#This post brought to you by another person joking about how Martha is so strong for putting up with the Doctor because of the crush stuff

[allthoseotherworlds]

It's honestly pretty frustrating sometimes how I feel like so many people say they love Martha, but mostly what I actually see people saying about Martha is how much she probably does/should hate the Doctor for not returning her crush, or sometimes how much people hate Blink/Family of Blood/Last of the Time Lords because they were hard for her.

And like, the former of those is frustrating because a) Nobody is obligated to return someone's romantic feelings, b) Being oblivious to someone having a crush on you might suck for the other person but is not actually a moral failing and c) Martha was sad about it but like. She didn't leave because she was furious at the Doctor for not returning her crush? She left because she knew her crush wasn't reciprocated and wasn't going to be, but couldn't get over it on her end while travelling with the Doctor. And also because the past year had been pretty traumatizing for everyone, including her and also the Doctor and also everyone else who was on that ship thing.

Anyways

I just wanted to talk for a bit about the things I like about Martha, or that are interesting, that are unrelated to those points above.

I think she's the first companion in New Who to join Unit, and I think still the only one to be a medical doctor with a strong scientific backing. Which is cool!

I think it's interesting that in the first episode she appears in, her family is shown to be kind of messy and kind of frustrating, and it feels like that's something she's a little glad to be getting away from for a bit when she travels with the Doctor (though it's not the reason she travels with them). And then, at the end of the season when her family is in danger she prioritizes their wellbeing enough to snap at the Doctor about it. If I remember correctly their phones were tapped or something and it wound up making things a bit worse, but I appreciate the nuances of her relationship with them and how important they are to her despite the messiness.

Despite all the ado made about her crush on the Doctor, I really loved how she really seemed to get the point of travelling with the Doctor. I think that she nailed both the joy and excitement of the unknown, and the compassion and sense of care that motivates the Doctor's travels, and which I think is vital to all of my favourite companions.

It also contrasts in interesting ways with how her personality shifts after she stops travelling with the Doctor - she still cares about people's wellbeing and seems to value the things she learned while travelling, but working with Unit and Torchwood does make her more military, and then of course doing freelance alien fighting (? or something?) in the End of Time.

I think Martha and the Doctor are an interesting duo because they contrast each other in interesting ways. They're both compassionate, hopeful but practical, and good at what they do, but they reflect those qualities in ways that almost, but don't quite, fit together nicely. They don't conflict, really, but they're not quite sustainable either.

They work well together and care about each other, but they're too similar in some ways and too different in others to ever quite see eye to eye, which is why they end up going in different directions. And I think that's not anyone's fault, or indicative of any deep flaws in either of them. Or even really a tragedy, because Martha seems to be doing new and interesting things every time we see her, with plenty of options available and a decent rapport with the Doctor whenever they show up.

Anyway this got way longer than I meant it to. Tldr: There are so many more interesting things to say about Martha than just "She must hate the Doctor". Here are some of them.

[nnightskiess]

𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ₊° -𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫.

series masterlist

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

i kindly ask you to not copy, republish, translate or reproduce this imagine on wattpad or on other platforms. respect the author’s work <3

By day's end, the campfire crackled and it was hard not to let yourself get lulled to sleep after the tiresome walk up the hill and the few hours of sleep you'd had the night before. You were in the sand with your arm over your forehead, but your eyes shot open when Shelby's enthusiastic voice filled the silence,

"Look what washed up!"

A black duffle was thrown in the middle of the group, a proud and cheerful Shelby standing behind it,

You sat up on your knees, hoping this was your duffle, but you definitely weren't the grey-haired guy on the nametag picture.

"Gotta figure this was our pilot... Davis Michael Crane..." Dot mumbled.

"Guess we found our John Doe."

Leah playfully shook her head at your inside joke.

"Now, sir, I don't have a great feeling about where you're at right now, but the shit you left behind will not be wasted." Dot spoke before throwing the nametag away and opening the duffle bag,

"Dottie, don't be morbid."

"Uh, well, sorry-" She turned to Shelby, "-but this bag is a haul... Pain pills... disinfectants, basically a whole medicine cabinet. Y/N, get over here so I can clean that wound of yours."

"It's nothing." You shook your head and hid your elbow, not wanting to accept the help.

"She's going for that hot castaway busted-lip kind of look, don't you get that?" Fatin shot a smirk your way, "It'll have all the ladies at your feet the moment the press posts our photos after we get rescued."

"The hell, Fatin? Way to expose my secret."

She sent you a flirty wink, "I can read you like the back of my hand, I'm onto you."

"That's not intimidating at all."

Fatin laughed, then pointed at the obvious recent scar on your underarm, "Bank robbery of '33, Bonnie?"

"No, actually- got this when I was held hostage in my own house after they broke in and tore the place apart because I couldn't give them any money."

"That was a really descriptive story, I feel like shouldn't believe you."

"It happened." You shrugged.

"Y'all, listen-" Dot stood up to address the group, "I know we're all down in the dumps after the news they brought back... but we have some cokes, some food from the plane, a fire to keep us warm and a bag of medicine. I know it doesn't look too promising, but if we need to, then this will bring us through the next couple of days until help has arrived. Let's not lose hope, okay? We can't afford to."

"I never thought we'd still be here by now..." Martha spoke softly.

Rachel nodded, her eyes focused on the flickering of the flames, "Really thought we wouldn't have to spend another night sleeping here. Do you think they at least know where we are?"

"Vaguely, perhaps."

"Modern-day's technology is smart enough to pinpoint the exact location." You tried to give her an uplifting smile, already hating how you had fought with her. You were not that kind of person, "Help will come soon."

She tried to smile back but it was clear she didn't totally believe you. However, your effort hadn't gone unnoticed because as you sat alone to watch the sunset an hour later, Rachel appeared next to you.

"May I?"

"Sure, but keep your distance, I might go all Cena again."

She rolled her eyes when she saw you were joking but sat down nonetheless.

"About that...Sorry if I came across too strong...and for targeting you."

It took you a second to hide the shock on your face. She was apologising to you? Someone... was apologising to you?

"Uh... oh- yeah, I mean... we all use different coping mechanisms, don't we? Yours has just caused you to butt heads with me... twice."

"Third time's a charm?" A playful grin washed over her face.

"Please, no, you're scary when you're angry."

Rachel chuckled, "Thanks for climbing up the hill with us and um... for putting me in my place."

"I didn't like doing it, but I'll do it again if I need to."

"That's fair." She nodded absentmindedly but cracked a tiny smile again when you offered her a handful of peanuts, "Thanks."

It got a little awkward, the munching of the peanuts the only sound filling the silence, but you were relieved that this conversation had taken place.

You felt Shelby hover again before you saw her, and when you looked over your shoulder, you saw the familiar blonde ponytail bounce sideways when she quickly turned around. You had been too occupied watching your step walking up that hill to also be busy stopping yourself from breaking down your walls, but the tiny crack she had seen, you had already cemented shut again. Whatever tiny slip-up had happened up there, whatever tiny smile you had given her, was past tense now and you weren't too keen on facing her again.

So when Nora approached to talk to her sister, you dusted yourself off and walked back towards the light of the camp.

"Back home, whenever the air gets this stuffy, it usually means you've gotta brace yourself for some heavy rainstorm."

"If you're trying to lift our spirits then you're doing a really shitty job." Toni grinned and moved aside to make room for you around the campfire.

A harsh gust of wind made the campfire flicker. It lost all its fire momentarily before slowly picking up again. The wind rose again, blowing sand in your faces. The army of dark clouds advanced. It began to drizzle.

"Um, that might become a problem."

"You're kidding."

"Don't think that's going to be our only problem." Toni held up a finger, signalling for you all to listen to the rumble of the sky.

"That doesn't have to mean anything. It might pass us."

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

"It might pass us?!" Fatin yelled out over the howling wind.

The booming of the thunder crashed through the night and mixed together with the screams of all of you girls.

The sand blew into your eyes, making them irritate and water. But the water in your eyes could also be from the rain. Your vision was a teary blur while you tried your best to stop things from getting taken in the wind.

"Please make it stop!"

"Come here, I've got you-"

Strands of hair stuck to your face, your whole body was drenched. Some girls scrambled together to hide under jackets, others were out stopping things from flying away as well. Shirts and other clothing articles flew out of Fatin's suitcase which she tried so hard to close, but the wind made it difficult.

"I used to think thunderstorms were, like... majestic."

"That still your take?!"

Another thunder clapped through the sky, and soon after your faces lit up for a short second.

"No..." Leah mumbled out.

"All right, come on- everyone grab an end! Get under!" Dot grabbed the emergency slide she had found that day, "Leah, come on!"

The thunder rumbled again, making you shrink at the sudden loud clap that followed. It was close.

"Y/N, get under!"

"The meds!" You yelled back, "Where are the meds? And the food!"

"Forget about that! Grab an end!"

"No, we need-" A thunder interrupted you.

"Y/N, let's go-" A hand grabbed a fistful of your shirt and pulled you backwards, under the slide.

There you all sat, shivering and shrinking with each loud clap of thunder. The wind howled through the trees, and the waves of the sea seemed to answer with loud clashing in return.

"My ankle's so itchy." Martha's voice trembled from the cold.

"My leg is kind of itchy, too..."

"Yeah, mine too."

"Shit, sand fleas." Dot spoke from next to you.

"Sand what?!" Fatin snarked with obvious distaste.

"Sand fleas! Well- they're not really fleas, they're more like tiny little shrimp."

"They're not lethal!" She continued after Fatin's whining and words of protest, "They're just annoying. Once the rain stops, we can just go scrub them off."

"What do you mean scrub them off?! I don't want to scrub them off!"

Not being able to hold it in any longer, you started to scratch and scrape at your exposed skin.

"Uh...you know... before they get a chance to burrow."

Fatin let out a strangled yelp, her skin getting even itchier thinking about it.

"Can't the rain was them off?!" Leah wondered, she too being busy scratching her legs open.

"Um... all I know is that the rain makes them climb to the surface of the sand."

"So we're sitting on an Atlantis filled with fucking shrimp?!"

"Pretty much."

Fatin turned to shout at the uncaring sky, "Fuck my life!"

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Each girl had shivered all throughout the night, even when the rain had stopped, you being no exception. The storm had left you drenched and the fact that you were still in only a t-shirt had made it worse.

Wanting to provide for the group, you had offered to walk around to find stuff that had gotten lost in the storm. So there you were, trailing along the coastline, with the wind trying to blowdry your clothes simultaneously. So far you had found two bags of nuts, a red crop top, purple joggers and one of the swagbags, as Fatin liked to call them.

When you walked back, you stumbled upon Rachel, Nora and Leah who seemed busy preparing for something.

"What are you guys doing?"

"Gonna swim to the plane wreckage, wanna come with?" Rachel asked.

"No, thanks. Deep water isn't my thing."

"You're probably scared of what's in the depth of the waters, not the water itself."

You turned to Nora, "Still not going. Good luck, though! Be careful."

"We'll leave in five, if you change your mind."

The smoke that Dot wafted into the air and filled your lungs when you walked to the group made you think of home. It maybe wasn't the best memory to think of right now, but it happened.

"Hey, you're back! Anything new washed up? What did you find?"

"Just some nuts, more of Fatin's clothing and a swagbag." You put emphasis on the last word and threw it against Fatin's chest.

"Yeah, no, this is your Hawaii souvenir. It has your name on it." She threw it back.

"Fantastic." You muttered sarcastically before dropping onto the sand next to her.

Fatin snorted, "You look like a wet dog."

"You look like Pink Panther."

"Wow, add witty comebacks to the list too. It's getting longer and longer, girl. It's a leopard, by the way."

You let out an indifferent grunt, still grumpy from the events of the night before and the lack of sleep, "Potato, potato."

Fatin just snickered from beside you.

"How's your ankle, Martha?"

The girl looked up at you, immediately sending a tired but grateful smile your way, "Better, thank you."

"Anyone hungry? Toni?" You pulled the bags of nuts you had found out of your pocket and gave her a package.

"Thanks."

She started sharing with Martha. Fatin dismissed your offer.

"Um, Shelby?"

"Oh... yeah, sure! Thank you, Y/N." She accepted the other one.

"How are you all so dry already? Did she hide a blowdryer in that overpriced suitcase of hers?"

But your eyes took in the new clothes they were all wearing, which probably belonged to Fatin.

"I would need an outlet for that, dipshit."

"One-thousand dollars and it does not have an outlet?! Abomination."

Fatin rolled her eyes, and the other girls smiled.

"Whatever. Want a sweater? Pants? A hairbrush? A thong? You name it. Mi suitcasa es tu suitcasa." Fatin had already gone to open her suitcase but you stopped her.

"No, thank you, it's alright."

"Suit yourself."

"Dottie- what is that?" Shelby watched Dot work on the fire.

"Wet wood gets us black smoke, gets us a signal fire. Probably a good idea to keep it going during the day." Dot stood up when she noticed Nora, Rachel and Leah were about to leave,

"And, guys... I was pretty slack on this yesterday and it cost us— we've got to get real about shelter. If we all, you know, pitch in, grab the materi-"

Fatin’s hand went up like a missile and she wiggled her fingers to get Dot's attention,

"-Yes, lady in the leopard?"

"That sounds really unappealing and I'm exhausted... and there's rescue coming, so for those reasons... I'm out."

