna be a particularly happy one, Virgil Is Spiraling Mentally Big Time)

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Surprise b*tch, bet you thought you saw the last of me! I'm back for my yearly update--this chapter is dedicated to all the lovely comments people have left on previous chapter! Also!! I rewrote a significant amount of Crescent Chapter 3 and added onto Gibbous Chapter 5, the latter you might want to reread as it adds a bit to the opening scene of this chapter.

Chapter title taken from "I know I'm a Wolf" from the Young Heretics!

-

In books, there was always a perfect, logical sense of progression. Stories were generally told in a three-act structure. The setup, the midpoint and the resolution. The beginning of a story established the protagonist to the reader. It gave you details about their personality, their way of living, their wants and desires. Then the protagonist found themselves upended by an inciting incident.

Something that caused their way of living to never again be the same. Tension grew and grew as they sought to come about a way to continue living. Until it reached a climax, one where after which, they either thrived or withered away. In which case, the story ended as the protagonist returned to a new sense of normalcy.

One that would last until the next inciting incident came along to shake up their world once again.

Once one found this pattern, it was hard to ever see stories the same way again. There were certain things to always expect—things you could decipher before the story’s end. Real life, however, wasn’t quite like that.

Or at least this was what Logan had come to find. Sure, in many ways events in life played out like stories. There was an inciting incident, something that arose tension as one sought to solve the dilemma. It just wasn’t as neatly bound together like a story or even a math equation. Life was messy, complicated—it threw in plot twists or details that critics would claim lazy and unbelievable.

Logan was harshly reminded of this in the case of one Virgil Raine. He couldn’t understand—he was doing everything right, remaining patient and giving Virgil a chance to open up to Logan on his own time. Yet the human shied further and further away, all development he made since working at the library immediately erased. Virgil even shut out all notions of spending time outside work without explanation. It’d been weeks at this point with no result despite the attempts of Logan, Patton and even Remy, who was arguably the closet with Virgil.

Perhaps this was something that should be expected. Virgil rarely spoke about his past, but what little he shared, he had to fend mostly for his own from a young age. Whoever hurt Virgil caused him to believe again he couldn't rely on anyone but himself.

Logan was not a particularly violent person. He'd been ignorantly cruel once upon a time, yes, but even back then he wasn't one to have the urge to kill people. The wolfish part of him begged to differ, as always. His instincts howled at him to find that person and tear them limb to limb. Better yet, they demanded he snatch Virgil away and bring him against his will to the pack, to safety. As much as Logan wanted this, logically he knew Virgil might never fully trust Patton or himself ever again despite their good intentions. Illogically, he couldn’t bring himself to do the one thing he swore he’d never do again, even if it was for Virgil's safety.

He pondered this, sitting in front of a mountain of paperwork. It was late, too late for him to still be at the library. He couldn’t bring himself to move from his desk, not until he figured something out. He gnashed sharpened teeth in agitation, gripping his hair with claw-like fingernails. It didn't help that normally this time of the month, his cognitive thinking skills were usually in a different state of being. If he wasn't careful, the cleaning staff might find a wolf rampant in the library the next morning.

His phone rang just then, some meme-related ringtone Roman picked out that he’d found funny. Logan snatched it up and answered it.

“Patton, listen, I will be home soon I am just finishing up—”

“I’m not Patton,” The person on the other line cut in, “It’s me, Remy.”

“Oh,” Logan cleared his throat, thrown off by this revelation, “is something the matter?”

“Yeah, something’s the matter alright,” Remy said, his voice hoarse, “I fucked up big time with Virgil.”

 -

It was October. A month full of cheer for the macabre. A month where humans gleefully wore the skins of those they saw as monsters. A month that Virgil generally enjoyed. It was the one month out of the year where he felt the most alive. Yet somehow, for this year’s October, he felt dead inside. Like his body had turned into the rotting corpse of a zombie and his soul was somehow still trapped inside.

He supposed it had something to do with how September slipped from his fingers much in the way that his phone slipped from Jerad’s fingers. Falling all the way down, down, down, breaking upon the asphalt below into a million tiny pieces. Tried as he might, the memory haunted him in the waking world as well as his dreams.

 Only, in his dreams, sometimes it was him that fell to the ground. Like a shoddy version of Humpty Dumpty. Remy, Patton and Logan would try to fix him to no avail. They’d always leave, scoffing that it wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t cry or reach out towards them, begging for them to return. He could only lay there, broken and bleeding, watching as they abandoned him. Sometimes Roman showed up to gloat, mocking him for thinking they ever cared for him.

The worst thing about it? He knew it was going to happen in real life. It was only a matter of time. Even Jerad knew this.

“C’mon, you really want to hang out with them and not me, your friend?” Jerad scoffed, “what have they done for you? Have they helped out you when you couldn’t pay rent? Replaced your shitty phone for the best smartphone out there?”

“Well no but—”

“Face it, V-Man, they’re using you. They set you up with a new job, making you beholden to them and it’s sickening! They don’t actually care about you. Once they’ve had their fun jerking you around, they’ll just throw you out with the garbage. And I don’t want you coming to me, bawling like a baby, when it happens!”

As much as Jerad was a jerk, Virgil knew deep down he was right. He’d been so ecstatic at their displays of friendship, he didn’t even stop to consider it was all a façade. Maybe they themselves thought it was real, that they actually cared for him. But eventually they’ll realize the truth. That he’s a loser and nothing more.

Or maybe they already knew the truth and were merely toying with him. Virgil was just a human, mortal through and through. Remy, Patton and Logan were all near-immortal, unkillable save a well-placed piece of silver and a stake of wood in Remy’s case. At least with Jerad, he was honest. He knew Virgil was a loser and made it clear he only hung out with Virgil because it was better than nothing.

Jerad had been nice to Virgil lately—or nice as Jerad could be at least. He’d insisted on occasionally giving Virgil rides to and from work. An offer Virgil couldn’t refuse—no matter how hard his heart thudded against his chest with Jerad’s sharp swerves and his blaring car radio. He taken to asking about Virgil’s day even, asking where he’d been and what he’d been doing. He even took Virgil out to bars and clubs in an attempt to get him to loosen up.

Virgil wanted to tell him he’d rather set himself on fire than willingly enter a noisy nightclub. However every time his lips went to form those words, he found himself saying yes always. So that was how he found himself dissociating in a noisy nightclub, holding onto a pink-colored alcoholic beverage he faked taking a sip from.

A hand knocked jokingly against his forehead. “Yo, Virgin!”

Virgil blinked, his gaze blearily onto Jerad. It was hard to concentrate with all the flashing lights and loud music. He wanted to crawl underneath his beloved purple fleece blanket in his dark, silent bedroom and never leave. But he couldn’t leave just yet. Jerad had been nice to take him along to the club. If he’d asked leave now, he’d get upset. He knew eventually Jerad would get upset at him for something, but he preferred to delay that as long as possible.

“Yeah?” Virgil mumbled, curling his fingers tighter around the alcoholic drink that had been hoisted upon him. Jerad knew he didn’t like alcohol—it was something he ridiculed Virgil about constantly. He always insisted on Virgil drinking, saying he’d stop being a pussy and man up eventually about it.

“Are you high or something? You looked like you were seeing into the third dimension or something.”

Virgil shrugged. Jerad laughed at that, patting him on the back. Virgil tensed from each thud of Jerad’s hand, but he did not flinch or move away. It was a friendly gesture on Jerad’s part. If he wanted to really hurt Virgil, he would’ve put more force behind it.

“Probably not! You’re too much of an anxious wimp,” Jerad said, downing the contents of his drink, “but let me know if you ever get man enough to try it—your good friend Jerad has connections.”

“Okay.” Virgil said, his voice sounding far off in the distance to his own ears.

Jerad laughed again, and then started rambling about something probably among the lines of his most recent hookup, his parents being jerks for not giving him a new sports car or the latest college professor he deemed a complete idiot. Virgil stared at him, nodding all the right moments yet barely processed any of the words being directed his way.

 Even with lungs filled with air and a warm beating heart, Virgil felt nothing. He was nothing. A worthless sentient waste of space. Like an ugly mutt nobody wanted that should be euthanized to end its miserable existence.

His phone—the replacement one Jerad gave him—vibrated in his pocket. A text, no doubt from one of the others. The fourth one this night. Virgil’s hand twitched, refraining from looking at it in the presence of Jerad. Virgil didn’t feel like losing a second phone within a month of the first.

“Um, hey,” Virgil interrupted, wincing, “I gotta go use the bathroom, is that alright?”

“’Is that alright?’” Jerad mimicked in a high pitch tone, “Dude, is this elementary school or something? You want a hall pass? Me to hold your hand the whole way there?”

Virgil stared at him.

Jerad rolled his eyes, “Go ahead, whatever. I don’t care if you take a dump, just be quick with it.”

“Thanks.” Virgil bit out, running off before Jerad could change his mind.