"Hey- where y'all going?!" Shelby walked to the three girls that had left quietly.

"We're swimming out to the wreckage, see if we can find anything useful."

"All right, just real quick- what do you guys think about building a shelter?" She rose her voice so that her message could be heard over the distance that grew now that they started to walk away.

"Not interested in laying down roots!"

"Au revoir!"

Shelby turned to Dot, who begrudgingly put on one of the swagbag visor on her head and grabbed a stick, "Dot, where are you going?"

"If we're not building a shelter, I'm at least gonna look for a cave or some kind of big rock that we can duck under...because believe it or not—the elements don't fuck around and neither should we."

"Wait, Dot-" You followed her, "I'm going with."

"Good to know there's at least one other person with a decent brain."

She waited for you to catch her pace,

"Hey, so, I'm thinking we should go inwards a bit. We're so out in the open and vulnerable to all the elements on the beach."

Dot pondered over your option, "I agree, but if rescue's coming, it's best we stay in sight. For now- at least." She explained with assurance when you had already opened your mouth to discuss, "Besides, fewer threats of dangerous animals and insects when we're not in the woods."

"Gotcha. I guess you heard them too, then."

"Those low growls and weird-ass screeches? Shit, yes. I did."

"Yeah... those kept me up all night. I couldn't tell where they were coming from exactly— left, right, behind me..."

"With your plan, to go into the woods, you probably wouldn't sleep a wink." Dot flicked some sand your way with the stick, a teasing grin on her face.

"But at least we wouldn't have to worry about sand storms, disgusting sand-shrimps, the harsh wind and the sun burning us alive."

"Touché." She nodded at you, "I guess there's just no such thing as finding a functional place for a shelter without any downsides. There's a risk to everything on this island."

"But hey, if we do need to build a shelter then I'm willing to help. I was a Girl Scout when I was younger and each year they sent us on these wilderness trips where we had to hone expertise in outdoor survival skills."

Dot stopped walking and looked at you, "Shit, I would've never guessed."

You nudged her with your elbow, "Well, the more you know."

"Did you sell those cookies too? Because-"

"Dottie! Y/N, hey! Wait up."

A big sigh left Dot's mouth as Shelby approached. You wiped the sweat off your forehead and looked away. The universe wasn't making things easy for you.

"Figured you could use the help. Hope that's alright with you guys. The others weren't keen on doing anything anyway."

Dottie looked away, leaving you to mutter under your breath, "Three's a crowd..."

"What?" Shelby squeezed her eyes at you and tilted her head, acting oblivious, "What did you say?"

"That it would be rude to make you walk all the way back, so, why not." You sarcastically lifted your arm and gestured for her to walk. She stared you down, seeing through your act.

Dot cleared her throat, "Let's get going then."

Deciding to trail behind them, you listened to their talk about their town back home, about the school picture debacle, about Dot's father having coached their youth soccer team. Soon, you realised there was a sharp edge to the conversation. It seemed like Dot didn't want to engage in it at all, but Shelby kept it going. Finally, she engaged in a topic you knew something about.

"I bet we're gonna be big news back home."

It took you a lot of self-control to not mumble out an unhappy, Sure, as if I wasn't already, but they didn't need to know about that.

"I guess so."

"I'm wondering how it's going back there."

"It's probably chaos. A flight with ten girls crashes and goes missing? Talk of the week." You flailed your arm when a bug flew in your proximity.

"Do you think our parents are aware of what has happened by now?" Shelby looked over her shoulder only to see that same distant expression take over your face. She corrected herself, "Or- you know, whoever we care about."

Your eyes met Shelby's and you realised she meant your broken family back home. You fell quiet, thinking of them.

"Sure, I guess." Dot shrugged, "I mean, they must be. It's been... what? Gotta be at least more than 24 hours? I have no idea what time it is."

The three of you walked along the crescent coastline.

"I heard, by the way, about your dad. That he was, you know, sick."

Dot shook her head in disbelief and stopped her step, "We don't have to do this, you know?"

"I'm sorry, do what?"

"Go all Breakfast Club on each other, peel back the layers. As far as I'm concerned, you can go on thinking I'm the "not pictured" girl, and I can go on thinking about you not at all. Have a lovely day." Annoyed, Dot turned around and walked a good ten paces in front of you before the two of you followed.

You blew a low whistle, "She got you good."

"Y/N." Shelby shot you a warning look, but not one that said she was mad or upset with you. She could never be, not even when you kept pushing her away. Besides, she saw this as the perfect opportunity to reunite and catch up, now that you were together.

"Hey, so, how are your grandparents? How's Riley?" Although her voice sounded cheery again, you could sense she was testing the waters.

"I don't know, Shelby, how are they? I haven't been able to call them."

She sighed, "You know what I meant."

You started to fumble with the bracelet on your wrist, "I'd rather not talk."

A tug on your hand suddenly pulled you back, "Come on, Y/N/N, how long will you keep on doing this?"

"I need space."

"Hear me out, please, let me explain. I really think you'll see things differently if you'll just-"

"I said I need space."

"Please, I just need you to know-"

"No."

"Y/N! Come on-" She yelled after you, but you had already stormed off into the woods.

"What's up with her?" Dot had stopped as soon as she heard the ruckus and walked back to meet Shelby halfway.

"Asked something I shouldn't have. I suppose."

"Did you put your nose in her business?" Dot's reply was sarcastic, but Shelby's cheeks flushed and she stammered and stumbled over her words,

"Excuse me?"

"Word of advice? Don't pry. People don't like that shit."

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Another dried fawn was fumbled into the swagbag. Your hands were dirty from rummaging through the piles on the ground but you couldn't care less as you wiped the droplets of sweat from your forehead. The forest was no joke. The sun wasn't blazing onto your skin, but there was no wind to cool you off either. Like Dot had said— there was a downside to everything on this island.

The confrontation with Shelby had been inevitable, although you knew you had barely even grazed the tip of the iceberg. It was childish of you to run away and not give her a chance to speak, to not hear her side of the story. Somewhere you knew that, but your frustration with whatever had happened couldn't just be brushed under the carpet. And after Shelby had brought up your grandparents and your sister, she had practically ruined all chances of a peaceful conversation with a good end.

You didn't know Shelby had joined Dot again, you didn't know of what had gone down and why her voice now sounded from somewhere to your right, in the woods, while Dot's yells came from the beach.

"Dot! Dot!" Shelby's voice echoed through the trees, making exotic birds finding their rest nearby, fly away.

"Shelby, where are you?"

The panic in her voice was not played. Without thinking, you dropped the pile of branches you had foraged and made a run for it, towards the sound of Shelby's cries.

Shelby's pleas and cries neared and soon you saw the back of her head as she sat perched against a rock, her eyes focused on something on the ground.

"Shelby!"

She squeezed her eyes shut at hearing your voice. Relief washed over her, knowing you used to make every problem of hers seem less severe and wanting to find peace at the thought of you helping her out this time as well. But these were very different circumstances. Your had voice made her want to whip her head around to calm herself down after taking a look into your familiar eyes, but the creature hissing in front of her made her body frozen in place as if she had just looked into Medusa's eyes. Shelby trembled and soft sobs shook her body while her eyes followed your approach.

A bundle of brown vines started to recoil in front of Shelby's feet and you then realised it wasn't part of the jungle's greenery. It was a slick and slimy snake that hissed and rattled its tale at the blonde.

"Holy fucking mother of-"

"It's a snake, it's a snake, it's a snake-" She rambled,

"Fuck, okay, don't worry. You'll be fine." Your subconscious took over and answered for you. Of course, she should worry. Of course, she wouldn't be fine, not if you didn't do something to help her anyway. You looked around for anything to keep her safe.

Although cliché, Shelby knew the saying was right when she saw her life flash before her eyes. Her memories flitted from one random image to the next. From her first soccer game to the daisy chains she used to make with Becs when they were kids, to the first time seeing your face on her screen, to her dad finding her phone and demanding answers. She shot her eyes open,

"Y/N, I'm so sorry I left you and-" She whimpered.

The snake's mouth opened slightly to reveal a set of sharp teeth and red, swollen gums.

"Shelby- shut up! Stay still!" Now was not the time, you needed to act quickly. But the blonde had other plans,

"No! Please, listen to me this time, I really need you to-"

You shut her voice off, letting her ramble on, as you searched the ground. You grabbed a large rock and approached, your arms already feeling like spaghetti as you tried to get your aim right.

The snake lunged right before you threw the rock. It missed its target completely.

"You scaly bitch!"

"Y/N, please!"

"Hey!" Dot approached fast, the stick in her hand and outstretched in front of her, "Don't move! Okay?!"

"Please, kill it, please, please-"

"Shelby- hey, it's okay." You forced her to look at you, "It'll be alright."

Dot's first attempt missed, causing the snake to hiss and shoot forward slightly. It was beyond angry right now, that much was clear.

"Oh, my God. Get it, get it, get it!"

Another hit and the stick perched through the snake entirely. Shelby lunged forward as soon as she saw the opportunity, and accepted the arms you held outstretched. Her hands clawed at the back of your shirt. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in your shoulder.

"See? You're alright." You whispered into her hair.

"You piece of fucking reptile shit."

Shelby let go of you and the two of you turned to Dot, who started to slam into the snake,

"I was supposed to be in fucking Hawaii-" She breathed heavily, "-the 50th fucking state, at an aromatherapy massage, not in this fucking hellscape... trying not to die!!"

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Deciding to give Dot some space, you stood to the side and kept to yourself. No one said a word. Each of you needed to take a breather after the confrontation with the snake.

Shelby's eyes had watched you carefully. Her mind had been a whirlwind ever since she had locked eyes with you on the plane. She had beat herself up about everything that had happened once more, had felt every available emotion all at once, but had also caught herself realising how good it felt to have you close. To not have to imagine what it would be like. Even just the knowledge of having you around had calmed her down. But whenever her eyes had occasionally and sometimes accidentally gazed over you, she had also been caught with an immense feeling of shame, guilt, fear and pressure. Right now, though, all she could think of was how thankful she was.

"Hey." She mumbled and a soft smile was sent your way while she rubbed the dirt off your forehead with the back of her sleeve. It took you off guard. And just like that, with that kind gesture of her, or maybe because of the look she gave you that had made your heart quiver, she had made you forget that you were supposed to hate her.

"Thank you," Shelby spoke as she looked right into your eyes, the hazel colour on full display for you.

"Dot's the hero here. Not me."

"You tried. You were there. You came."

You nodded your head sheepishly, still unsure of what to make of this all.

Her voice turned to a whisper only the two of you could hear. For all Dot knew, you could be talking about her emotional breakdown just now, "Listen, I know I messed up, majorly, incredibly so, and I'm not looking for excuses. But you do deserve an apology. So... um, whenever you're ready... come find me. I want to explain." She played with her hands, "I hate that I've hurt you, all I ever wanted was to put a smile on your face. And I-" She paused but shook her head— this needed to be said, "I have missed you every day since."

"Shelby-" A deep sigh left your mouth.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N/N. If it had been in my hands, I wouldn't have done the things I did. I'm still here should you need me, okay?"

A faint smile appeared on your face.

You cleared your throat, wanting to get out of this situation. And quick, if you didn't want to lose yourself again, "I'm gonna... go back to camp. See what's happening there... if they need help."

"Are you sure?" Shelby's eyes flashed towards the dead snake momentarily, afraid there were other surprises waiting for you all in the woods.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I left some kindle somewhere back there, should pick that up."

"Sure, okay. Be careful."

Shelby watched you leave before going to check on Dot.

"Hey, uh, thanks for saving me... us, just now."

"Least I could do."

"So...this might not be the best time to ask for a favour, but... could you not tell anyone about...my teeth."

Dot chuckled tiredly, "Take it to the grave."

"No, I mean... seriously."

Dot rose an eyebrow, "Sure."

"Even Andrew doesn't know."

"No offence, but you should probably lighten up about it. My fucking kingdom for a problem as big as some dentures."

"It's not dentures... it's just two of my- Anyway..."

A silence fell upon them.

"In my mind, it feels like...i-it feels like this super-thin wall...holding back all of this...I don't know. Ugliness.... He's cheating, isn't he?"

"Don't know. Just gossip, really. But for what it's worth, I think you deserve better."

Shelby stared aimlessly into the abyss, her mind going to you and how she had ruined that.

"This one time, we were on a mission trip to Mexico and we were watching the sunset together. Because the light was just right, the sun made this beautiful green flash just before it sunk below the horizon...and I was like-"

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"-isn't that just the purest thing you ever saw?"

Andrew's arm was wrapped around Shelby's shoulder, but all she could focus on was the buzz of her phone in her pocket, the realisation you had texted back, that you had seen the beautiful sunset picture she had sent you with the most cheesy line in existence— 'it reminded me of you'.

She so badly wanted to grab her phone and see your reply, to text you back, to call you and hear your voice and to have this moment together. But she had already made Andrew get her a drink so she could send you the picture in the first place, and couldn't come up with a new excuse to check your message. This one had to wait. And although you weren't with her in person, if she squinted her eyes, she could try and pretend like the warmth of his arm around her shoulder belonged to you, and that you'd make a comment that would make her grin from ear to ear, that your legs and hands would be entangled with her own while you watched the sun go down. That the safety of having you close would calm her down, ease her senses. Maybe someday, and if never, she always had her imagination to fall back on.

Andrew shook his head and smirked, "You're so random," Then his hand moved up her shirt. It ruined her daydream of having you there, not only because it was a strong reminder whose large and rough hand slithered up her shirt, but also because she knew you would never cross her boundaries like that.

A fake laugh left her mouth as she softly pushed him away in a playful manner, "Andrew, you can't do that!"

He smirked, "What if I want to?"

Suddenly, all she wanted was to swat his arm away, to push him off, to create some distance, to run and to run and to run. To run to you. All she wanted was you.

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"Dear Leah, I dreamt about you last night. You wore a dress like this, only it was red, and you were also wearing rollerblades. A person only gets a handful of perfect dreams in one's life. For me, this was one of them..., Juicy, right?"

"Hey, what are you two getting up to?" Your mouth formed an 'O' as soon as you saw the book on Fatin's lap, the book Leah had been glued to ever since the plane had crashed and the reason behind why she hadn't given you the light of day during the flight.

"He's written all these kind love notes for Leah to find. He's super in love with her." Martha beamed.

"Oh, you're snooping?"

She shrunk slightly, embarrassed, but Fatin kept turning the pages, "Here he just wrote, 'Shetland ponies forever.'"

"What does that mean?"

"Well, they are very adorable."

"It's obviously an inside joke. God, there is nothing grosser than couples and their inside jokes."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Fatin stopped, reclined and gave Martha a once-over, "Do you want some solid relationship advice?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Enlighten us." You crossed your arms over your chest, knowing whatever Fatin had to say would probably entertain you.

"Okay... there are only three things that you have to remember— skip the handy, dry humping is underrated, and always carry a stash of Uqora."

"What's Uqora?"

"It's for UTIs, like, after you have a lot of sex."

You snorted and looked away, shaking your head, "Martha, ignore everything she just said."

Fatin feigned offence and held her chest.

"Listen, as cliche as this sounds— don't look for love. You'll never find it when you seek for it around every corner."

"Well, that is true. You just stop paying attention to them and then they just, like, appear out of nowhere."

The thud of something being put onto the sand made you all look up, where Toni stood with the upper half of a male mannequin, "So this guy washed up. Is he good for anything?"

"See?! It's already coming to fruition." You gave Martha a cheeky grin, "He needs a good scrub first, though. He looks disgusting."

"Oh, that's easy— just let him sleep a night on the sand with us and his whole body will have had a good sandy scrub, even his buttcrack."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Don't look at me." Fatin deadpanned, her face stoic.

"So, what do you say, Martha? How about that first date?" Your voice was a few octaves deeper as you stood behind the mannequin.

"The fuck is this about?" Toni laughed.

"Operation Help Martha Get A Boyfriend."

"Wow, Marty, you're in luck today then? Although, see, he doesn't really read as straight to me. I mean, look at those abs. Straight boys don't rock an eight-pack that hard."

"Hmm, he could also be a straight gym-rat fuck boy, you know? All about his 'Gram channel, sprays Acqua di Gio on his balls, and he will always leave you on read."

"Speaking from experience again?"

Fatin turned to you, "Girl-"

You playfully held up your hands and snickered together with Martha.

"Marcus here will break your fucking heart."

"Marcus?"

"Yeah, where did Marcus come from?" Toni made a face.

Fatin shrugged, "It's a vibe."

"I mean, it's kind of close to my name," Martha spoke.

"It must've been written in the stars."

Fatin playfully eyed the mannequin, then Martha, "Honestly, I feel the chemistry."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Marty, get it."

You all laughed. The moment got interrupted by the return of Shelby and Dot,

"We are back. Unscathed." Shelby announced. You noticed she looked at you with a different kind of air around her. She seemed calmer, more like herself, more like the Shelby you had gotten to know. She didn't hide anything behind a smile this time. This was your Shelby. She smiled at you.

Dot continued, "And we found a cave. So, if rescue doesn't show in the next couple of hours, I suggest we get a move on."

"Thank God!" Fatin piped up from above you and leaned on your shoulders, "I cannot take another night with wet sand in my crack."

"Knew it." Your mumble immediately received a playful slap to your cheek from above, from Fatin.

"Who is this?"

Martha turned the mannequin around, "This is Marcus. Toni found him."

"Marcus and Martha... sitting in a tree-"

Now your other cheek received a slap.

Shelby watched the interaction, felt her chest tighten and her eyes turn cold again. But she couldn't deny that she loved seeing you comfortable and joking around. She cleared her throat,

"I don't have a ton of experience, but doesn't that seem especially large?" She gestured at the male genitals Martha had cheekily drawn onto the mannequin with one of Fatin's lipsticks.

"Martha likes them hung."

Now it was your turn to slap Fatin, your slap hitting her thigh. Before she could shoot a witty reply your way, Rachel's yell sounded from a distance and echoed over the beach,

"Hey!"

Rachel, Nora and Leah approached— all drenched, shivering and looking exhausted from their time spent in the water, but it was what Rachel was carrying that caught all your attention. With a proud smirk, she put it down— the black box.

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"Why's it called the black box when it's orange?"

"Orange is an alarming colour, it stands out and is easier to find. The phrase originates from World War II but the concept of a black box has changed over time. That's why it's not an up-to-date name anymore." Nora shrugged, giving you the answer.

"Well, that makes sense."

"So what do we do with it?"

"What are you all looking at me for?" Dot spoke up, "I don't know shit about planes. Two days ago was the first time I'd ever even been on one."

"We should open it." Leah stared the thing down, needing to know whatever information was held inside.

"But it says right on the thing-"

"-Martha, I know, but if we were to get inside, we might find the actual recording, like...like, the actual tape of what happened to us up there."

"Don't we kind of already know what happened?"

"Do we? Can somebody tell me, like, the full account? From the turbulence to the moment you woke up here?"

The circle of girls fell quiet. No one remembered a second, and you all knew it.

"Fuck no! We're not opening it." Rachel spat.

Your eyes flickered to hers, a silent warning that she was doing it again, but she didn't look at you.

"You said there was maybe, like, a transmitter in here, beaming out our location?" Dot turned the attention away from Rachel and back to her sister.

Nora nodded, hugging her legs close to her chest in an attempt to keep herself warm, "Yeah, it's called a beacon... I think. It's a... nautical term?"

Shelby sat up on her knees, "Okay, but it's been three days. If they haven't found us yet, can't we assume that this beacon thing is busted? I mean, maybe if we just try..."

"Do Not Open! What part of that is unclear?" Rachel started again, "What if we open it and break a completely functional beacon? That would wipe us off the grid entirely. Is that what you want? 'Cause if it's what you all want, you're fucking damaged."

"Rachel-"

"No! Y/N! I was out of line before but we should take this seriously! What if opening this will ruin our chances of being found?! Do you fucking want that?! Huh?!"

Leah and Fatin shared a look, obviously because of Rachel's intense outburst again.

"There's a bulb inside, but it's out."

"Okay... so... that means it's definitely broken, right?" Martha tried, hoping that would make everyone agree it would be wiser to open it.

"If someone suggests opening it one more time, I swear to God." Rachel tried to keep her cool, but struggled.

Fatin rolled her eyes and turned to Dot, "What do you think, Dorothy?"

You inspected the girl's face, she was clearly still shaken up from the snake attack and whatever emotions and memories had resurfaced after. You looked towards Shelby and nudged your head. Shelby took the hint,

"Okay, y'all, what we choose to do right now should not be in the hands of just one person. Okay? Not that Dottie couldn't handle it, but we shouldn't put that much responsibility on her. So, all those in favour— raise your hands."

Everyone's hands went up except for Rachel's, and Nora who seemed to do it because she wanted to back her sister. Her face was buried in her lap, as if she didn't want to face what would come next. A sour frown took over Rachel's expression and she crossed her arms.

"All righty, then. Majority rules."

You sat next to Dot as she fumbled to get it open. When she found the trick behind opening the lock, a click was heard and the orange container could be slid open. Inside were all kinds of metal boxes that looked like the back of a very old desktop computer. Lots of wires and buttons and nubs seemed to have kept the thing going. Dot played around with it all until a beep was heard.

"Holy shit."

"What's the sitch, Wade?" When no one seemed to catch on or laugh your smile faltered, "Okay, guess not."

"Do you think that means it's working?"

Dot turned to Nora again, who seemed to know a lot about whatever situation they found themselves in. It had come in handy already.

"I mean, I don't know, but we have to assume... yes."

"So it's on? Now they're gonna find us?"

Rachel's eyes started to glow. The girls had a renewed sense of hope.

Toni pulled a grinning Martha into a side hug, "Yeah, boy! Fuck to the yes!"

Relief washed over most of your faces at the realisation of the end of your island trip coming near, but Dot spoke up again,

"Wait a second. I think this is it..." She pulled an audio device out of the black box, "...the recording from the flight."

Leah took it and didn't waste time. She pressed play,

"This is November Delta 294, are we cleared for departure?"

She pressed forward,

"294 out of range, engaging distress signal. We've gone off course. Mayday, Mayday, May-"

The mood changed and no one was seen smiling anymore.

"Lost thrust in both engines. We're off course—"

Your skin started to itch, grow hot and cold, your chest tightened, and a boulder was dropped on your shoulders again. A sudden sweat made its entrance and you couldn't breathe. You put your hand on Leah's to stop her from pressing play again,

"I-I.... I don't think I want to listen any longer?" It sounded like a question, since you suddenly felt so vulnerable and weak again, as if you had been shepherded into that same corner that had become so familiar to you back home. You tilted your head to the side, the anxiety already back in tenfold at even the thought of the terror you had felt right after waking up after the crash.

But Leah's curiosity was too hard to tame.

"Cabin pressure is gone, Captain. The girls are unconscious. We got complete engine failure, I'm gonna have to put this down in the water."

An ever so soft and begging please left your mouth, but the audio device beeped again as Leah fasted forward.

"Leah! Stop it!" Shelby raised her voice, having noticed your behaviour, but Leah's bright blue eyes were filled with focus.

"Unlatch the exits! Make sure the girls have flotation devices! 294, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! We've lost thrusts in both engines and are attempting a water landing!"

Your shallow breathing had started to make you lightheaded. You stumbled away from the circle, from the girls, from the sound of hearing your doom get played again.

"Hold on for the attempt! Oh, shi-"

The Captain's words got cut off as Fatin slapped the device out of Leah's hands and onto the ground,

"Read the fucking room or learn some boundaries, you fucking idiot! What the hell was that?!" She gave her a shove. It was as if it had shaken Leah out of her haze, since now her big eyes followed you stumble away in a panic, Shelby close behind.

"I'm-I'm sorry... I just wanted... I just needed to-"

"-let us relive our trauma?" Fatin shot her a nasty look before going in the direction she had seen the two of you leave.

You clumsily sat yourself down into the sand, your limbs too shaky, and at the same time incredibly heavy. Your hands were ice cold and clammy and the shaking of your fingers made you move to open your pocket until Shelby's face filled your view.

She sat crouched down in front of you, holding you up.

"Shit, Y/N, shit, shit-" She cursed, not having the slightest clue what to do. You had always been so composed and had seemed to confident and in control. This was new to her and she had no clue what to do. Usually, you had been the one to calm her down, not the other way around.

She squeezed your knees and your eyes fluttered open.

"I don't know what to do,-" You mumbled, "I don't want to feel like this, please, I don't know what to do, Shelby-"

She sensed this was going very badly when your breathing turned shallow and fast, she squeezed your knees again and your eyes opened once more.

"Hey, hey, hey- Listen, I'm here... I'm here. I'll help you through this." It was scary and intensely unsettling to see you like this. She tried to keep her own panic under control and cleared her throat,

"Feel the warmth of my hands on your knees?" She squeezed them. She did not get a reply so she continued. Her hands moved up to where you were tightly holding onto your legs, dinging your nails into your skin.

"Do you feel the touch of my fingertips?" She lightly tapped each knuckle on both your hands, then massaged the hills and valleys of your knuckles, "Remember to take a deep breath in, push it all the way to your belly."

She had learned that taking deep breaths whenever she was anxious before a show usually worked to take the edge off her nerves.

Shelby softly pried your fingers off the bracelet that you held tightly. So tightly that she was sure it would snap if you continued. Her ponytail hung over her shoulder and she got an idea.

"Does that tickle?" She moved the tips of her hair across your underarms and you twitched slightly at the ghost of a tickle. You suddenly felt the pad of her thumb grazing along your collarbone. Then it appeared in a pattern on the back of your hand again. Then the tip of your nose got a few soft taps. She squeezed your knee, then started on your knuckles again.

"Deep breaths." She reminded.

After Shelby did the same pattern once or twice more, you knew where her touch would follow next. Having kept yourself busy by counting and following Shelby's touch, eventually, you realised your breathing had started to normalise again. The cold sweat still coated your back and forehead, you were still exhausted and shakey, but the itching of your skin and the boulder on your shoulders had left.

"That's it, Y/N/N." She coaxed you through it.

Fatin watched, not uttering a word, not wanting to announce her arrival. She knew it would put a spanner in the works of calming you down. So, she gave the two of you some space and stood to the side.