He twisted and pivoted around the crowd of sweaty, glistening bodies wearing skimpy clothing. The bright neon lights and loud music warped around him like something out of a nightmare. Eventually he made it to the restrooms and locked himself in the nearest stall. The pulse of his heart roaring in his ears, he drew the phone of his pocket.

Four New Text Notifications from Patton

Patton: [Image of a black cat that looked approximately a year old. It appeared to be nestled close to Patton’s chest, staring up at the camera in wide-eyed stare.]

Patton: Look at what I found on my evening walk! Isn’t she the cutest??

Patton: I’m trying to convince Logan to let me keep her. Maybe you can come visit tomorrow and meet her??

Patton: It’s ok if not! I know you’ve been busy and I want to let you know I’m here for you, you can come to me about anything okay?

Virgil’s vision blurred a bit. He didn’t understand it. Why hadn’t Patton given up already? It’s been weeks since he’s sent Patton a text. He’d been terrified, too, really. And in the few times he ran into Patton at the library, he made excuses and scurried the other way.

Logan was at least kind enough to exchange a few pleasantries and keep their verbal interactions work-oriented. And Remy? They still delved deep into discussions about their taste in music but there was an awkward unspoken agreement not to bring up what happened that one morning. Virgil also shied from hanging outside of work, hoping Remy would eventually forget about him. It seemed to be working; Remy hadn’t offered to hang out in about a week or so.

But Patton? Patton seemed determined to stay in contact with Virgil, sending his dumb silly memes and cute animal videos. He sent good morning and good night texts, while making sure Virgil knew he could respond to them on his own time. On one hand, it made sense—this was the same Patton who saved a complete stranger’s life for literally no reason. On the other hand, he wished Patton would give up. It would made things easier, make it hurt less for everyone.

His phone buzzed with a new text notification.

Jerad: Dude, did you fall in or something?

Virgil swallowed, wiping away any stupid tears running down his face. As he typed a response to Jerad with shaky hands, the bathroom door slammed open, banging against the wall. He almost dropped his phone in the process, silently cursing at how close he’d been to breaking yet another phone.

Several loud booming voices filled the bathroom, peppered with obnoxious laughter every half second. Virgil shut his eyes, resisting the urge to cover his ears also in the process. The noise was too much. It was too much in the club outside, but all those voices echoing off the small crammed walls of the bathroom made Virgil want to scream.

The door creaked open yet again, the voices venturing away from Virgil. Good, they were leaving so Virgil could finally self-destruct in peace. Or so he thought, as a set of footsteps stopped abruptly, wavering. The club music blasted from the doorway, drowning out whatever discussion took place.

Then the door swung shut, the roaring club music muted once more. Virgil waited, breath catching in his throat as the single set of footsteps took a couple strides towards him. Oh god, this was how he was going to die, wasn’t he? This was probably some serial killer with an obsession of killing people in night club restrooms.

This was, of course, the moment his phone started vibrating in his hand. A call. Someone was calling him in the final moments of his life. Virgil looked down at the caller id; Remy. His heartrate spiked, dancing so painfully close to what a heart attack must feel like. Why was Remy calling him? Was he at last going to tell him he was done with Virgil forever?

Virgil almost wanted to ignore the call. But then he glanced at the black boots hovering near his stall and gave it a second thought. If this was going to be how his life ended, it’d probably be best to say goodbye to someone at least. Sucking a breath in, he pressed the green phone icon and held the phone to his ears.

“Hi?” He whispered.

“Hey Virgil,” Remy said, echoing oddly in Virgil’s ears, “what are you up to tonight?”

Virgil glanced down at the black boots menacingly close to his stall, “Umm, I’m just home, chilling.”

“That’s a lie, Hon. I know you’re hiding in a stall of this bathroom.”

“W-what are you talking about?” Virgil couldn’t breathe.

Remy sighed, sounding so similar to the person outside the stall, “Please, let’s talk face to face, alright?”

This was some sort of trick to lure him out of the stall, wasn’t it? Still, with the hand not clutching tightly to his phone, he reached out and unlatched the stall door.

Remy stood there, expression hidden under his black shades. His hair was slicked back with gel, shimmering with a glitter of some sort. He wore his iconic black leather jacket with a black crop top underneath. His whole outfit was black, in fact, down to his ripped jeans and the ankle-length boots. Virgil had seen him wear something similar before to a college event he’d taken Virgil to.

“W-what are you doing here?” Virgil demanded.

“I could ask you the same,” Remy responded, eyebrows raised above his shades, “this isn’t your scene, Virge. What are you doing here?”

“I’m not answering unless you answer.” Virgil said, trying to ignore how much he sounded like a toddler.

“A few of my homies from the art program wanted to celebrate the end of mid-terms. This is the night club most of the college body hangs at.” Remy crossed his arms.

“And how did you know I was in here?”

“A few keen observations,” Remy mustered a thin smile. He tapped his nose for emphasis before drawing his finger close to his lips. Virgil’s eyes widened in understanding. Vampire senses, then. “But mostly, I’d recognize those faded converse of yours anywhere.”

“O-oh.”

“I answered your question, now it’s your turn, Virge.”

“I…” Virgil said, the rest of his words strangled in his throat. His phone buzzed in his hand; another impatient text from Jerad no doubt. He didn’t bother to look at it, choosing to focus on taking a breath in rather than going unconscious from a lack of oxygen.

He could tell Remy the truth. That he’d gone with Jerad—his roommate whom he used to complain to Remy about all the time. But then Remy would ask why he was with Jerad and then—well. Then Virgil would have tell him what happened the time he found him the night his phone broke and well, Virgil wasn’t ready for that. He couldn’t tell Remy about his humiliating mistake.

“I…went here to have a good time completely by myself.” Virgil withheld himself from wincing because wow that didn’t sound weird or suspicious in the slightest, “So you can go catch up with your friends or whatever, I’m good hanging out right here.”

“Right here, in the restroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Honey,” Remy said, his voice washed with some emotion Virgil couldn’t identify, “Let’s ditch this shithole and go somewhere else.”

“W-what—but your friends—” Virgil stammered.

“—will be fine without me. N-G-L they’ll probably too trying to give themselves alcohol poison even realize I’m gone,” Remy shrugged his shoulders, “besides, you don’t seem as gucci as you say you are in here and it’s been a while since we really hung out hung out, y’know?”

Virgil stubbornly directed his gaze away from Remy, jaw tightening. It had to be okay, didn’t it? Jerad was most likely to get too drunk to even coherent colors, let alone that Virgil slipped off without him. Maybe he wouldn’t be mad. Maybe he wouldn’t fly into a rage and come close to hanging him off a balcony. Besides Remy would be even more suspicious if he said no.

Virgil sighed, holding the home button on the phone until it shut off completely. That way he wouldn’t have to deal with Jerad calling him, demanding to know where he’d disappear off to, despite ditching Virgil all the time without warning.

“Alright, fine.”

Remy smiled, his teeth looking a little too sharp for Virgil’s liking. Wordlessly he turned aside and reached for the bathroom door.

Virgil swallowed, shoving the phone in his pocket to be forgotten about. Tried as he might, he still flinched as lively blare of the club’s music and flashing lights greeted him with full force. He froze, cowering before the threshold of the door. A hand landed on his shoulder, soft and gentle.

“Virgil?” Remy asked, his brows furrowing together.

Molten lava settled in the pit of Virgil’s stomach—pity. That was the expression on Remy’s face he couldn’t identify at first. He didn’t want pity; Virgil knew what pity meant. He didn’t want pity of any kind, it reminded him too much of the foster parents that looked at him like he was some feral dog that could be whipped into obedience. And sure, Remy had never hurt him but it didn’t mean Virgil forgotten about that morning spent at Remy’s dorm a month back.

Eyes lit up with a burning, controlled fire. Words hissed through a clenching jaw, “Tell me their name and I’ll beat them up for you.”

If Remy was willing to hurt who he deemed as threats to Virgil, who’s to say he wouldn’t be willing to hurt Virgil? To reprimand Virgil, to let him know how much of an idiot he was being? It sounded absurd, even now, because he’d known Remy for almost a year. Remy had plenty opportunities up to now to do something and hadn’t. Yet he was a vampire; years were nothing to him. He had plenty of time to wait for Virgil to slip up in some way and make his irritation known.

And Virgil knew by now to expect the other shoe to drop in a relationship—it was why he distanced himself, isolated himself to solely to work and his cramped little room at the apartment. He was foolish to believe Remy, Patton and Logan were different. Logan and Patton especially—what was he thinking? Patton saved him, sure, but Logan had been hellbent on locking him in their basement for the eternity of time. Why had ever he allowed himself to accept their apologies, to believe something was going right in his life for once?

“I’m fine.” Virgil snarled, shoving himself forward. It was like marching into a warzone, the music assaulted his ears and rattled uncomfortably against his chest cavity. He grimaced, keeping his eyes towards the floor, away from the flashing lights. He stopped a bit before the ocean of bodies that stood between them and the entrance.