You dared to open your eyes again and a sigh of relief left your mouth when the world was no longer blurry or spinning. Although your anxiety still hadn't disappeared, Shelby had helped you through the worst of it. Still, your hand ghosted over your pocket. When you moved around and felt the strip poke your side, another relieved sigh left your mouth. You were too tired to give a flying fuck that both girls had witnessed this moment of your weakness, that it had been Shelby that had calmed you down, the girl you had sworn to ignore.

"Fatin." You croaked out, seeing the girl watch you with worry flashed across her features.

Shelby turned around in an instant, her cheeks grew hot. She stood up and walked a few paces back, "Um, I should see how the others are holding up... after the whole... debacle."

Fatin furrowed her brows and gave Shelby a confused side-eye. She approached you and sat down in the sand next to you.

"It was a lot to take in, wasn't it?"

You merely nodded.

"You'll be alright, Bon-Bon." She awkwardly patted your knee when your head dropped to rest on her shoulder. "Don't worry, I gave her a good beating. Not literally-" She added when she felt you make a move to remove your head.

Your voice sounded exhausted but you smiled nonetheless, "Thanks, Clyde."

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

"Listen, guys, about that cave we found earlier today- we should probably get a move on if we want to reach it before dark. Try to pack up everything and carry whatever you can. I know some of you don't feel like doing it, but it was really cold the first night and last night we had that storm. I really think the cave is gonna be a better shelter." Dot spoke like a true leader.

And so it went. The nine of you walked along the crescent coastline, the waves serving as calming background noise.

"Toni?"

"Hm?" The girl glanced back as much as she could while pulling the bundle of tied up stuff along with her.

"Did you by any chance take a basketball with you on the place because if that thing washes up, we'll have our very own Wilson."

She laughed, "The fuck are you going on about?"

"From that movie? Cast Away?"

"That was a volleyball!" Dot yelled from her place upfront. "Get your facts straight." She teased.

"Yeah, well, I haven't watched it in years, excuse me."

"It was too iconic to not remember it was a volleybal. You should watch it again in honour of our adventures as soon as we get back home."

You let out a sound of indifference, "Don't think I'll want anything to do with anything tropical or deserted island-ey."

"That's fair. Hey, but, one of us should, like, totally write a book about all of this."

"Not me."

"Yeah, no, not me either."

"Leah, wanna take that one? Since you seem to be glued to that book." Rachel played around.

Toni nodded, "That shit will probably sell like crazy."

Fatin piped up, "As long as you'll share the royalties with me. If you're gonna write to the whole world about how I woke up with sand in my crack then I at least want to get something in return."

"You sure mention that a lot, don't you?"

She gave you a look, and then puckered her lips to make kissy faces at you.

Although you had started the conversation and seemed to be in for a joke again, Shelby kept a close eye on you, still unsettled at what you had gone through a few hours ago. You seemed fine now, but was that the same as what was going on inside your head? Was this just an act? Besides, it had appeared that she barely knew you anymore, so whatever ability to be able to read you she'd had in the past, was sure gone now.

"It's.... cave-y," Martha noted, getting chills as soon as she stepped into the cool cave.

"It's a cave, what did you expect?" Dot smiled slightly.

Each girl took her time to help set everything back up. You yourself had decided to re-organize the kindle you had found that afternoon into piles for signal firewood, dry wood and dry logs.

A soft tap on your shoulder broke your concentration.

Leah.

You clenched your jaw. You hadn't had a problem with Leah before, on the contrary— she had been one of the first girls who you had felt comfortable around. But the stunt she had pulled earlier, the thing that had filled you to the brim with anxiety and had made you relive an anxiety attack again, hadn't been forgiven or forgotten yet.

"Hey, um, so, I was way out of line... back there... earlier. I don't know what I was thinking. I mean- I don't think I was, truth be told— which is, like, totally not an excuse or me trying to swerve my way out of an apology because this is... an apology. So, I'm so sorry, Y/N. I shouldn't have done that. Are you... are you alright?" She shifted in her spot and bit her lip when you kept staring at her, barely blinking.

You rose to your feet, levelling your gaze with hers.

"I told you to stop. Did you not hear that?"

"I-I don't know, I don't remember. You have every right to be mad at me but... listen-"

"-Listen?! Oh, so the thing you did not do?"

"Y/N-"

"Leah, this place is already horrifying enough as it is. I did not want to go through any additional hell but that was exactly what happened after you kept playing that tape."

"You could've walked away earlier," She tilted her head, unsure of her own comment. "I really needed to hear it all, we all did... I think."

"Oh- so now I'm the one at fault?"

"No! I said sorry, Y/N! And I wholeheartedly meant that! I fucked up, okay?"

"You triggered an anxiety attack, did you know? Have you ever had one?"

"Y/N, I am so sorry."

Taken aback by the glistening of her eyes, you blinked... once, twice as you stood there, dumbfounded. Someone was actually sorry for what they had done to you, for the first time in ages. This wasn't your fault, and she had admitted that.

She looked at your outstretched hand with a puzzled look on her face, but grabbed it when you gestured for her to shake it.

"Never again."

"Never again. I promise."

She gave you a hesitant smile when you left to walk outside, walking into Dot and Shelby who stood to admire the sun going down.

"Oh- hey." Shelby whispered softly when she stepped back, letting Dot have her moment alone, "It's beautiful isn't it?"

You hummed, being enamoured by the view.

"Reminds me of-"

"-that picture."

"I mean, yeah!" Shelby breathed out, surprised that you would acknowledge it, that you even remembered it at all.

"Good times, good times." You mumbled, somewhat sarcastically, under your breath before retreating back inside, realising you wouldn't find your much-needed peace outside either.

After the sun had gone down, the sky only stayed slightly alight for a few more minutes, leaving you all in total darkness until Nora helped Dot with the campfire.

Still, the flames and the heat that bounced off the walls of the caves barely kept you warm. You rubbed your arms and put your head in your lap, your breathing now trapped in a small space and therefore warming your face.

The soft fabric of a jacket was thrown around your shoulders and you pulled your head out of your lap. Fatin stood over you, smiling softly.

You pulled the jacket off you and inspected it. It was red with a black panther print and stripes.

"You sure do love your panther prints, huh?"

"Rawr. You're welcome, bitch." She clawed her manicured nails at you before wanting to turn on her heel, but frowned when she saw you neatly fold her jacket up and put it beside you.

"I'm pretty sure it's not allowed to return or refuse gifts from royalty."

"Royalty?" Martha joined the conversation, which caught Toni's attention as well,

"Says who?"

"Says the literal royal rule book!"

"What else is in that book of yours?"

Fatin cleared her throat, getting ready. She tilted her chin, "Uh-hum, no politics!" She playfully wagged her finger, "When the Queen stops eating, everybody does. Royalty cannot eat shellfish!"

"The hell-"

"I call bullshit."

"Do you want to smell like Seaworld when you're royalty? No, exactly."

"You're taking the piss with us." Dot laughed, glad that there was someone doing her best to lighten the situation.

"Actually, everything she said was all true." Nora chuckled dryly.

"Even the seafood bullshit?"

"Yeah... but not for those reasons. Just because it's risky food."

"Risky food? It's fucking delicious. When I went to Thailand with my family, we went to a place that had the best Poo Cha in the area. Let me tell you- when it touched my lips—" She kissed her fingers and made a sound.

Toni rolled her eyes, "Way to make me feel like a fucking commoner."

The conversation had taken the attention away from you, but Fatin remembered why the discussion had even started. Deciding to involve the whole group so you had no other way but to answer her, she raised her voice,

"Why do you keep refusing my clothing?"

Eight sets of eyes stared at you.

You shrugged, focusing on the ground where you were drawing circles in the dust of the cave with your finger. You felt all their eyes on you and you could slap Fatin right about now for putting you on an unwanted pedestal with her comment.

"I've also got this leopard camo jacket if red is not your colour?" She tried to play it off as a joke but already started to rummage through her suitcase again, "Or wait... maybe..." She pulled out a fluffy dark green coat from the bottom of her suitcase. She tamed the hairs to get it neat again, "This will definitely keep you warmer than that shirt of yours."

"I'm fine. Thank you."

Her smile dropped and she stared at you, trying to read the expression behind your eyes while you kept busy patting the non-existent dust off your pants.

Without saying another word, Fatin sat down next to Dot, who leaned over to whisper, "It’s probably not my place to assume, but I always hate when people give me stuff I know I can’t repay them for."

"It's just a jacket?" She shot back.

"And it's just an assumption."

Fatin stared back at you, letting her mind run with every possibility of why you just wouldn't take any of her clothes, in contrast to the other girls. But if you thought that she would let you shiver through the night while she had a suitcase filled with things to keep you warm, then you definitely thought wrong.

"Goodnight, everybody." Marthe yawned, curling into herself on the ground, close to the fire. A cacophony of goodnights followed, and you decided it was time to try and sleep as well.

Your hand grazed your pocket, where the strip of pills was still safely tucked away. The thought crossed your mind for only a split second, but no, you would not cave. Not today.

The anxiety attack had left you exhausted, so it was no surprise that you fell asleep almost immediately.

i kindly ask you to not copy, republish, translate or reproduce this imagine on wattpad or on other platforms. respect the author’s work <3

[demivampirew]

Kalentine’s Day

Henry x Plus-Size Reader

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist

This was a request from @born2stronger : “what about if Henry meets reader through Instagram (we all know sometimes he checks on the comments) so reader gets his attention and he messages her.”   I hope you like it. 😊

Triggers: Fat- shaming; talking about the lost of a pet; feeling of nostalgia.

Tag list: @lunedelorient​​ @henrythickcavill​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @mary-ann84​ @desperate-and-broken​ @peakygroupie​ @summersong69​ @ivvitm1109​ @madbaddic7ed​ @iloveyouyen​ @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog​

"Happy Valentine's day everyone! For all of my fellow single pringles out there, you don't have to be in a relationship to enjoy today, it's about Love. Enjoy seeing others in Love, love your friends, your family, and especially yourself. #Kal #ValentinesDay #BestDogEver #KalentinesDay"

Henry wrote and posted the picture of Kal laying on the bed with a rose on his Instagram account.

Nostalgia hit him hard later that day. He wasn't in a rush to get back on the dating game, especially not after a recent disappointment with a lady, but he missed celebrating that day with a woman he would care about. He starting to imaging how that day would've been if there was someone special in his life: he'd had made breakfast for her to eat on the bed; he'd taken a stroll down the park after that, to enjoy the beautiful morning. They'd have had lunch in someplace fancy, then watch a movie and he'd prepare her favourite dish for dinner and he'd finish the day by making her feel unique. Every woman in his life was unique on his eyes, for best or for worst. That thought made him sigh deeply for what he decided to check some comments on his post. Cheeking comments on his photos was his guilty pleasure. He loved the nice comments and would laugh out loud whenever there were thirsty comments; some were a bit distasteful, others were cute and there were others that were so odd that made him chuckled.

As he was scrolling through comments, one caught up his attention. "@(your username) "KalentinesDay" you cracked me up, Mr Cavill! But I'd like to differ with the BestDogEver one; I love Kal, he's awesome, but my dog is...was the best. I lost him two days ago and I felt like my world crushed for I've had him since I was a kid. Being there holding his paw as the doctor put him down due to disease was the worst thing I've ever experienced. Sorry for ruining the mood, but thank you for the post, it lighted up my day! Have a nice KalentinesDay, Sir." He felt so bad for that person, so he entered her profile and hit the message option. "Hi Y/N. I saw your comment and I just wanted to say how sorry I'm that you lost your beloved companion. I've had Kal for a few years and I cannot even bear the thought of losing him, so I cannot imagine how must feel to lose your pal who's been there most of your life. Be strong. I'm sending you virtual hugs and lots of love. I hope you get better soon." After sending her the message, he checked her account for he saw a recent post with a picture of a lovely dog. It wasn't a mixed breed. It was a rescued dog. She talked so fondly of him, remembering the first day she met him and a few adventures they lived together. The stories warmed Henry's heart yet saddened him, knowing that his light had extinguished. There were a lot of pictures of her dog on her account and pictures of books and movies. Funny enough, most of the books she talked about were some of his favourites and the ones that he hadn't read, he took screen captures so he wouldn't forget to check them out. One of the movies she posted about was Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice and he had to see her thoughts on it. She agreed that the whole Martha plot was absurd, but the thing that bothered her the most, and in her opinion ruined the movie a little bit, was the fact that Doomsday was on the final trailer, for the movie would have been higher rated from her if she'd already known that he was going to show up. Yet, she disagreed with all the hate and the thought that the movie was bad: "It could've been better? Sure, Was it horrible? Absolutely not," "If it is too dark for you, don't watch it, period. Mr Snyder understands the soul of DC Comics. Dc is not lighthearted, accept that and move on" she wrote. Henry was too tempted to like the post and reply, but he decided that it was best not to do it. She didn't have many pictures of her, but he found one from two years ago. In the picture, she was standing to a bride and she hugging her. She had a pink dress on. Henry looked at her cute smile and was stunned by her beauty. In the caption of the photo, she wrote " Ignore my ugly fat ass... focus on my beautiful sister who just got married to her Charming Prince! Congrats, babe! Love you a lot and wish you a lifetime of nothing but happiness! ♥" Henry liked the picture and went straight to the comment section and wrote "You look gorgeous. I hope their love story is a good one and lives on." and press send. He was so caught by her, that without even noticing it, he went through every single post on her account, like all the photos she was in and same with pictures of books, movies and albums he liked.

He was having dinner with Kal when he noticed that he had a reply on IG. When he opened, he saw it was from the girl with the mesmerizing smile. "I think I should call the police, I have a stalker, 👀 😂" she wrote. "Thank you so much for the mood busting. It means a lot. He brought a lot of light to my life and it's hard to have to say goodbye." she confessed, "but instead of lying in bed crying, I'm going to use that energy to give love to another animal in need, that's what my baby would have wanted, I know it in my heart." she finished. Henry didn't wait for a second to answer her, even if that meant that his food would get cold. "Absolutely! Any animal would be lucky to have you as their momma." he assured, "Sorry for that, I didn't mean to be a creep. I swear I'm nice. I'm Superman" he joked. After a few moments, the girl messaged him again "Superman killed Zod, so...👀😜 ". "Low shot. Also, Zod was a villain" he went on with the conversation. " How do you know that I'm not a villain?" she joked, "Because villains don't love puppies" he grinned like an idiot in love as he pressed send. "Cruella did, though, 👀 😂" she said; "Touché. But I'm sure you're not a villain, you are too cute for that" he explained. "That'd be the perfect cover for a conquer the world masterplan, don't you think? To have everyone trust me and love me for me to be easier to control them?🤔" "Alright, you convinced me. You're the evilest villain in history. So, I should fly to wherever you are and get you." he playfully told her. "And I didn't want to sound creepy 😂. My apologies if my humour seems creepy," he apologized. "I think your humour is genius and I find it cute, no creepy," she pointed out. "Cute enough to meet me in person? 👀" he asked. "Absolutely," she accepted his invitation. "When are you free?" she questioned. Henry looked at the clock, it was 7:30 pm. "I'm free right now if you can." Henry offered, "Do you live in London?". "From the last couple of years, yes. I moved with my mom after my parents got divorced. She's was born here... I mean, yes, I live in London, sorry for the unnecessary information," she requested his forgiveness. "There's no need to apologize. I like getting to know more about you." he explained " Do you want to go to Mark's Club restaurant? It's a nice and quiet place where we can have a nice conversation" he proposed "I think I can get a last-minute reservation since I'm a member of the club." he informed her.  "Sure, I'm going to get ready. Tell me if you get the reservations or we can go anywhere else, I'm sure there are plenty of nice places to eat where there are tables available 😊" she said. "Great, I'm calling them right now!" Henry exclaimed excitedly and went into his phone contact list and press the dial button. He was lucky enough that the manager was a Superman fan and was quite fond of him, so he agreed to reserve a table for him in the busiest night of the year for restaurants. He shared the information to her and went to change as well. He put a white sweater and a nice pair of black pants on and black shoes. A grey blazer was his coat of choice.

He asked for her address to pick her up, but she opted for meeting at the club and he accepted because he understood that maybe she felt unsafe by giving her living information to a stranger. He couldn't lie that this gave him enough time to leave Kal with his friend Ben.

He waited for her inside the restaurant for there were paparazzi outside the place. Mark's Club was an exclusive place where many celebrities choose to eat in, especially in such occasions like Valentine's day - Guy Ritchie and his wife choose that place to spend the night and so did David and Victoria Beckham. Both couples came to greet him as soon as they saw him. His table was about to be ready and she wasn't there yet. He checked for messages on his IG but there were none. Has she stood him up? That'd have broken his heart; no because someone rejected him, but because she did it. He thought that he was losing his mind: being afraid that a girl he met that day on the internet might have played a prank on him and make him believe that she was interested in him.

When he saw that it was 10 pm, he decided that it was better to inform the host of the club that he wouldn't need a table after all. He was about to get up when behind him a female voice called his name. He turned around and stood, speechless. A beautiful woman on a red dress was standing in front of him, showing that glorious smile that captivated him ours ago on his phone.

- I'm so sorry I'm so late.- you apologized profusely - It took me ages to find a cab and then I've spent literally thirty minutes outside trying to get in because paparazzi were being annoying and would get in the way for me to get in.-she explained. - No worries!- he assured her- Honestly, I was a bit afraid that I've had been stood up.-he confessed, styling his hair backwards with his hand. - Absolutely not! I don't particularly enjoy pranks. Especially not in niece people like you.- she smiled and his legs were shaking.

At that moment the waiter approached you to let you know your table was ready. Henry said "Ladies first" indicating you to go first into the table area. The place was elegant. Henry waited behind your chair and as you sat in, he pulled it close to the table. He sat in front of you, grinning like the devil. That charming smile took your breath away.

Every word that came out of your mouth amazed him for your charisma and intelligence. You were not only funny, smart, confident but also beyond beautiful. He knew that wasn't love at first sight, but he could see himself falling deeply in love with you.

Halfway through the dinner, Henry finally noticed that lots of costumers were watching them. He found that odd since he was a regular there and there were plenty of celebrities on that place that night -some way more famous than him.

- I apologized if you feel uncomfortable with people watching us. Usually, they barely look at me. They know I'm an actor, but these fancy folks don't care much for Superheroes.- he explained. You looked at him with a smirk. - They're not looking at you, they are looking at me.- you pointed out. - Are you famous?- he asked confused and you chuckled because he meant it and it wasn't sarcasm. - Yes, I'm Ashley Graham.- you joked and his expression showed ignorance; he didn't know who she was.- She's a model.- you explained and he laughed apologizing for his lack of knowledge on current pop culture. He was beyond cute.- No, I'm not famous. They're looking at me because I'm "fat"; I'm a plus-size woman and they probably can't understand why are you having dinner with me.- you said and smiled- In another point of my life this would have hurt. It did for a long time. Whenever I'd be in a date with a thin man, people would look at us as if they were thinking out loud that he was too good for me, that he could do so much better than a fat girl. Thankfully I'm no longer in a place in which I'd blame myself for their judgement. I'm who I am and I'm ok with that. They can look all they want, they don't mean anything to me.-you shrugged- But, I need to know if that bothers you. I won't judge you if you are not into me. Maybe I'm confusing things, but the fact that you made a last-minute appointment for dinner on this day is because you have some kind of interest on me and I do for you too. I'm in for getting to know each other and maybe be something if we feel it later on. But if that's the case, if I got things wrong and you are not interested in my, just tell me. It's ok and we can be just friends if you want. All I ask from you is not to waste my time. Don't get me to grow feelings for you if you have no intention in returned them.- you requested. Henry went silent for a moment. Then he put his hand on top of yours, grabbed it and kissed it. He grinned and replied, "You got it right, gorgeous."

The dinner continued with you two laughing, drinking fine wine and having delicious desserts. You tried to grab the check but he took it so fast that you barely saw it. "I'll pay next time. That's the condition for me going out again with you" you indicated firmly and he agreed.

As you were about to leave, he noticed you didn't have a coat. "I was so hurried that I forgot to grab one" you explained and he immediately took off his and gave it to you, despite you telling him that you were ok, and helped you to put it on. He held your hand to walk outside, not caring if paparazzi took photos of you and he called a cab for you. It was easier for famous people to get a ride, you noticed. He drove you to your place and walk you to the door. He was much taller than you, so he leaned in to kiss your cheek and kissed your hand as well. Henry promised to call you the next day and walked towards the car. You reminded him of his coat and he asked you to keep it safe for him until next time you saw him. With a big smile, he got in the car and after you entered your place, you heard the cab left.

[syndianites]

The After; The Athar: Chapter Three

Chapter 3/?

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 [Here] - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

AO3: This Chapter - Full Fic

Summary: Post Season 2, non-Mianitian Compliant. Wag escorts Martha to Jordan’s house and decides to have a day out with Sonja.

Relationships: Sparklington (end-game), Marthlington (temporarily), Sparkanite (Spark x Ianite) (past, mentioned), Motanite

Content Warnings: Death Mentions, Implied Depression, Implied PTSD, Self-Deprecation, Breaking up a Relationship (Marthlington)

AN: A good handful of these first chapters are going to be set up and exposition for later. I wanted to put some worldbuilding and character buildup with more than just Wag and Jordan because it’s nice and feels more fleshed out that way. This is more or less my version of a post-S2, maybe S3 fic, so I wanted to go ham on it.

——————————————————————————————

The trek home was much more light hearted. More dramatacisms about the flower, a joke about Wag’s weed quest here, and easy banter shared back and forth. Wag would like to think that Sonja looked more relaxed on the way back, like a weight fell off her shoulders.

But that was an ongoing battle. It would be some time before it really fell away.

Of course, halfway home Sonja dropped another bombshell.

“I think I’m going to break up with Tucker.” Sonja spoke up.

Wag tried not to visibly startle. No, he didn’t see this coming. Should he have? Maybe. Actually, he expected Tucker to be the one to end it, after the whole Shadow’s business.

And here Wag was, staring at her like a fish struggling to breathe.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t look so surprised. It’s going to happen whether I bring it up or not.”

“Are you breaking up with him because you’re afraid he’s going to break up with you?” He was still trying to pick his jaw off the floor.

“Hmm.” Sonja considered this for a moment. “Yes, but also no. I’m not afraid he’s going to, I just have a strong feeling he will. At the very least, we’d need to take a break since all of-,” she gestures to herself vaguely, “-this happened. And, honestly?” Her head tilted to the side. “It’s probably for the best. I do love Tucker, and it will take some time to let those feelings simmer and fade if we do break up, but I think we’ve been… drifting from each other for a while.”

“What?” His eyes snapped back to hers. “Really?”

Sonja nodded. “This wasn’t our first fight. Or, well, falling out. Things were fine before we jumped into the void, but we didn’t agree with how to handle the new world. How to handle Ruxomar’s Mianite.”

Wag nodded slowly. He wouldn’t know the difference. If he was being honest, he didn’t really know the other heroes that well before Ruxomar happened. He was a wizard, tasked with building, magical in every sense, and he had his own squad. The most he had thought of Tucker and Sonja’s relationship was when he helped build their home.

She sighed. “Tucker was very intent on following that Mianite. Ever the devotee. Granted, Tom and Jordan were the same with their gods but theirs were… different? I guess? Ianite wasn’t around, to start, and Dianite was dead. But we always had an idea on Mianite.”

Her tail swished behind her and she grabbed it for a moment, running her hand down its length before letting go. “He was who all of Dagrun worshipped.” Her voice took on a darker tone. “Or were supposed to worship. Tucker only wanted to believe the best of Mianite. I wasn’t quite with it. We would fight, sometimes, about Mianite, or something he did, or what his effect on the town was. Then there was the Ianitas, there was Inertia, there was-” She took a breath. “There was a lot.”

Turning to look at Wag, she gave him a smile and a shrug. “It got a bit tense between us, for a while. Well, it has been tense. Things didn’t really cool off until we were floating aimlessly in the void, again, and we had time to think and talk it out.”

“So you think that with your whole Shadows business coming out you guys need some time apart? To let the tension simmer down?” It was starting to make some sense. Let time and distance see if the heart will grow fonder or if the mind will let go.

Or something like that.

“Kind of.” Sonja turned back towards their destination. “I just. I don’t know if after this we’ll be able to make it work anymore. And if we can’t I’d rather end it on good terms than, I don’t know, explosive, world shattering, terrible terms?”

“Basically, you still want to be friends if things don’t work out.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

They walked in silence after that. A comfortable one, but heavy nonetheless. Wag had a lot to think about. He was about to go through a break-up too. Should he say something? Ask her about it? Martha and him didn’t really have any rough, tense things that were breaking them apart. They hadn’t fought, or brought up dark, hard secrets. It was just a falling apart. They still loved each other.

There was just someone missing.

And there was nothing Wag could do to make up for that hole Steve had left.

He looked back at Sonja, who was casually thumbing one of the petals of the cornflower they’d picked out for Mianite. She was lost in thought, but there was a determined look in her eyes. She was moving in the right direction. Growing, letting change come through.

Wag wanted nothing more than to plant his feet in the ground and stay where everything was easy. Easier. But the world had other plans.

In the end, when they made it back home, Wag hadn’t said anything. There was a place inside him that was afraid of speaking his decision into words. Afraid that if he said he was going to break up with Martha that things would start to fall apart.

He sure hoped not.

---

Wag spent the rest of the day sorting out the flowers they’d found and parsing through potion orders. Most of what they’d picked were more natural- flowers, some vines, and a butt load of four leaf clovers. Which so happened to grow more frequently in the area they’d gone to.

He knew from experience.

The potion orders were easy enough to set up. He’d finished boxing and tagging all the luck potions- there were only three left to do- and scheduled a shipment time, which meant going to his mail cart and placing in a whole crate of them for the post office to deliver for them.

This area had a post office now, freshly installed around the time the town popped up. Convenient for wizards who didn’t get out much.

Then he organized the rest of his current potions in terms of difficulty- easy ones go first- and picked up any new orders from the mail.

Boring, boring, boring.

Once he’d set all of that up he took to his greenhouse. Tended to his plants. Checked on his latest crossbreeding project. It was still developing, but he checked each stage for weed-adjacent properties. None yet.

And then, silence. Nothing to do. He could eat, he could sleep, he could read until his eyes bled. Oh, wait. Scratch that. He could read until his eyes dried out.

He rolled said eyes at that train of thought. In reality, he was just going to go to sleep. The sun had just set, which was excuse enough for him. Sure, he could research his magic related issues, or his weed related quest, or something, but he’d done enough thinking today. Had enough problem sorting.