He knew if he looked up, he could make out the back of Jerad’s shirt from his spot at the bar. Stupid, this was so stupid. Why had he allowed himself to get talk into this by Remy? There was no doubt in his mind that Jerad would catch him trying to leave and rightfully demand why he was ditching him for Remy. It was a shit thing to do, after all.

Friends don’t ditch one another without explanation. Jerad left him, sure, but he always had an explanation after the fact. Virgil didn’t think Jerad would like his explanation very much. Especially when it involved Remy, one of the people Jerad had been trying to warn him about.

A hand gracefully looped itself around one of his own, tugging him off to the side rather than through the crowd. Virgil looked to see Remy guiding them towards a set of doors, ones clearly marked for employees only.

“Remy—”

“Shhh, this is a faster way outta here, trust me.” He said, flashing a smile. Perhaps it was meant to be comforting but for Virgil it only caused his stomach to churn.

Right before they made it to the doors, an employee materialized in front of them. “Excuse me, sirs, you’re not allowed back here—”

“Cindy, gurl, remember me, Lansing? Worked here last summer? Do you remember, yeah?” Remy lowered his shades to take a look at her. Virgil peered behind him, unable to view Remy’s face. He could see Cindy’s face, however. Her face pinched up in confusion, frowning, before abruptly smoothening out with a wide grin stretched from ear-to-ear. She looked right at Remy, her gaze shifting entirely off of Virgil as if he no longer existed.

“Lansing, oh! Oh yes, I remember.” Cindy said, with a high-pitched laugh. Virgil shrunk further back into Remy’s shadow, squeezing Remy’s hand tightly. Something was wrong and he didn’t like it. Remy never mentioned working as a bartender—and that wasn’t quite something Remy would be quiet about. Virgil could just  picture the outrageous bartending stories he’d have if that was the case.

Remy laughed along with her, light and airy.

“Good, then can ya do a fellow former co-bartender a favor and let us slip through, just this once?”

“Gurl, of course, just if you caught don’t let Gregory know I was the one that let you pass.” She leaned in conspiratorially, face twitching a bit.

“Oh don’t worry, you won’t see us again, in fact forget that you even saw us. I’d love to stay and catch up, but I bet you have things to do.”

She laughed again at that. “Yes, of course. It was nice seeing you, Lansing, but I have to go.”

Cindy hurried off, quickly dissipating through the crowd. Virgil blinked; what the fuck? What the fuck was that—

He didn’t even have time to process the encounter before Remy led them into the dimly lit back hallway of the nightclub. Whether it was a faster way out of the nightclub was debatable. For all his talk about previously working there, Remy seemed just as lost as Virgil in the winding hallway. He led them one direction, only to immediately pivot down the other way.

Remy wasn’t talking. Remy was always talking endlessly, as if speaking was as vital as oxygen to him. He was terrible at whispering too—something Logan would get on him about at the library. That was why he was usually stuck on front desk duty to speak with patrons, helping out at events or doing organizational work in the back office. For Remy to be this silent, like the brooding calm before a storm, well. Virgil’s lungs wanted to seize up right then and there.

Eventually, they made to a door that opened out to an alleyway, right where the night club kept its dumpster. The moon gleamed from her perch in the sky, nearly full but not quite. Like a cookie with a bite taken out of it. Virgil knew there was terms for the different phases of the moon. His mother loved taking him out to see the night sky. She’d point out the constellations and tell him what phase the moon that night was.

He wished he could remember, for her sake, what they were. Considering he knew actual werewolves, you’d think he pay better attention to it. But it was a topic Virgil never felt brave enough to venture and one that neither Patton nor Logan opened up much on their own about.

He stared at the moon, transfixed, that he almost forgotten the reason he was outside in the first place. Not until Remy murmured something before attempting to lead him off somewhere. The gaping dread from moments prior seized hold of him once more.

“No!” Virgil snapped, yanking his hand out of Remy’s grip. He stumbled backwards a few steps, slamming himself into a wall of the building in the process.

“Virgil?” Remy asked, frowning as he took a step  forward.

“What the hell was that back there?”

“What do you mean—”

“Don’t act stupid!” Virgil demanded, taking a shaky breath, “That lady—Cindy—you did something, I—I don’t know, she was acting weird! And—and you were acting weird! So I’m asking again; What. The Hell. Was. That?”

Remy stared at him, his breath hitching, “Virgil, I was just trying to get you to a quiet place ASAP before you—”

“You’re still not answering the question.” Virgil cut in, his intestines tightening themselves into knots over it. Because maybe this was just a classic case of Virgil paranoia striking again. Maybe he really was driving himself into a panic attack over nothing. Maybe he was accusing Remy unjustly.

Yet, if that was the case why would Remy flinch if Virgil struck him physically with his words?

“Virgil,” Remy said slowly, “I need you not to panic and hear me out, ok?”

Virgil’s heartrate accelerated. Not panic, not panic?! What did Remy expect but for him to panic at those words?

“Okay.” Virgil said, definitely panicking.

“What have you’ve heard about vamps?”

“That they—you drink blood. And your reflection doesn’t show up in mirrors—and—and if you get bitten by a vampire, you’ll either turn into one or get mind controlled.”

“All technically true, well I mean—there’s a fuck-ton more to the turning process than that—” Remy cut himself off, “That’s beside the point. The point is, what you call mind-control, we call ‘enthralling.’ Enthralling is…”

“Is what?”

“Enthralling is, well. It’s a form of hypnosis. Anyone enthralled by a vampire is mostly aware of it and the least likely they are to follow a vampire’s suggestions, the more likely they are to fight against the hypnosis. And it can be activated through eye-contact which is what I did to Cindy.”

Virgil couldn’t breathe. Suddenly pieces were slotted together in mind, forming a picture Virgil never wanted to envision. That faint but visceral memory of Remy with red eyes, the natural charisma Remy held with anyone he met, how Remy managed to steal confidential information from Virgil’s employee file in the back office of Kirby’s Burgers—all of it. He thought Remy, out of anybody, was safe. Past his sassy, laidback exterior, Remy was honest, willing to speak his mind about anything and everything.

If Remy enthralled a complete stranger without blinking an eye—who’s to say he wasn’t above doing it to Virgil? Who’s to say he hadn’t enthralled Virgil into being his friend? Who’s to say Virgil wasn’t an oblivious mouse in a game of cat and mouse? Oh gods, this had just confirmed all of Virgil’s worst fears and more.

“Virgil—” Remy said, reaching out, his eyes hidden beneath his shades. He continued speaking, a mumble jumbo string of excuses probably. Virgil couldn’t stand to stay around and listen to it.

“Stop—just don’t—” Virgil stuttered, taking one step and then another towards the open sidewalk. What was just a few steps then became a few hundred until he found himself leaning against the door to the apartment, hands shaking to slot the key to unlock it.

A few more steps he was inside, the usual musty smell an unexpected comfort. He sat on the couch, seconds stretching into eternity. He half-expected Remy to have chased after him, demanding Virgil to listen, why couldn’t you just listen, you’re so stupid no wonder you’re pathetic—

Virgil blinked a few times, his eyes burning with some sort of irritation. For some reason, Remy let him go. He couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. His head ached and so did his ears for some reason.

 Jerad entered the apartment a few millennia later. Virgil froze at the rattling doorknob, his hand clutching onto his phone in his pocket.

“There you are, you fucker!” Jerad drawled, stumbling over in a drunken stupor. His hand moved towards Virgil, but not with a closed fist. Instead he patted him on the back like earlier, “I can’t believe you did it! You finally got the balls to go and hook up with somebody! I guess I can’t call you Virgin, now huh?”

“Uh-huh,” Virgil murmured, not correcting him on that assumption. He sat there, a bit of tension draining from him. Jerad wasn’t mad for abandoning him. Jerad was still a jerk, but at least Virgil mostly knew what to expect of him. It wasn’t ideal, but that was life. It was better to deal with the devil you knew, then the devil you didn’t know. Virgil was stupid to have ever thought otherwise.

“My parents are being such dicks at the moment,” Jerad said, precipitously changing topics as per usual of him, “sometimes I wish I didn’t have to wait until they were dead to take my inheritance and do what I want to do, y’know?”

Virgil didn’t really know. Did his parents leave him money? They had to have had some sort of savings stashed away. A life insurance of some sort, right? It wasn’t like they were poor. He never thought about inquiring into that. Jerad accidentally slapped Virgil across the arm with a huge hand gesture, still ranting about something. Maybe it wasn’t an accidental hit.

Virgil didn’t know. His tether on reality felt weak, like a balloon close to floating away into the stratosphere. He almost wished he could float away, but the weight in his chest said otherwise. Jerad passed out not long after his rant, slumped half on the floor and half on the sofa. Virgil took this opportunity to slip into the comfort of his bedroom and turn on his cellphone once more.