But as he laid down to sleep, clad in sweatpants and a simple gray shirt this time, he was wide awake.

There was an unsettled buzz humming beneath his skin. Something restless and worried. Things were changing faster than he wanted them to. 

Sure, he could take a town forming, he could take new people showing up, he could take the Ruxomar people living here, all of that was fine. New things weren’t as hard to keep up with.

But the old things changing?

Seeing Sonja’s and Tucker’s relationship crumble, seeing Jerry’s Tree change, Mianite’s Temple change, being left behind by his fellow wizards. Everything to do with Martha. It was like life was starting to move on without him, and Wag was still left knee deep in everything that had happened. The past was clinging to him, dragging him down, stopping him from reaching into the future, practically tearing him from the present.

How long until he didn’t recognize the people around him? How long until they grew so far from him that he really became just some random guy making potions in a tower? Would people care? Would they think back and wonder what happened to him?

It hurt to think about. If Wag had his way, he’d banish the thoughts from his head forever, but things have a strange way of crawling back when you don’t want to think about them. Still, it was a struggle. Everything felt like it was moving too fast, like Wag was too far behind to catch up.

He really should try to get out more.

But why? So he can watch things change? So he can look on helplessly as the world around him becomes something new? What’s worse, seeing change happen and being unable to keep up, or stepping out of your house one day to see that nothing was the same?

Wag rolled over.

Dear Athar this is not what I want to be thinking about. 

He’d just have to do his best to keep up. To claw his way back to the present when the past tries to drag him down. If he can at least stay with it, change won’t feel so bad. If he’s in the thick of it, surely he, too, will feel it? Will change for the better.

Wag sure hoped so.

The distant sound of bells broke his thoughts. His doorbell, to be exact.

By now it was the dead of night and any right-minded person was sleeping right now. Or trying to. Wag considered whether it would be better to stay in bed, wallowing, or get up and see what’s what.

Another ring urged him to rise.

He spiralled down, and down, and down his stairs, his room being at the top of the tower. Wag missed elevators so much. Maybe he could be the man to pioneer the elevator. Start with a simple pulley system, like they use in mines, and work up from there.

Letting go of that train of thought, he finally reached the bottom floor and strode over to yank the front door open.

It was Tom.

“Bought time you showed up mate, I thought I was gonna hafta walk up there to get you myself,” Tom chirped. “Oh!” He leaned in. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Wag gave him a deadpan look. “Didn’t you just say you would have gotten me up if I hadn’t answered?” Tom grinned at him cheekily. “Thought so. And, for the record, no. I was pondering life’s mysteries like one normally does at,” He squinted into the outdoors. “Whatever fucking time it is.”

“Wonderful! May I come in?” Tom asked, already walking in.

“Be my guest.” Wag made an aborted movement to complain about the fact he walked in anyway, but thought better of it.

Tom wandered the foyer for a moment, trying to get out extra energy, before he flopped onto Wag’s mediocre couch. Wag knew he ought to offer food and drink, but it was too late at night for him to care. Instead, he took a seat beside Tom, whose head was leaning over the back of the couch.

“It’s been a while, huh?” Tom’s face was lacking his normal energy. Like the act of sitting let it all out. His hands, however, fluttered nervously, fingers drumming, palms smoothing down his pants.

“We saw each other yesterday.” Wag regretted not getting a drink. He was feeling Tom’s restlessness. It would be nice to have something to do with his hands. “Not that long ago.”

Drawing his shoulders up, Tom released a sigh. “Long enough.”

Silence again.

“Have.” Tom stopped. He was mulling over his words, a rare occasion for someone who prefered to think on the fly. “Have you been doing alright recently?”

A strange question.

“Define recently.” Wag wasn’t about to open up another heart to heart discussion. One per day was enough.

“Y’know. Recently! Like, the past few days.”

Try since we fell back into the world.

“I guess? I haven’t felt any different than before.”

This is where Tom’s eyes sharpened. He appraised Wag, took him in. Surely, what Tom saw was a tired, weary man. A Waglington far from his best. Hair messy, eyes dark, the strain of life held deep in his shoulders.

Except, none of his keener friends had noticed. Why would Tom?

“You haven’t been doing well for a while, huh?” 

Or, rather, why wouldn’t Tom?

Still, Tom being the one to notice was a shock.

Wag looked him in the eyes, held them for a moment, then looked away. That was answer enough, in his opinion.

“Shit,” Tom softened up, curling forward to rest his elbows on his knees, face pillowed in his fists. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Why? Well, there were a number of reasons. They bounced in his mind every time he thought to himself, ‘Would anyone care?’

Feeling insignificant, feeling useless, hopeless, like after everything he’d done it didn’t mean anything.

Maybe he was depressed.

“I couldn’t. I didn’t know how- I,” Wag couldn’t find the words. “I didn’t want to bring everyone else down with my problems when they all have their own.”

Tom straightened up and turned towards him. Leaned in. Got close to his ear. “Wag.” His voice was breathy, light.

“That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

And loud. Fuck, did he have to get that close.

“It’s not dumb! It’s just how I felt. Feel.” Tom didn’t have to be a dick about it. “You guys do have shit going on, though! Everyone is trying to deal with their own crap, why would I add mine like a sour little cherry on top?”

Said asshole flopped on top of him, forcing Wag to lean back to accommodate Tom on his lap. “That’s not what I meant. How you feel is how you feel. What I meant is that we don’t give a shit about what all we have on our plates, we care about you.”

Wag moved to hold his head in his hands, making sure to dig his elbows into Tom’s back. “And I care about you enough to not want to worry you.”

“Wag.”

“Yes.”

“That’s-”

“Bullshit?”

“Bullshit.”

Tom wrapped his arms around Wag’s waist and snuggled in. Wag fell back into the couch. “Still. I don’t want to drag you down.”

“If we can’t deal with your problems, we’d let you know.”

“I’m sure.”

“I would, at least.”

Wag huffed. “I know you would. You like to let everyone know what’s on your mind.”

“Sometimes.” Tom’s voice was flat. It was unsettling.

“Do,” Wag rubbed soft circles into Tom’s back. “Do you have a problem you want to talk about.”

Tom buried his face into Wag’s stomach. “Yes,” his voice was muffled, but audible. “But not now. I’m here because I felt like you were thinking too hard and needed someone to talk to.”

That was interesting. He ‘felt’ like it?

“I appreciate it. But how-?” Tom squeezed his waist. It was a clear not now.

“Did you want to talk about what’s up with you?” 

Wag shook his head, then realized Tom couldn’t see him. “No. I’ve had enough heart dumping today.”

They sat in silence again. 

“Are we gonna just lay here?” Tom said nothing. “Did you just wanna snuggle on the couch until one of us decides to get up?” 

Wag received a non-committal hum.

“Alright then, but if someone walks in on us here I’m going to have to tell them they we’re involved in a long standing affair.” Wag moved to lay alongside Tom on the couch, comfortably curling an arm around him. Tom responded with a quiet chuckle.

An easy silence washed back over them. Having Tom as a warm weight next to him was helping, surprisingly. Or maybe not surprisingly. It was harder to think about all the things that made you feel like shit when you had someone else holding your waist in a death grip. Was it a little painful? Yes. Did it help nonetheless? Also yes.

In the end, he was grateful Tom showed up.

---

Wag woke up with a pain in his back and a groan. Which wasn’t terribly unusual, except he couldn’t remember what he did to get his back right to the point of aching without being downright horrible. Or why his neck would feel stiff.

Then, of course, there was the weight settled on his chest. Tom. Tom drooling on his chest.

Ever the good friend, Wag decided to help him wake up. By lovingly pushing Tom off him. Only to go crashing down to the floor as well when Tom, sensing movement, latched on tight.

“Aw, fuck,” were Tom’s first words of the morning, followed by a, “What the fuck.”

Wag shoved at Tom. “Let go. I love you too, but I would rather not sit on my couch all day.”

“Well, why not? That’s as good a way to spend a day as any.” Tom held on with an impish grin, still groggy from his sudden awakening.

“Aw, you guys looked so cute up there.” A voice from the stairs drew their attention. Martha. “And here I thought you guys were such good friends, cozying up to each other. I’d come down to give you a blanket, but I suppose you won’t be needing it now.”

True to word, a blanket was held in her arms. Wag flopped onto Tom, squishing him into the floor. “Oh, Martha dear, you are just a little off. You see, Tom and I here are not friends, we are-”

Tom jumped in, “Lovers. Have been since we met in our early teens. Sorry to break it to you, but Wag was mine first and I want him back.”

Martha’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?” There was a teasing note in her voice. “Does that make me the rebound? Waggles, I can’t believe you would disgrace me so.”

If anyone was the rebound, Wag thought, it’s me.

“Yep!” Tom popped the ‘p’. “And now that we are well and fully together again, what shall we do with you.”

Wag rolled his eyes and sent Martha a wink. She hid a giggle behind her hand.

“Well, Tomothy, I have bad news for you.” Wag looked down into Tom’s eyes, giving his cheek a mock caress. “Martha is way cooler than you. She’s got purple hair, to start, and some spectacular magic tricks. I don’t know if you can compete with that.”

There was a flash of something in his eyes, and for a moment Wag saw Tom's mouth open only to be replaced by a dark, pained look. Then it was gone, replaced by Tom’s usual mischief.

“I can’t believe you!” Tom let go, finally, to push Wag away and roll to the side clutching his heart. “After all we’ve been through! That one time I gave you my meat! When we did drugs together! And you’re leaving me because my hair isn’t purple!”

He got up, dusting his legs off, and sashayed to the front door. “That’s fine, I’m too much of a boss ass bitch for you anyway. Ta ta, my not dearest. Until we never meet again!”

Then he was gone.

Martha piped up again, having moved to place the blanket on the couch. “As dramatic as always.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid I only stopped by to pick something up for Dad. I’ll be leaving as well.”

Wag pulled himself off the floor as she passed, giving her a smile. She hesitated before returning it.

She opened the door with a look over her shoulder. “Goodbye, love.”

And, just as she started to walk out, she muttered to herself, “Did Tom already make it down the mountain? Strange.”

Then Wag was alone. Again.

---

It was midday when Wag found himself back at the bakery, quietly eating an apple tart while Gretchen eyed him from over the counter. There were a few customers here and there, though most of the village inhabitants out fishing for the day or working their craft. Wag, of course, ran on whatever schedule suited his needs per day.

Gretchen, who was preparing dough for tomorrow, was clearly waiting for him to say what was on his mind. He ducked his head farther into his hood.

He was that obvious, huh?

“So, how has your da-” Gretchen cut off his attempt at light conversation. “You asked when you came in. Try again.”

Stunned, he reconsidered his words. “What do you think of-” She cut him off with a click of her tongue.

Clearly, she was not taking any bullshit today. Which was unfortunate. Wag wanted nothing more than to fill his days with insignificant bullshit if that meant he never had to face his problems.

Fuck.

Why was asking for advice so hard?

Gretchen hummed quietly to herself. Wag finished the tart. Slowly licked his fingers clean. And came up with nothing to say.

A customer came and went. The door closed with a soft jingle of the bell at the top.

He broke.

“I need to break up with Martha and I don’t know how.”

Gretchen turned to him with a surprised and considering look. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“What?” He scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She paused in her ministrations. Wiped her hands off on her apron. Turning to him, she leaned against the counter. “I didn’t think you’d consider that you weren’t happy with your relationship. It’s clear as day that you two aren’t much of a couple. Whether you were before you got here aint none of my business, but as you are now? I coulda mistaken you for friends, at best.”

Oh.

Ouch.

“Yeah,” Wag trailed off. “I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure how much of a couple we were either. Back then. Do you mind if I,” he waved his hands half-heartedly, “vent a little?”

Gretchen gave him a fond head shake. “I already put the dough down, I’m all ears.”

“So, um.” He wasn’t sure where to start. When they first met? When he started thinking that he might like her? When he realized he loved her? When they got together?

Steve?

“Martha was already in a relationship when we met.” Gretchen raised an eyebrow but said nothing else. “The guy she was with was the farmer type, rough, could fix anything with a little elbow grease and a stern look. Followed Dianite, the new one.”

Wag took a second to figure out where he was going with this. “They were engaged, actually. And then broke it off later. Martha and I grew close after that. But the thing was- is- Martha still loves Steve. Misses him. But he’s-” He broke off, lost again.

“Dead?” His head snapped to her. She held her hands up. “Hey, you were talking about him all past tense, and from what I heard about whatever happened to that other place, if someone didn’t show up here after all that calamity, they aren’t going to show up ever. They’re gone.”

Yeah, he was. Steve was six feet under. Farther than that. He was lost to the void with Ruxomar. Lost to Dianite’s soul. Claimed by the acts of the past for a better future.

And look where that got them. 

“Yeah, he’s dead now. It killed her, I think. She lost her mother, had all this power, yet she could do nothing to stop Steve from dying, too.” Wag was beginning to connect some dots, the kind of dots you look at and roll your eyes and claim are just things that happen in shitty romance novels.

Gretchen had her head on her fist now, invested. “Why did they split?”

“Uh,” Wag struggled to recall the information. “Because... I think it was because Steve ‘moved around too much’.” He made air quotes. “Or went on too many missions for Dianite? I don’t know the details.”