 Seventeen new text notifications and five missed calls from Jerad greeted him, along with one new text notification from Logan. He clicked on Logan’s and his conversation, staring at Logan’s text at the bottom of it.

Logan: Virgil, Remy wanted me to inform you that he is taking a leave of absence from work. Please let me know if you need to take a leave of absence as well or need to confide in somebody as a friend, Patton or I would be happy to listen.

Virgil stared at it some more. Then he tapped out a short response, set the phone on the stool that was his makeshift nightstand and collapsed headfirst into his mattress. 

Virgil: K thanks, I’m fine

-

A/N: Hope everyone is doing well, if you enjoyed the chapter please consider leaving a comment--it's completely free and helps me out as a fanfic writer a ton! I'm technically not in the Sanders Sides fandom anymore, but I still have a lotta fondness for this fic and I will finish it, even if takes me ten years to do so :') -Kat

[werezmastarbucks]

boston

honeymoon masterlist

word count: 2538

music: savage streets by perturbator, you’ll only be safe with me by tuff turf, dark all day by gunship

You stood on one knee, feeling Kai’s fingers under your belt as he held you. You shoved out of the window half way, and yelled,

“I’m good!”

He pushed the gas pedal into the floor, and the car roared angrily, tearing through the night mist.

The black shadows surrounded you, floating out of the metal and brick twilight of the street so suddenly fear shot through you like lightning. You held up your shotgun and aimed, trying to balance with your hip on the frame of the window. Falling out of the window would mean imminent death: zombies were everywhere. They were waiting on the corners, in the windows of the buildings, hiding in the shade, behind the smelly dumpsters and in the middle of the road. As the city lights died out, and the car raced deeper into the district, golden and silver changed into cold blue and electric, the colors of docks and warehouses.

“I got them!”

“Shoot!” Kai yelled.

You exhaled and did not inhale, because the best snipers don’t breathe when shooting. As the monster truck passed by the cluster of black silhouettes, you fired three rounds into them, scaring the gathering and hitting one of them. Then you fell back into your seat and pulled your hair away from your face. It will be a bitch to try and brush after. The car drove out into the narrow quay where black water lay like glistening dirty skin, and Kai’s face was yellow in the passing bleak lights.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, poiting at the figure on the roof on the left. He slowed down a little, and you looked back to make sure nobody’s following you. You set the shotgun on your right.

“It’s Jeepers Creepers”.

“Wha... Y/N. What is Jeepers fucking Creepers doing at our zombie apocalypse?”

“I don’t know, Kai”, you snarled, “maybe he launched it. How am I supposed to know?”

“You’re driving me crazy”.

“I am afraid of Jeepers Creepers, okay? He’s gonna be the final boss”.

“I’m gonna tear his balls off”, Kai mumbled.

“He’ll take yours. That’s what he does”, you reminded him.

Kai snored.

“Get up. There’s more. They must have circled the parking lot. Look”.

Right in the middle of the road, where yellow fog was floating in the air like phantom veil, and the asphalt glistened, sweaty after 10PM rain, the black shadows barricaded the road. Kai stopped the car, and the low grumble slowly faded into the quiet, monotnous howl of the city. Somewhere, trains were moving to and fro on the rails, colliding with each other, creating noise. The factories were working, sending black smoke into the opaque sky, clogged by unwilling cigarrette clouds. The river itself, it seemed, hummed something very low, like a deadly lullaby. This world was a hostile and lonesome place. The only warm thing in here was Kai’s body sitting next to you, radiating humanity. You jerked your shotgun. You knew he was seeing exactly the same thing as you did - a bunch of zombies swaying slowly in your direction. He turned up the music a little.

“Ready?”

“Yeah”.

“Aim better or else we’re gonna drive in circles all night”.

“Don’t tell me how to kill zombies, Kai”.

He mimicked you, starting the car.

Next night, it was his turn, and you did the same thing, racing through the night city, crashing into cardbox fortresses and blowing up the glass forts, shooting the heads off the zombies, until you both have had enough of that zombie apocalypse world. It has been some time until you got tired.

(To get into the right mood, you have occupied the Columbus Movie Theatre for like a week, rewatching zombie movies. Turned out, you can’t just walk into a movie theatre and find all the zombie films piled up neatly in the movie room - or whatever it’s called. You have argued about them again and again, Kai insisting on Evil Dead being immortal classic, but the Day of the Dead was his all-time favorite. You nearly got into a fistfight with him over the Return of the Living Dead.

“Of course”, he puffed and laughed out, condescending as hell.

“What’s that laugh?!” you demanded. Kai shrugged.

“It’s such a girly thing. Return of the Living Dead. The third part is also your favorite, isn’t it?”

And he gave you the nastiest look. You narrowed your eyes.

“You bigot. You absolute fuckface. The first one is my favorite”.

He was enjoying himself too much, obviously agitated by the topic, not entirely there.

“Okay, okay”.

“But for the record, yes, I do think that the third part is the best love story I’ve ever seen on screen. It’s incredible”.

Kai nodded, the smile never leaving his face.

“She managed to fight off her cannibalistic instinct not to hurt the person she loved. She tore herself with needles and hooks to fight the urge to kill him and actually managed to keep him safe although she was literally a flesh eating zombie. How cool is that?”

Kai sighed and looked you in the eye.

“Very cool’, he said, with the tone that screamed ‘you’re silly and I adore you’.

“What other movies came out this year?”

“Not many, it’s only May”, he replied, digging deep into the box with films.

“Is Dream Lover out yet?”

“Yep”.

“We should watch it”.

“Later���, Kai said, throwing a film across the room and allowing it to crash into pieces. You hoped to hell it wasn’t Dream Lover.

“And Freddie Krueger?”

“No, not yet”.

“Damn it”, you looked over his shoulder.

“No Freddie Krueger!” he announced, “that’s it, she draws the line at Freddie. We’re leaving now”.

You laughed.

In the dark movie room, you could choose any row, any seats. You nested against each other, honoring the sacred cinema theatre tradition to gently touch in the twilight. While the action unfolded on screen, you had to shove popcorn into Kai’s mouth because it was the only way you could make him stop talking. When you ran out of popcorn, you had to shut him up with your mouth. It was a great week.)

You looked around the street and then, at Kai. How lucky he was, to find himself in this wretched place with someone as willing to play zombies as you were. You should do it more often. Maybe you should act out Mist next, somewhere in Houston.

You pulled your backpack up, and your eyes darted towards the black tower, ominous, insidious without any light, like a gigantic grave stone. Before Parker cut all the electricity, it was the Hancock Tower, now, it was just Tower. And the path to it lay through the dangerous city filled with brain craving monsters, bloodthirsty, dumb and ferocious, and you were running out of bullets. Besides, earlier on, you fell through one of the cardboard box forteresses and bruised your knee so badly, together with your left hand which you landed on. This adventure would be the death of you.

Kai twitched.

“I hear something”, he said, cocking his gun. You stood behind him, one-handed, unable to shoot. You closed your eyes. Lo, if they attack from all directions, you won’t be any help. A wounded companion is worse than an enemy in this world. You wondered if Kai would leave you alone to be eaten and stall them, or whether he’d shoot you in the head first, to spare you.

He walked on a little, entering a small square, and the black outlines of hairless, clotheless humans frightened you like you weren’t the one who had put them there ten hours earlier. They spooked you every time.

Kai shot three times, hitting each mannequin with one bullet.

“On the roof!” you pointed, turning back. You bowed as he threw up his shotgun, and fired. Heavy plastic body hopped and rolled down, falling on the ground. Kai could see in the dark so well you had to remind yourself he was human. Sometimes you would forget that fact completely. He was so different from everybody else.

He led you towards the tower where you stabbed one of the zombies in the throat. He was good at shooting, but you were very gifted with stabbing. You never missed.

“God damn”, Kai panted, as the mannequin swayed and collapsed on the asphalt just next to the glass door he was holding for you, “you saved my life”.

He took you in the movie gesture, pulling you into a long kiss. Your wrist started swelling and you had to take off your electronic watch temporarily. In the bleak room, it shone with green thin neon light from the bedside table while you had sex on the matrass.

In the middle of the night something fell off the roof, and scared the hell out of you - for real this time. You did not put anything on the top of the Tower since it was your fort. In the morning you came up on the top, while Kai went down and examined the object. Turned out, on the tenth of May, 1994, one single bag filled with files and staplers fell off the roof of the Hancock Tower. There was no way of knowing why.

“Wake up”.

You opened your eyes and rubbed your neck, aching from sleeping on the single mattrass on the floor. You looked out of the window. It has just stopped raining, which meant it was already close to midnight. In the dystopian Boston, you have switched to night regime of living completely because in the daylight, mannequins randomly standing in the streets looked simply stupid.

“The Titans”, he said. Kai’s face was so close to yours, you could feel the words on your skin. His eyes shone nervously.

“What Titans? It’s zombie apocalypse, Kai”.

He frowned.