“Oh, that’s no good.” When she saw Wag’s confused face, Gretchen continued. “If they split over something like that, there’s always a good chance they still loved each other. I’m afraid to say it, but you may have been the rebound.”

Wag hated to hear that. “Hey, she flirted with me before their relationship was over. It was a mutual flirting thing, too!”

Gretchen groaned. “You guys flirted, while she was in a relationship, that you knew about, and when it was over she came to you? That sounds suspiciously like needed comfort after leaving the love of her life and knew you could give her that.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but deflated like a two weeks old balloon.

Taking a breath, a wheeze at best, he tried again.  “You don’t understand. Martha is, she’s amazing. She’s dedicated, and smart, and talented, and she’s always trying her best even under the pressure of being a demigod and having everyone look to you expecting greatness out of you.”

His heart was beating faster.

“And she’s polyamorous! She has room in her heart for more than one love, and we both knew that! Steve knew that! Martha didn’t rebound on me, exactly, but Steve and I had a mutual understanding that we both had places in Martha’s life and that was that.”

“She was kind, and caring, and only wanted the best for the people around her. There are so many amazing things about her.” His words were sweet but his voice was desperate.

“There’s no way she would be able to use someone- to use,” Wag grew quieter, “me, like that.”

Would she?

A hand on his arm startled him. Gretchen looked at him with soft eyes. “Hun, I don’t think she was truly ready for another relationship. She definitely didn’t go into it looking to use you. In fact, I’m sure she was in it because she loved you.”

She let go to move around the counter and lead him to a seat. “You can see it, sometimes, when she’s with you. The gentle fondness in her gaze, the warmth in the smiles she directs at you.” 

“But you can’t build a solid relationship without hashing through the issues and problems you have.” Gretchen rubbed up and down his arm. “And Martha being caught up on this Steve, that’s something you have to address. It’s no issue to love more than one person, but to let the love you feel for another get in the way of the love you feel for another is.”

“I just feel awful letting it go like this. I should have put in more effort, tried to bridge the gap more, done something.” Wag was trying to keep his breathing steady. It was working, somewhat. “I’ve let myself get into such a fuckin’ rut that I can’t even keep track of everything.”

Gretchen pursed her lips. “If I may be so crass, you’ve let yourself get so hard focused on everything about you that you haven’t given the time to look at the people around you. Before yesterday, when was the last time you’d taken the time to catch up with your friends? How much of their lives do you know about?”

He wanted to say something, give a date, but he came up blank. “I’m trying my best.”

“You are, and I see that. But you can’t blame yourself all the way through. You’ve got to consider Martha’s view as well. Neither of you are the villain here, neither of you tried to sabotage or destroy your relationship. Both of you were just trying to feel like things were going alright while other pieces of your life fell apart.” Taking the seat next to him, she shook her head.

Again, he moved to say something, but she cut him off. “If you don’t think that those of us ‘round town don’t notice that you heroes have some shit going on, you’re wrong. We may be the more common around here, but we have eyes. Whatever happened to you, you can’t let it be the reason you get stuck in something that makes you more upset or hurt. Got it?”

Hesitant, he nodded. She didn’t know much about him, yet she could see right through him, huh? How obvious had he gotten in all his time spent away from people?

“You know, I didn’t come here to have a heart to heart about my emotional issues.” Wag tried for a teasing tone but fell a little off.

Gretchen took the bait. “No sir, you came here because you’re too much of a wuss to just go up to Martha and say ‘Love, I’m afraid this ain’t gonna to work out. Can we just be friends?”

“Ok, but she could literally electrocute me.”

“Ain’t gonna be any more painful then the dance you two are doing right now.”

He had no answer for that.

“That’s what I thought. And, if she’s as nice and amazing as you say she is, would she electrocute you?”

“No. But her uncle might.”

Gretchen laughed. “Ah yes, the new Dianite. That’d be a sight to see. ‘This man we’re all suspicious and wary of smiting a local and apparent hero! Is this man actually the second coming of an evil and villainous Dianite?’ That’d go over well.”

“Ok, so maybe I don’t need to worry about getting my ass cooked by a god. I’m still nervous.” Wag was, however, feeling a little better about the situation.

“Now, now. You shouldn’t get too comfortable.” A smile grew in her face, a devious look in her eye.

“Why?”

“Spark, you know, her father? The man who built this village, who we all respect and acknowledge as a good man? If he were to come around and to, I don’t know, teach you a lesson for hurting his daughter, none of us would bat an eye.”

“Gee, thanks. If you find me dead in a ditch you’ll know what happened.”

“Are you all ready then?” She stood, smoothing her apron. “Because I’m going to kick you out regardless if you say yes or no. If I let you stay here you might not leave.”

“I was going to say no, but I suppose I’ll wander off, then.” Wag stood as well. He shuffled in place for a moment while Gretchen returned to the other side of the counter. “Thanks. For, you know. All of that.”

She shook her head. “You better keep coming in and buying my goods. Call it an even deal.”

As he begun to walk out, he heard her call, “You’re welcome to come back if you need another talk!”

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to.

---

“Martha, I need to talk to you. About our relationship. I think it’s time to end it.”

Wag was back in his tower, pacing back and forth. No, he wasn’t running from the issue, he just had no fucking idea where Martha was. At all. He should have asked.

Oh well. Too late now.

Instead he had to make the choice of: wait for her at home or attempt to track her down. His decision was fairly obvious. The only issue with said decision was that he had was that there was no way to know when Martha would show up next.

It also occurred to him that Martha preferred not to come around. Shit.

Where would she be? She’d been talking to Jordan, at his request. Maybe they were still talking? But she’d come ho- come to the tower this morning. Why had she come over? What had she said?

Oh!

She was picking up something for Spark! That meant she was probably with him. Or, he’d know where she was.

…

He didn’t know where Spark was either.

“Damn, I wish I’d paid more attention to when Martha talked about Spark,” Wag muttered to himself, starting towards the door.

Then stopped.

First, Spark was intensely boring in his routine and life. Second, he still didn’t know where to find him.

He missed being able to teleport to people.

Alright, so maybe he should have shown interest in his potential father-in-law, but it was too late for that. He had to find Martha, and finding Spark might be easier. 

Who would know where he was? The townspeople might like him, but they all had their own lives. Still, he could ask around. Who had seen him more recently, other than Martha?

A thought struck him.

He face palmed.

Jordan. Not only had Jordan and Martha been talking, which meant he might know where she went, but Jordan complained about Spark lecturing him all the time. If he didn’t know where Martha was, he’d likely know where Spark was. Even if it was to make sure he could avoid him.

Alright, easy. Jordan was probably at his house. Tree. Tree house? He had a pretty good track record of keeping close to home, at least.

So off to Jordan’s it was.

---

Today, Jerry’s Tree made him feel small. It was like it was looming over him as he ascended the hill. Grand and regal. It had seen death and destruction and met the challenge to come back better.

Wag did not feel like he was rising to a challenge so much as descending into a pit of pain. Sliding into a sweet embrace with death. Rolling into the grave.

Maybe he was being dramatic, but the thought of breaking up with Martha created more dread than he felt before in his life. 

In any case, it was as he pondered the looming nature that he wondered what it would be like to live there. Then promptly remembered what he’d noticed the day before. 

He looked over to the Casa de Sparklez. It looked homey and modest against the sprawl of branches and bark. Sure, it seemed insignificant at first glance, but it was simple. Nice.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Hadn’t it also been destroyed? Now that Wag thought about it, the last he’d seen of it before Ruxomar was a pile of ash and suspended ruins. How was it in this condition? Fixed?

Was it Ianite, again?

How many of Jordan’s homes ended in ash?

This was definitely not the reason he was making his way up. He had to focus. Focus! Ask Jordan about Martha and Spark. Easy.

Instead of making his way to the Tree right away, Wag stopped to knock on the de Sparklez door. There was a beat of silence. Did he assume wrong? Was Jordan actually living in the Tree?

Then he heard footsteps. Quiet and uncertain, but there. A flash of movement through the windows. Then the lock was turned and the door swung open.

One Mr. Captain Sparklez in the flesh.

“Hey, Wag,” Jordan drew the words out. “What brings you to the good ol’ Casa de Sparklez and not-” He looked over to Jerry’s Tree. “-my house.”

Wag offered him a smile. “I had a hunch you’d be here.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow but motioned him in regardless. The interior looked the same from the few times he’d been inside. Birch and quartz, sleek and stylish.

“How have you been, Wag?” As Jordan spoke up Wag turned to look at him. He seemed like he was in good health.

“I’ve been... better. But I’m doing better than I was, I think.” Wag could be honest with Jordan. He was pretty sure. Jordan, among all the heroes, was least likely to judge him for having issues. Ianitee and preserving balance and all.

They wandered over to Jordan’s couches where Wag declined any food or drink. “That’s good. Always good to be better, y’know, since we’re all finally getting a chance to relax.”

“Now,” Wag put his arm on the back of the couch, “I wouldn’t say that. Say it too much and things will turn south again.”

“Oh, believe me, it’ll turn south again. It always does.”

“Well that’s quite the vote of confidence in us.”

Jordan snorted. “It’s not a lack of confidence in us, it's a lack of confidence in the universe! Who’s to say that we won’t have another World Historian show up? Or another Shadows?”

Wow, speaking of Shadows.

“Gee, and here I thought I was the downer.” 

Jordan laughed, shaking his head. “Only a little,” He rubbed his legs. “I’ve been using our downtime to get myself resettled, re-setup. To get back to,” A wave of his hands. “Normal? How things used to be? I’m not sure, yet.”

“Is that why you’re living here?” Wag bit back the ‘because it feels more like home, here?’.

He received a shrug in response. “It’s easier to get in here than to wander through the tree.”

Either that was a flimsy excuse or Wag was reading too deep into this. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was. All he’d done recently was think and talk deep. Better catch himself now before he gets ahead of himself.

“So,” He pushed his thoughts to the side, “Ignoring the fact that there’s elevators in the tree, how’d you manage to get this place back in shape?”

Jordan looked away for a moment. “It took a lot of time and resources. Needed to get all that wood and quartz back, y'know? But it gave me a reason to avoid Spark, and it gave me time to… think.”

“About?”

He turned his gaze towards Jerry’s Tree, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “About how much things have really changed, and how much they haven’t.”

Well, Wag was no stranger to this topic. He was a little tired of it. “How haven’t they changed? Seems like more and more things are growing and becoming different. Nothing feels the same.”

Jordan was quiet for a minute. He was steadily getting out of his comfort zone here. “Well, there’s a lot of constants. We’re in the same world, with the same people, with the same ideas of who we are. I know I follow Ianite, I know I stand for balance, and no matter how much Spark tries to tell me I’m doing it wrong, I know what my role is as Ianite’s champion.”

“Sure, the,” he waves a hand towards the window, to the tree, to the countryside, “everything, has changed. The tree got bigger and better and less like I remember, and there's new people and a whole, real village here, rather than the strange village-folk from before. And, yeah, it’s weird having the people from the last world among us, but we know them. We know us. Even when things change it's still-”

Jordan locked eyes with Wag.

“Us.”

Yeah. He was right. Everything was changing, as everything would. But in the end, after everything has evolved and adapted and become something new, what’s left?

Us.

[therocksourcenet]

New Post has been published on http://bit.ly/2yfyjKq

JUMANJI: WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE CAST TALKS PLAYING AGAINST TYPE

Whereas the 1995 film Jumanji brought the wonders and horrors of the jungle into the suburbs of New Hampshire, the long-gestating follow-up Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle will play the opposite game, transporting its characters straight into the wilderness. This time around, Jumanji takes the form of a video game, but the biggest difference yet is what it does to those who play. The teens who get sucked into the game don’t exactly stay true to themselves in the process, instead transforming into the avatars they chose when firing up the console.Nat Wolff’s nerdy, allergy-ridden high schooler Spencer enters the body of Dwayne Johnson to become Dr. Smolder Bravestone, a man with no weaknesses. Morgan Turner’s shy and unpopular Martha who becomes Karen Gillan’s Ruby Roundhouse, a powerful warrior and Lara Croft-type. Teenage jock Fridge starts out as Ser’Darius Blaine, only to turn into the diminutive Kevin Hart. And finally, popular Bethany transforms from Madison Iseman into Jack Black, the clumsy Professor Shelly Oberon. To put it lightly, this is a movie that really leans into the charms of playing against type.

We got to chat with the four main actors on the film’s Honolulu set (which is, incidentally, also where they filmed Jurassic Park) and watched a scene in which the characters figure out their new powers and abilities. Smolder, for instance, is fearless, super fast, good at climbing, and can use a boomerang like nobody’s business, not to mention the smoldering intensity for which he gets his name… which Johnson demonstrated a number of times. Johnson is used to playing physically powerful pseudo-supermen, and Smolder is definitely that. What we’re seeing in Jumanji, however, is a kid accustomed to relying on his intelligence discovering what it’s like to be physically imposing.

“It’s a lot of fun,” Johnson told us, “and a great challenge. So, the great challenge of me being who I am as this avatar, it’s Dr. Smolder Gravestone. Throughout the film, I just, well, smolder.”