“And what was Jeepers Creepers doing there then?”

“Oh my god”, you groaned, “let go of it already! You killed him like a week ago”.

“Come on, see for yourself”, he pulled you up, and you walked to the window, and gasped, instantly feeling for Kai’s hand. It couldn’t be happening.

That’s it! This madness finally drove you... mad.

There was an actual silhouette, the one you didn’t put there, and possibly couldn’t. The one that could not be put there for the life of you. The one of proportions too great for anyone to put it in the middle of the city, one foot on the right side of the river, and the other, on the left.

“What the fuck!” you yelled, your fright real as ever. Kai grinned happily, but then his face changed back to the philosophical expression of impending doom.

“This is it, Y/N. The zombies... and that dude... were just omens, but that’s it. The sky people have come to destroy us. It’s the end“.

“Seriously, Kai, how did you put it up... there?”

The sky was blackish-bordeaux, like usual. The river was seen just fine from here, from the top floor of the Tower. You had a pretty good look on the gloomy city and all its post-war industrial charm. The figure was so big it stood almost above the Tower itself; he reminded you of the Colossus of Rhodos, the Bronze Man, or one of the mythical golden gods of ancient times. You could actually feel your heart trying to break the hell out of your ribcage in a desperate attempt to kill itself. You couldn’t breathe for a second, mortified by the size of that thing. It was one of the deepest nightmares of your childhood, one of the visions haunting you from when you were little and kept dreaming about the end of the world.

You told Kai about those, and he now used them against you, but you appreciated the performance. It was all almost like art. It was horrifying and great, but you hated it.

“He came down from the clouds”, Kai said quietly, like a dispassionate narrator. Who already knows what’s coming, and doesn’t give a shit, because he’s already dead.

“To press the earth into the core of the planet, and make all life perish. He shall walk the land... waging his wrath on all that breathes. Including you and me”.

You made an effort to turn away, mesmerized by the statue, and looked at Kai.

“How much magic have you wasted on it?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t break the character, it takes me a lot of concentration”.

“Sorry”, you whispered.

“How do you feel about facing the end of the world with me?” he asked.

It was a damn good question. Parker really did ask all the right questions. After all the time in post-apocalyptic Boston, surrounded by enemy, living in a dark den and barely seeing the sun, it was very easy to actually sense the end coming. You clutched your own elbows, thinking. Strangely, you weren’t scared anymore.

A part of his face was in the shadow. He blinked the way you’ve only ever seen Kai blink, just a little, as if he didn’t want to lose visual even for a split second.

“I’m okay with it. I have lived a fine life, in my totalitarian city, guarded by robots and...”

“...zombies...”

“Hunted down by Harrison Ford...”

“You just jumble together all the movies, it’s actually insane, stop it”.

“But now as Cthulhu has sent its warriors...” (Kai rolled his eyes), “I’m ready to go”.

A lonely honk of a train cut through the distance making you feel melancholic. The trains were just crawling there day and night, filling the air with their lonesome cries occasionally. It would make any reasonable person go crazy, too.

“What will be the last thing you do before you die?” he whispered, his nose almost touching yours. You gave in, hot slow lava crawling up your body. You took Kai’s waist, trying to feel his ribs through three layers of clothing.

“You”.

He probably wore three or four shirts just to see you go nuts as you tried to undress him every time. His street jacket goes, then, a pullover, then a shirt, then another shirt, and you groan with anger as he chuckles at you, his hands snaking under your clothes at once. Your skin went shivering, covered with goose bumps under his fingers, like by magic.

As he pushed you against the wall, the gigantic Titan started melting above the river, looming shadow stepping away from the city, which was flattering. Kai’s whole mind was directed at you now.

You thought about how one loves at the brink of extinction; is it passionate, like when Kai grabbed your shoulder, your hair, pounding you into the floor, or is it gentle and thoughtful, like when you only moved your hips slowly, pressed against each other like two halves of Oreo, or is it impatient, breathless and vile, like when he was fucking you against the wall, talking all the way through your whimpering?

It took the end of the world for you to end up on his dick.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Tokyo Tower (Part 4) Herzog, Bondarev, MC

It took me a while to figure out what angle I was going to go with this. I hope you enjoy it!

In the Tokyo port area, not far from the coast, the sound of the midnight tide can be faintly heard. The iron tower stands in the rainstorm, a stark and bony giant, silently supporting the sky.

Tokyo Tower.

This tower was once the high point of Tokyo, but now it has been replaced by the taller Tokyo Sky Tree. But looking up from directly below, one can still be amazed at its majesty. The jagged steel supports are more like the skeleton of a giant than a living giant.

"Ukyo, Ukyo, Ruri calling, report your position." Ruri Kazama's voice came over your headset.

"Arriving at the first floor of the underground garage. It's a little strange how quiet it is." Chu Zihang replied.

 "After the Tokyo Sky Tree was built, this place has been forgotten. Who would come to the former tallest tower when you can climb the actual tallest tower to see Tokyo?" Ruri Kazama said, "That's why the King will choose this place for the meet up.”

His voice grows faint. “In the past, it was a Tokyo landmark. It appeared in various manga and movies. Couples saw climbing Tokyo Tower together as a romantic affair, and those who fell out of love came here to commit suicide. This place symbolizes the prosperity and loneliness of Tokyo. In ‘Tokyo Babylon’, there is a dead soul wandering in Tokyo Tower, and she says, "I hate Tokyo, so gorgeous on the outside, but so dirty on the inside.’"

"You don't seem to like Tokyo that much, do you?" Caesar said.

"Not only do I dislike it, I actually want to burn the city down. It's a sad city, like a colorful cage."

Lu Mingfei, next to you, gives you a searching look. “You like this guy?” He whispered.

The two of you were in your sniping positions on a building far from the tower. Your job was not to snipe Masamune Tachibana or Dr. Herzog -- aka King General -- but to control the perimeter to avoid their escape. You’d prepared yourself with rain proof gear and warm underclothes. You’d even brought snacks and a small thermos of tea to drink while you waited. You lay on a small pad to comfort yourself against the hard asphalt roof. It was almost like a camping trip.

To answer Mingfei’s question, you answer the comms. “It’s funny you say that, Ruri. I imagined one morning tilting the whole city into the sea.” You giggle. 

Mingfei’s face twisted in sheer disbelief.

"Sorry to disturb the lovebirds’ very romantic conversation, but I'm wet and cold here in the void and also lonely. That is, needless to say, you guys' warm and blossoming words are driving me nuts!" Fingel's indignant voice came out of the headset, "Will you please shut up?"

 "From my point of view, you are completely invisible, hidden really well. What is your position?" Lu Mingfei asked.

"The northwest side of the tower, about 60 meters from the special lookout. Do you want me to say hello and yell at you a few times? That way you can remember that there is a poor man like me shivering in the wind and rain!" Fingel said viciously "I mean, is this balloon really reliable?"

"It's a dirigible." Lu Mingfei corrected.

He put down his sniper rifle and lifted his binoculars to look at the sky. Following Fingel's instructions, he did see the huge black object suspended in the rainstorm, like a giant whale suspended in the restless sea. It was so close to the color of the sky that it was almost indistinguishable. But poor Fingel was handing underneath it by a rope in the rain.

“That’s a really cool idea, Mingfei. How did you come up with it?” You ask.

“Oh… I got inspired one day.” He lowered the binoculars and looked down at you. “What do you have there?”

“Chocolate chip cookies. Do you want one?” You held up a cookie the size of your hand and Mingfei’s eyes brightened!

Fingel moaned loudly and you grin.

"We have reached the second floor of the underground garage. There’s a problem." Chu Zihang said, "The rainstorm has been going on too long. The area is flooded. The water depth is half a meter. Caesar and I had to wade deep into the garage to find the pipe opening."

You can hear them splashing around and, leaning close to Mingfei’s ear, you whisper. “I think I picked the right job.”

"Basara! Ukyou! Quiet! Unidentified vehicles are approaching Tokyo Tower!" Ruri Kazama's voice came over the headset.

You quickly grab a cookie in your mouth and munch on it while watching through your rifle scope.  A silver vintage Mercedes Benz drove through the rain-swept streets, kicking up a huge wake. It pulled into the basement level parking garage near where Caesar and Chu Zihang were. From there, there was an elevator that would take him directly up to the Tokyo Tower’s observation deck. Sure enough, a few seconds later, the high-speed elevator zoomed smoothly up the tower.

"It's Tachibana Masamune, who surprisingly arrived an hour early and drove himself here." Ruri Kazama whispered.

 "He sounds like a very young man from the sound of his footsteps." Caesar said.

"To be sure, I can see him clearly from here. He has reached the main observation deck and is looking out the window. You are right, he is in a strange state tonight, like a young man. Like the Major Bondarev of old."

“Wow…” You breathe in amazement. “It’s really him.” 

Even though he's far away and standing next to a window that’s running with rain, you recognize his upright and proud posture. You were an older orphan, a well trained soldier. He was always jolly and excited, with a disarming personality, a roguishly handsome face and well muscled body. Everyone was excited when Bondarev arrived.

Even now, you can hear Khorkina’s excited squealing echoing from the underworld. “It's Mr. Bondarev! He’s here!”

He always came with the Lenin. For you, he was like Santa Claus. But he was way hotter. Mr. Bondarev was like Santa the young women in the orphanage dreamed of marrying. Tonight, instead of a kimono, Bondarev wore the black trench coat of the Executive Board, with an open lapel revealing a white shirt with a colorful lining.

“Why are you smiling? This guy killed your friends!” Mingfei hissed.

“I know.” You whisper back. “But I haven’t seen this guy in forever and … this is amazing. He hasn’t changed at all.”

Bondarev fished out his cell phone and dialed. He started speaking in Japanese. “Mingfei, what is he saying?”

“He’s talking to Chisei. They’re talking about Erii. She’s okay.” Mingfei replies. 

“That’s a relief. She was really sad but I comforted her. Don’t worry. She’ll wait for you.” You smile up at Mingfei but Mingfei doesn’t return it. You’re puzzled for a moment but then you shrug. “Don’t feel guilty about leaving her at the Hydras. You did the right thing. You’ll have another chance to go get her. Just don’t keep her waiting too long!”

The lights suddenly went out.

Tokyo tower suddenly turned into a lifeless ruin. Masamune's trench coat was shaking and snapping in a wind that blew in as emergency doors had opened on the observation deck. He showed no fear. His whole body looked like a taut longbow.

"Basara to Ruri! The power suddenly went out in the underground garage!" Caesar lowered his voice, "All the gates are closed!"

“Ruri here, not only is the power out at Tokyo Tower, but the surrounding blocks have gone dark, and the power supply to the entire district has been interrupted."

Ruri Kazama added, "But the lights of the stairs are on."

In the darkness, the iron staircase around Tokyo Tower was lit up. LED lights were installed underneath the staircase, and each step emitted a glowing white light, as if it were a path to heaven.

"After all these years, we're still in the habit of arriving early." A voice with a smile echoed around the tower. That voice came out of the Tokyo Tower's PA system, and there was no need for any listening device. Everyone could hear it clearly.

 "That's the voice of The King General!" Lu Mingfei whispered.

“I know, stupid. I can hear it myself!” A jolt of shock echoed through your entire body. The voice reverberated like a bell, in a pure and recognizable Russian language with an accent native only to Northern Siberia. You hadn’t heard anyone speak your language for weeks and the familiarity by which your mind responded to the words sent sparks of pleasure through your mind.

It wasn’t just the voice of the King General. It was the voice of Dr. Herzog. The Herzog you grew up with, the one who raised you up. His voice echoed through the halls. It encouraged you. Praised you. Spoke your name. For you to hear it through the PA system on your naked ears, unfiltered by your headset… your heart responds as though he were speaking directly to you.

 "Of course, it's always the first one to arrive who takes the first position. How can people like you and I allow each other to take the first position?" Bondarev looked around, "I'm late this time, what have you prepared waiting for me?"

“MC translation please…” Caesar grumbled.

“They’re not saying anything important.” You shake your head.

“Translation please….” Caesar’s voice echoed a bit warningly.

“Yes, sir.”

 You speak in English for all to understand. "What else could it be? Of course it's authentic Red Label vodka and cold ice shipped from distant Siberia. Isn't that what friendship between men should be like? The liquor that burns the veins and the ice that never melts." Through the earpiece, you can hear the sound of vodka pouring straight from the bottle and the clinking of ice cubes. It was like he was sitting right next to you in the dark winter cabins of the north.

You can’t help yourself but smile. You knew this man. Were you not the only one frozen in the ice sea from twenty years ago? This is exactly a scene from your past being played out in real time! 

 "Why don't you walk faster? We have not seen each other for more than twenty years. You’ve gotten old. The world does not have much time for old people. We should seize every minute."

Your voice falls into the same tone and cadence of the King’s manner of speaking. You can’t see either of them now, but you can imagine him holding the glass up. He was probably going to toast to something. He always did.

"How can you not enjoy the overture before the official movement begins? Do you still listen to Tchaikovsky's 'Swan Lake'?" You are translating but it sparked a memory. “That’s right. Dr. Herzog loved Swan Lake. That’s why the port was called Black Swan Bay.”

  "The favorite thing to listen to now is his Sixth Symphony, the swan song he wrote for himself." Your heart sinks when you hear this and translate. After you finish translating you say. “Herzog is dying.”

“How can you tell?” Caesar asked.

“Tchaikovsky's 6th symphony was the last one he ever wrote. After he performed it he died a few days later.” You answer.

“You seem to understand each other’s words very well. I wouldn’t have picked up on that…” Caesar commented.

You don’t answer him. The night before you had already discussed this with him. Even though you had learned a lot from Caesar and had adopted a few of his philosophies, you were still fundamentally the daughter that Herzog raised. It seemed like he still had a hard time accepting that.

"You look a bit ridiculous nowadays, Major Bondarev." 

 "You look a bit scary today, however, Dr. Herzog."

"Do you want to analyze the ingredients before you drink it?"

“You’re not going to poison me.”

 "Shouldn't we share a toast?" 

You huffed. “I knew he was going to do that.’

 "To what? To the once glorious Soviet Union?" You can scarcely hold your laughter. These guys were exactly as you remembered him. It was almost like a scene from a movie you’d watched dozens of times.

You sigh, once again falling into Herzog’s way of speaking, gesturing with the glass like he always did. "There is no need to raise a glass to it. It is dead. Let’s celebrate that we have all survived, that those who survive are the strong, and that the strong raise their glasses to each other."

Your hand pauses in the air with its invisible glass.

“Ah. So is that why we have a third glass here?” Bondarev said.

“You also have seen the girl?” Herzog said. 

You’re so shocked that you forget to translate. You spin so fast, Lu Mingfei jumps out of his skin. You press your eye to the scope. But you can’t really see them any more.

Bondarev is speaking now. “Yes, I have to say, I struggled to keep my composure. Looking at her was like looking at a ghost. When did you see her?”

“I didn’t personally see her. It was reported back to me.” Herzog said.

Caesar’s voice. “MC!”

“Sorry!” You gasp. “They’re talking about me! They’re… they’re raising their glasses… to me. To the … only girl who made it out of Black Swan Bay to study.” Your voice fades and becomes choked with emotion. But not for your dead friends. You felt sad for the little girl you used to be who looked up to Herzog. Herzog was a loving and caring personality that little girl had wanted desperately to please. She had worked hard to the end for his smile of approval. But the whole time, he knew she was going to die.

Tonight, he was forced to give that smile of approval. Despite his plans, you did make it. You steel yourself again against the tragedy, not allowing yourself to cry or even feel sad for long. “Yeah. A toast to me, asshole, I’m going to shoot you in your head for my graduation party.” You snarl.

“I got worried there for a second.” Caesar said. 

“I’m fine. They’re just sweeping the area for bugs now. But they won’t find any.”

 Herzog and Bondarev each took off their outerwear and threw it on the ground, pulling up the sleeves of their shirts, moving neatly as if to admire themselves in the mirror.

"What is the meaning of this? Do old friends meet to strip naked and hug?" Fingel monitored every movement in the special observation deck.

 "No, except for the outer clothing, their clothes are very close fitting, which means they can't hide bulky weapons under their clothes, such as guns. Rolling up their sleeves is a sign that they don't have throwing knives hidden on their wrists, which are no less deadly than bullets at that distance." Ruri Kazama said, "It's a way for spies to show the other side that they are 'clean'."

"What classic old spies!" Fingel exclaimed.

You chuckle. “Right out of James Bond. Oh, they’re talking now. I don’t quite understand what it means. Bondarev is asking Herzog if he wants to ascend to the throne of the world. And he says that Dragons can live over a thousand years and be reborn through… cocooning? What does it mean?”

Chu Zihang responded. “Dragon Kings, when they hatch, create an alchemical device called an ‘egg’. Through a special process, if they get mortally wounded, they can put themselves in this ‘egg’ device and regenerate. So long as they can make their egg, and protect it, they will never die.”

You nod. “It sounds like Herzog wants to evolve into a dragon. Turn into a dragon. He says that’s the only way he knows that he is really existing, is if he’s at the very top of the food chain. If nothing else can eat him then he is truly alive. The rest of the world is just food.”

A soft moan interrupts your listening and translation work. Lu Mingfei is wincing and sighing with his eyes tightly shut. His hand is against his forehead. “Mingfei! Are you alright?” 

He doesn’t answer immediately. He doesn’t even seem to hear you at all. You shake his shoulders. “Mingfei! Are you using a Soul Skill? Is this sequelae?” You try to look into his eyes but they’re closed! “Mingfei!”

Mingfei’s whole body gave a tremendous shiver. Even though the rain was cold, he was sweating. 

You kneel next to him. “It’s okay. I’m here. Are you sick?”

“MC, for the last time, I don’t need you to worry about Mingfei’s panic attacks, I need you to translate!”

“I’m … I’m sorry! Bondarev’s saying. ‘What makes a child whose life is as fragile as a broken candle catch your attention, Doctor?’”

 “Herzog is saying that only one out of 100,000 humans exposed to dragon blood will survive. That he is 1 in 100,000. But also, Bondarev’s daughter is 1 in 100,000! He’s talking about Erii!”

"He says that the power of any evolutionary drug can only end up creating deadpool. The real evolution drug is an alchemical drug and the core ingredient is the blood of ancient dragons, especially the fetal blood of the White King. By obtaining that fetal blood, they have the opportunity to create the perfect evolutionary drug." Your voice rises in panic.

“They’re going to use it on Erii! They’re going to turn Erii into a dragon!”

[a3hihi]

a script reading (pre-Mankai)

Oneshot

Fushimi Omi & Nachi, original characters 

also on AO3!

Summary

“Okay,” Nachi drawls, slipping off of his bike in one go.

He looks everyone over. “I’ve got you here today to hear part of my script reading. If you like it, you can tell me. If you don’t like it, then you can run before we catch you.”

The Wolves behind him flash their teeth at that, grinning.

The Mad Fox could throw a punch. The rival gang didn’t think he could deliver lines, too.

Dai’s running like he’s never run before.

Like how his friends warned, stepping on the Wolves’ turf was a terrible idea.

The streets in Tokyo are lit yellow, blue, and red that evening, but they’re blurred in Dai’s eyes. The river beside them, separated from the road by a fence, flows quietly, masking nothing. Dai can hear himself panting, the stomps of his team following behind him. His boots slip on the asphalt and he’s lucky to catch himself.

What was their leader even gonna say once she heard about this?

Dai whips his head around frantically. His other members’ eyes are wide with fear. They’re stuck.

They all turn a corner to lose the people chasing them, heaving.

They’ve covered enough ground, he thinks, until he hears screeches from tires and hoots from their rival gang. Amid the chorus of their engines revving, some of them mimic wolves’ howls, whooping with laughter as they skid to a stop.

They’ve caught up.

One of the Wolves’ leaders, Nachi, laughs the loudest.

He takes off his helmet and sets it aside, boasting a shock of bright green hair. He stands out from most of his gang, members dark-haired and dressed in leathers.

“Okay,” Nachi drawls, slipping off of his bike in one go.

He looks everyone over. “I’ve got you here today to hear part of my script reading. If you like it, you can tell me. If you don’t like it, then you can run before we catch you.”

The Wolves behind him flash their teeth at that, grinning.

Dai backs up until he sticks to a brick wall, crinkling with posters and dried gum. Some of his teammates still stand, while others are startled into falling.

“We’re not scared of you,” one of them says. “Our leader’s gonna know any minute now. She runs this part of town.”

“Really? What’s her name?” Nachi asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Chiyo—"

“Ah. Say, Omi, didn’t we break her arm here a week ago?”

Dai and his friends gulp.

One of the taller members slides off his bike and ambles to where Nachi stands. Next to Nachi’s bright hair and smiling face, this guy looks plain besides his build. He scowls at Dai and the rest.

“I remember.”

The taller one, who Dai assumes is Omi, looks at his partner, frowning.

“What did you wanna do?”

"Try something new, that’s all.”

His voice rings out as the gang gawks at him in confusion.

Nachi reaches into his jacket and takes out a printed-out script, clearing his throat.

“A monologue from As You Like It, by William Shakespeare. Act two, scene seven, line one hundred thirty-nine."

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”

Nachi takes two steps forward. The other members scramble further away, their backs pressed to the wall behind them.

Nachi’s gestures and position change as he speaks. He brings his arms out during certain phrases.

“They have their exits and their entrances,”

He controls his voice with ease, shifting his facial expressions and moving from one word to another.

“And one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.”

In the minutes that pass, it happens smoothly, like he’s practiced it many times before.

"Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."

"...Last scene of all, that ends this strange eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion,"

He swipes at his face.

Dai's friends look on, but Nachi doesn’t say anything more.

“So? How was that?”

Everyone else looks like they’re stunned into silence.

“Nachi! That was awesome!” yells a silver-haired boy to Nachi’s left.

“Thank you, Ryo,” he says before he smirks at Dai's friends.

“Well? Any feedback?”

They’re quiet.

“No?” Nachi mutters, raising a brow that makes them flinch.

One of Dai’s fellow members pretends to cough.

“Your emotions were nice, I guess.”

What the hell was going on?

“Okay, I’ll work on that. Anyone else?”

Nachi’s holding back a laugh.

“You kinda freaked me out during that last part," another member squeaks.

"Got it. It was intended, I’ll give you that."

No one talks.

Dai speaks up from his crouched spot by the wall.

"You could take some more pauses."

Nachi looks him dead in the eye. “What makes you think that?”

Dai swallows. “Makes it easier for us to get the story. I think.”

Nachi stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Alright. Thank you all for cooperating,” he calls out.

“Now, I’m going to count to three.”

He backs up until he’s in line with the other Wolves.

“If you’re not gone by then,” he chuckles, “well, you know what’s comin’.”

“One.”

Dai and his team shoot up.

“Two.”

They scatter in all directions.

“Three.”

Street’s empty.

Near midnight, the streets in Tokyo are still lit yellow, yellow, blue, and red, shining on two lumbering boys. No other Wolves or motorcycles in sight. One has a lollipop in his mouth; the other is silent. The river still masks nothing.

Still quiet, too, save for bikes’ engines.

Omi barks out a laugh, and the rest of them join in.

"Care to tell me what that was all about?" Omi asks.

Nachi takes a breath. “I just thought it would be interesting.”

“Huh?”

“If you do something different, people remember you,” he shrugs. “Plus the Wolves found it fun.”

“No, no. I get that.” Omi frowns.

“But you don’t just pull… speeches out of thin air like that. Things like this need a lot of effort.”

Nachi faces him, lollipop pinched between his fingers. “You’re right. They do.”

Nachi makes jazz hands at him. “Acting.”

“If word of me pulling that stunt comes out,” he continues, picking at his bracelet, “Then I’ll make sure people don’t come after them.”

Omi crosses his arms.

“‘S long as I’m here, no one lays a finger on the Wolves. Or on either of us. Listen, it’s not about rumors.”

Nachi doesn’t answer, so Omi stops walking.

“Hey.” Omi punches his shoulder.  “I’m serious. I won’t laugh at you if you’re into that stuff. The others won’t either.”

Nachi allows himself a wry smile and slings an arm around Omi’s shoulders.

“Well, I have your support. That counts for something.”

Omi beams at his best friend.

Trash cans clang from a nearby alley. The both of them come to a halt.

“Was that a cat?” Nachi asks.

Omi cocks his head to the side. “I don’t think so.”

Dai stumbles out from behind the wall, nursing a bruise where he must have hit a trash can. His eyes land on them.

“I... I was just on my way home,” he yelps, breath catching in his throat.

Omi squints. “How much did you hear?”

“Nothing. I swear.”

“Let me take care of him,” Nachi says, stepping forward and rolling his sleeve up.

“Nah.” Omi catches his friend's arm.

“He can send a message back to Chiyo.”

His voice is light, saying that, like he isn’t threatened in the slightest.

“Let me make this simple.” Omi sets his eyes down to Dai's level.

“Because I’m not an asshole, I'll let you go for now.”

Dai’s frozen in place.

“I take it your house isn’t far from here?”

Omi's face doesn't change as Dai nods, trying his best not to stammer.

“Try not to show your face around here again. Then we’re out of your hair.”

Dai tightens his jaw and runs off til he’s out of sight.

“Omi!! You gotta teach me how to do that sometime!”

Ryo runs up to them, catching his breath. Two, then three, then five more of the Wolves follow behind him on the road.

“I thought you all went home.”

Ryo wheezes. “We wanted to see you before heading back!”

Omi grimaces at that, rolling his eyes.

“Suit yourselves. I just don’t want you to start something stupid and then regret it.”

Ryo’s eyes sparkle. “Do you have more lollies?”

“What.”

Ryo smiles until Omi sighs and pats his pockets, searching for something, finally fishing out lollipops.

“It wouldn’t kill you to have a salad every once in a while.” Omi grunts, shaking his head. "If you idiots don’t take care of yourselves, I swear I'll—”

"You'll what?" Nachi teases.

His partner smirks. "I'll blow all your houses down."

"That was the lamest thing I've ever heard."

"Go jump in the river."

"If you ask nicely, maybe I will."

Nachi shouts an "OW!" as Omi shoves him.

The rest of the gang snickers.

“Where’d you learn to make those lollipops anyway?” Nachi asks.

“My mom taught me.”

Omi smiles, looking at them all. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Oh.” Nachi purses his lips and pats his friend’s back. “Teach us how to make them?”

"I guess."

As the others crowd around them, Ryo tugs at Omi’s jacket.

“Nachi could do another one of those script things.”

“Script readings, Ryo.”

“Yeah, yeah!”

[lirlovesfic]

The Choice

A Doctor Who fanfic Summary: After GitF, the TARDIS brings the Doctor, Rose, and Mickey back to the estate to solve a problem involving the TARDIS herself. But when they see a familiar face, the face of someone who should not exist, they realize the problem is deeper than they thought and could endanger the Doctor’s very existence. Primary characters: Ninth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, Jackie Tyler. Genres: Romance, mystery, adventure, drama, character study, HN AU, fobbed!Nine, sick TARDIS. Pairings: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose Rating: Adult

Warning: None for this chapter

a/n: I am currently working on editing this chapter-by-chapter, with the hopes of completing a chapter a day until I catch up with myself. As I mentioned in a previous post, I’m doing it to try to get back into the swing of writing and to build some momentum in order to finish this. Also, there have been some tiny things nagging at me for a while (grammar, punctuation, etc.) so I’ll be correcting as many of them as I can find as I go. The story will not change. In fact, most of the changes are going to be so minor that I doubt anyone (besides myself) will notice. But to keep me on target, I’ll be posting it all here as I go, with links to the other websites it’s on. I hope you enjoy it.

This chapter: on AO3, on TSP, on ffnet

Prologue–London, 1 January, 2007 Six months ago… Fire. Searing heat. An inferno of red and yellow and orange rushing through the deep red grasses of the plains. Red flames igniting the trees. The delicate silver leaves ablaze, turning the trees into torches that illuminated the night sky. Screams. Running. Monstrous metal creatures of silver and black with glowing eye stalks. Shooting beams of energy. Killing everything in sight. "Exterminate! Exterminate!" Disjointed faces. Circling, swirling in front of his eyes. Voices. Echoing… An elderly man. Straight white hair. Beaky nose. "One day I shall come back. Yes, I shall come back..." Dark, straight hair. An expressive face. "Jamie, stay with me, don't wander off." White hair. Piercing eyes. "Courage isn't just a matter of not being frightened, you know. It's being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway." Brown curls. Floppy hat. Lots of teeth. "Just touch these two strands together, and the Daleks are finished... Have I that right?" Straight blond hair. A young face. Pleasant features. "Brave heart, Tegan." Blond curls. Haughty, arrogant. Filled with righteous indignation. "Power-mad conspirators, Daleks, Sontarans, Cybermen - they're still in the nursery compared to us. Ten million years of absolute power. That's what it takes to be really corrupt." Dark hair. A Panama hat. "Every great decision creates ripples. Like a huge boulder dropping in a lake. The ripples merge and rebound off the banks in unforeseeable ways. The heavier the decision, the larger the waves, the more uncertain the consequences." Dark curly hair. A grave expression. "It's not my war. I will have no part of it." An elderly man. A warrior. "No more!" Explosions. Fire. Fire everywhere. The ground on fire. The sky on fire. The sounds of screaming– Suddenly cut off. Silence. The silence of space. The silence of the Void. The silence of the dead. After a moment that could have lasted a second or a year or several millennia, new images, new sounds, emerged out of the blackness. New faces. New voices. Plastic people. A hand in his. A glimpse of blonde hair. "Run!" "Are they students?" "Nice to meet you… Run for your life!" "The turn of the Earth… I can feel it. Now forget me…" "It wasn't my fault! I couldn't save your world! I couldn't save any of them!" Someone swinging on a chain, saving him. Another glimpse of blonde hair. A pretty face. Warm brown eyes and a generous mouth. "You were useless in there. You'd be dead if it wasn't for me." "Yes, I would… Uh... I don't know... you could come with me." "You could come with me…" "You could come with me…" The feel of something repetitively poking him in the ribs drew him slowly back to consciousness. As awareness returned, he gradually realized he was lying face down on something hard. Rough. Asphalt. Cutting into the side of his face. "Oi, mate. Wakey, wakey," said a deep male voice. The poking became harder, more insistent. He opened his eyes a crack. Even that slight movement made his head pound. Despite lying horizontally, he was struck with a wave of dizziness and nausea. "Come on, time to wake up." This was a different voice. Lighter, younger. Feminine. He wondered where he was, and cautiously he opened his eyes wider. Someone, probably the person poking him, was shining a torch in his face. Through the glare, he could see a series of bins in front of him. All sorts of rubbish lay on the ground around and under them–pizza cartons and takeaway containers, empty glass whisky bottles and half empty pop bottles, cast off bits of clothing and used condoms and fragrant nappies, and large black bin bags filled so tightly they threatened to burst–as if the people who had left it all couldn't be bothered to actually lift up the lids of the bins and put it inside. He turned his head, wincing at the throbbing pain that shot through his head at the move. Black shoes led to black trousers led to radio equipped utility belts led to bright yellow rain slickers and black helmets. Police officers. One, the female–petite with dark brown skin and closely cropped hair–was looking at him with a frown, while the other, the male–large with a red, beefy face–was still prodding him with a baton. "Ow," he complained. "Sir, are you hurt?" the policewoman asked. He groaned. Now I am, he thought. "Sir, have you been mugged?" she asked. "He hasn't been mugged, Seward," her partner said. "New Year's, unconscious in an alley, he's sleepin' it off. And now he needs to go home." The policeman turned back to him. "So you need to get up and go home, mate." "I don't smell any alcohol on him, Rutgers," Seward told him. "Doesn't mean anything," Rutgers said. "Alcohol, drugs… whatever he took, he needs to sleep it off at home, not in the alley." "Shouldn't he go to A & E?" "Not if he's not hurt," her partner replied. "And I don't see a mark on him." As they spoke, he felt an overwhelming wave of drowsiness. His eyes drifted closed. "Oi, don't go back to sleep!" Rutgers said, poking him again. "Wake up." "Sir, can you tell us your name?" He opened his eyes again. The policewoman, Seward, was kneeling over him now, concern written all over her face. "Can you tell us your name?" she repeated. "Is there someone we can call?" He opened his mouth to answer… and realized he didn't remember. Not whether he had any family, not where he was from, not how he had ended up in the alley. Not even his name. Nothing. "Told you he was drunk," Rutgers said. He couldn't argue with that. He didn't remember, so for all he knew he had been. "Check his ID," the officer continued. Seward reached forward as if she was going to check his pockets, and he held up a hand. Slowly he pushed himself up to a sitting position and patted down his jacket. All he could find was a slim wallet in an interior pocket. He handed it to her. "Looks like he's… John Smith from Manchester," she said. She handed her partner the wallet. "Manchester, eh?" Rutgers said. The officer examined the contents before handing the wallet back to him. "You're a long way from home." He flipped open the wallet. Only one thing in it, a driving license made out in the name of John Smith, Manchester, with the picture of a man with short cropped hair and a big nose and big ears. Him, he guessed, although the face didn't look familiar. Frowning, he searched the wallet. Beyond the license there was nothing in it. No money, no credit card, no NHS card, not even an old ticket for the Tube. He returned his attention to the driving license. There was something odd about it. For just a second, he could have sworn it was just a blank piece of paper… "Yeah, guess I am," he replied. He put the wallet back in his pocket. "So what's your story? Drunk or mugged?" John tried to remember, but he couldn't. The name sounded familiar, but odd at the same time, like it could be his but really wasn't. But until he could figure out who he was, it was as good a name as any. "If you were drunk, we could let you go with a warning," Rutgers continued. "But if you were mugged, we'd have to bring you in to file a report. Now which was it? Drunk or mugged?" There was only one answer he could give. If they brought him in to file a report, he'd have to admit he didn't remember who he was, and that could mean a stint in the local psychiatric ward. No. If he was sectioned, he'd never figure out who he was. "New Year's," he said, remembering that the officer had mentioned it earlier. "Was celebratin'. Had a couple too many at the local and got pissed. Was on my way home, but obviously didn't make it." Rutgers nodded sharply. "Right. We'll be on our way, then. And next time, make sure you head home before you're so drunk you can't walk." He headed out of the alley, but Seward hung back for a moment, a worried expression on her face. "Are you going to be able to make it home all right?" she asked. "Absolutely," he told her. She nodded. John could tell she didn't believe him, but she stood and headed towards the mouth of the alley anyway. Just before she left, he stopped her. "Hey," he said impulsively. "What year is it?" She stared at him in shock. "It's 1 Jan, 2007. Are you sure you're alright?" "Don't worry about me," he told her. "I'm fantastic. Absolutely fantastic." She gave him another disbelieving look before turning and following her partner out of the alley. John gave them a several minute head start before he stood up. His entire body ached, as if it had been pummeled repeatedly. Maybe he had been mugged after all, he thought. Without knowing where to go, he slowly staggered out of the alley, never noticing the tall blue box he was leaving behind.