If you’ve seen any of Kevin Hart’s movies or standup, you know he’s on board with playing the height thing for comedy. The twist this time is playing a character who’s new to being a little guy. Hart told us, “I think we put a lot of small innuendoes in here that people will be able to kind of wink at and understand and agree with.” That said, Hart was determined to find something strong and sincere in his comedic character. “I wanted to just be different,” he said. “I wanted to stand out. Not come off like a clown, but come off as a person who embraced this world of the jungle. This Jumanji-esque world. You get why this guy’s in there, from his backpack, to his short shorts, to all of the patches on his vest.”

In turning into Moose, Fridge discovers new strengths beyond the physical in himself. “That’s the guy that you technically want to be with when you’re in these situations, and you get why his presence is felt,” Hart said. “It’s not just about being funny.”

Karen Gillian is no stranger to action. She’s played Nebula in Guardians of the Galaxy and even faced a bit of action in her seasons on Doctor Who. But what’s new for Gillan about her Jumanji role is her lack of confidence. “She’s a bit of a geek,” Gillan said. “She’s very smart in school but not very good socially. She takes on the avatar [that] happens to be this really kickass karate expert, badass girl. She just does not know how to inhabit this body at all.”

It may surprise Gillan’s fans to learn that she relates more to Martha than to her avatar counterpart Ruby. “I don’t know why I keep on getting cast in roles where I have to do so many action sequences, because, honestly, I’ve got two left feet and I look like a piece of spaghetti trying to fight people,” she said. “I feel like I got cast because Jake [Kasdan], the director, could tell I was a bit of a nerd in high school. He said that and I was like, ‘You’re absolutely right.’”

As for Ruby Roundhouse’s special power, it may be the most fun of the bunch: dance fighting. “First off, I didn’t know what dance fighting was until this movie,” Gillan said. “I think we might have invented it. It was really fun. I had to do this seductive routine and basically kill two men. It was maybe the best day of my life. So much fun.”

Jack Black is of course known for his comedy, and slips from one character to another with ease in the same conversation, let alone across different movies. After making up songs about the film for half of our interview, he joked that this role, that of a 16-year-old girl, is probably closer to who he is than the dorky yet funny guys he plays in most of his films.

“In a weird way, I feel like it was the real life I was born to play,” Black said. “It was very easy to tap into my inner 16-year-old girl. I don’t know why. But just to have that power of attraction. It’s subtle, but when you know you’ve got it, you know you’ve got it. And it’s just a look, a subtle gesture, and you know you’ve got it.”

Are you guys excited for Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle? Is there a particular character you’re looking forward to seeing? Tweet us your thoughts at @JennaBusch and @Nerdist!

(Nerdist.com)

[troger]

What Happened to Jordan Peterson?

(ami a legérdekesebb, az a történetben meghúzódó Orbán-szál)

Adored guru and reviled provocateur, he dropped out of sight. Now the irresistible ordeal of modern cultural celebrity has brought him back.

HELEN LEWIS

This article was published online on March 2, 2021.

One day in early 2020, Jordan B. Peterson rose from the dead. The Canadian academic, then 57, had been placed in a nine-day coma by doctors in a Russian clinic, after becoming addicted to benzodiazepines, a class of drug that includes Xanax and Valium. The coma kept him unconscious as his body went through the terrible effects of withdrawal; he awoke strapped to the bed, having tried to rip out the catheters in his arms and leave the intensive-care unit.

When the story of his detox became public, in February 2020, it provided an answer to a mystery: Whatever happened to Jordan Peterson? In the three years before he disappeared from view in the summer of 2019, this formerly obscure psychology professor’s name had been a constant presence in op-ed columns, internet forums, and culture-war arguments. His book 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos, published in 2018, sold millions of copies, and he had conducted a 160-city speaking tour, drawing crowds of up to 3,000 a night; premium tickets included the chance to be photographed with him. For $90, his website offered an online course to better understand your “unique personality.” An “official merchandise store” sold Peterson paraphernalia: mugs, stickers, posters, phone cases, tote bags. He had created an entirely new model of the public intellectual, halfway between Marcus Aurelius and Martha Stewart.

The price of these rewards was living in a maelstrom of other people’s opinions. Peterson was, depending on whom you believed, either a stern but kindly shepherd to a generation of lost young men, or a reactionary loudmouth whose ideas fueled the alt-right and a backlash to feminism. He was revered as a guru, condemned as a dangerous charlatan, adored and reviled by millions. Peterson has now returned to the public sphere, and the psyche-splitting ordeal of modern celebrity, with a new book, Beyond Order: 12 More Rules for Life—an intriguing title, in light of his recent experiences. The mystery deepens: What really happened to Jordan Peterson, and why has he come back for more?

Growing up in Fairview, Alberta, Peterson was small for his age, which fostered both a quick wit and a fascination with the power and violence of traditional masculinity. He once recounted in a Facebook post how he’d overheard a neighbor named Tammy Roberts joking with another girl that she wanted to keep her surname, so she would have to marry “some wimp.” Then she turned around and proposed to the teenage Jordan. He spent a youthful summer working on a railroad in Saskatchewan, with an all-male group that nicknamed him Howdy Doody, after the freckle-faced puppet. As a student, he visited a maximum-security prison, where he was particularly struck by a convict with a vicious scar right down his chest, which he surmised might have come from surgery or an ax wound: “The injury would have killed a lesser man, anyway—someone like me.”

How to be a greater man was very much on Peterson’s mind. Raised in a mildly Christian household, he decided as a teenager that “religion was for the ignorant, weak and superstitious.” He yearned for a left-wing revolution, an urge that lasted until he met some left-wing activists in college. Then, rejecting all ideology, he decided that the threat of the Cold War made it vital to understand the human impulse toward destruction. He began to study psychology.

Alongside pursuing his doctorate, teaching at Harvard and then the University of Toronto, and raising a family—he married Tammy in 1989, and yes, she took his surname—Peterson started work on his first book, a survey of the origins of belief. Its ambition was nothing less than to explain, well, everything—in essence, how the story of humanity has been shaped by humanity’s love of stories. Maps of Meaning, published in 1999, built on the work of academics like Joseph Campbell, the literature and religion scholar who argued that all mythic narratives are variations of a single archetypal quest. (Campbell’s “monomyth” inspired the arc of Star Wars.) On this “hero’s journey,” a young man sets out from his humdrum life, confronts monsters, resists temptation, stares into the abyss, and claims a great victory. Returning home with what Campbell calls “the power to bestow boons on his fellow men,” the hero can also claim the freedom to live at peace with himself.

In the fall of 2016, Peterson seized the chance to embark on his own quest. A Canadian Parliament bill called C-16 proposed adding “gender identity or expression” to the list of protected characteristics in the country’s Human Rights Act, alongside sex, race, religion, and so on. For Peterson, the bill was proof that the cultural left had captured public-policy making and was imposing its fashionable diktats by law. In a YouTube video titled “Professor Against Political Correctness,” he claimed that he could be brought before a government tribunal if he refused to use recently coined pronouns such as zhe. In the first of several appearances on Joe Rogan’s blockbuster podcast, he made clear that he was prepared to become a martyr for his principles, if necessary. His intensity won over Rogan—a former mixed-martial-arts commentator with a huge young male fan base and eclectic political views (a frequent critic of the left, he endorsed Bernie Sanders in 2020). “You are one of the very few academics,” Rogan told Peterson, “who have fought against some of these ideas that are not just being promoted but are being enforced.”

The fight over C-16, which became law in 2017, was a paradigmatic culture-war battle. Each side overstated the other side’s argument to bolster its own: Either you hated transgender people, or you hated free speech. In Peterson’s view, the bill exposed the larger agenda of postmodernism, which he portrayed as an ideology that, in denying the existence of objective truth, “leaves its practitioners without an ethic.” (This is not how theorists of postmodernism define it, and if you have a few hours to spare, do ask one of them to explain.) He was on the side of science and rationality, he proclaimed, and against identity politics. Feminists were wrong to argue that traditional gender roles were limiting and outdated, because centuries of evolution had turned men into strong, able providers and women into warm, emotionally sensitive nurturers. “The people who hold that our culture is an oppressive patriarchy, they don’t want to admit that the current hierarchy might be predicated on competence” is how he later phrased it. (This was during Donald Trump’s presidency.) The founding stories of the world’s great religions backed him up, as did the hero’s journey: It is men who fight monsters, while women are temptresses or helpmates.

The mainstream media began to pay attention. Peterson had posted some advice on the Q&A site Quora, which he turned into his second book, 12 Rules for Life, a mashup of folksy wisdom, evolutionary biology, and digressions on the evils of Soviet Communism. (His daughter, Mikhaila, is named after Mikhail Gorbachev.) It stresses the conservative principles of self-reliance and responsibility, encouraging readers to tidy their bedrooms and smarten themselves up to compete for female attention—a message reinforced by a questionable analogy involving lobsters, which fight by squirting urine from their faces to establish their place in the mating hierarchy. “Parents, universities and the elders of society have utterly failed to give many young men realistic and demanding practical wisdom on how to live,” David Brooks wrote in a New York Times column. “Peterson has filled the gap.” He offered self-help for a demographic that wouldn’t dream of reading Goop.

Yet the relentless demands of modern celebrity—more content, more access, more authenticity—were already tearing the psychologist’s public persona in two. One Peterson was the father figure beloved by the normie readers of 12 Rules, who stood in long lines to hear him speak and left touching messages on internet forums, testifying that he had turned their lives around. The other Peterson was a fearsome debater, the gladiator who crowed “Gotcha!” at the British television interviewer Cathy Newman after a series of testy exchanges about the gender pay gap and the freedom to give offense. His debates were clipped and remixed, then posted on YouTube with titles announcing that he had “DESTROYED” his interlocutors.

I know this because one of them was me: Our interview for British GQ, which has garnered more than 23 million views, is easily the most viral moment I’ve ever had. While dozens of acquaintances emailed and texted me to praise my performance and compare Peterson’s stern affect to Hannibal Lecter with a Ph.D., mean comments piled up like a snowdrift below the video itself. I was “biased and utterly intellectually bankrupt,” “dishonest and malicious,” and “like a petulant child who walked into an adult conversation.” What kind of man, several wondered, would marry a dumb, whiny, shrill feminist like this? (Quite a nice one, thanks for asking.)

Peterson lived in this split-screen reality all the time. Even as he basked in adoration, a thousand internet piranhas ripped through his every utterance, looking for evidence against him. One week, Bari Weiss anointed him a leading culture warrior, including him in a New York Times feature as a member of the “Intellectual Dark Web.” Ten days later, the newspaper published a mocking profile of him, reporting that his house was decorated with Soviet propaganda and quoting him speculating about the benefits of “enforced monogamy” in controlling young men’s animal instincts. After he was accused of pining after Margaret Atwood’s Gilead, he quickly posted a note on his website arguing that he meant only the “social enforcement of monogamy.”

The negative publicity affected him deeply, and it was endless. After the Indian essayist Pankaj Mishra charged him with peddling “fascist mysticism,” Peterson tweeted that Mishra was an “arrogant, racist son of a bitch” and a “sanctimonious prick.” He added: “If you were in my room at the moment, I’d slap you happily.” Even sleep brought no relief. Peterson is a believer in dream analysis, and after one particularly ill-tempered interview in October 2018, he blogged about a nightmare that followed. In his dream, he met a man who “simply would not shut up.” The man reminded him, he wrote, of an acquaintance at university in Canada he calls Sam, who drove around in a Mercedes with swastikas on the doors, saying the worst things he could, unable to resist inviting attacks. “I can’t help myself,” Sam had told Peterson. “I have a target drawn on my back.” Eventually, at a party, Sam overstepped the line; he was about to be assaulted by a mob until another acquaintance “felled him with a single punch.” Peterson never saw Sam again. In his dream, the Sam-like man talked and talked and “finally pushed me beyond my limit of tolerance … I bent his wrists to force his knuckles into his mouth. His arms bent like rubber and, even though I managed the task, he did not stop babbling. I woke up.”

It is hard to resist reading the subtext like this: Peterson had spent months being casually described as a Nazi and associated with the alt-right, labels he always rejected. He had metaphorical swastikas on his car door. He couldn’t resist putting a target on his own back, and he, too, couldn’t stop talking. Indeed, in May 2019, after railing against left-wing censoriousness—now widely called “cancel culture”—he met with Viktor Orbán, the proudly illiberal prime minister of Hungary, whose government has closed gender-studies programs, waged a campaign to evict Central European University from the country, and harassed independent journalists. Orbán’s state-backed version of cancel culture—or, to use the correct word, authoritarianism—apparently didn’t come up in their meeting. Peterson had previously told an interviewer to describe politicians like Orbán not as “strongmen,” but as “dictator wannabes.” Nonetheless, the visit—and the posed photograph of the men in conversation, released to friendly media outlets—gave intellectual cover to Orbán’s repressive government.

All that time, the two Petersons were pulling away from each other. As the arguments over his message raged across YouTube, Twitter, Facebook, and traditional media, he became an avatar of our polarized media climate. People were consuming completely different Petersons, depending on their news sources. When I saw him on his speaking tour at a theater on Long Island, the first question he was asked was not about pronouns or the decline of Western civilization; it was When was the last time you got drunk? The second was a heartfelt plea that will be familiar to any new parent: How can I get my baby to sleep?

The past two years have clearly been hell for Peterson. In a June 2020 video interview with his daughter, he looked gaunt and restless as he described his struggle with drug dependency, a torment that he revisits in the “Overture” to Beyond Order, his new book. As he describes it, an allergic reaction during the 2016 Christmas holiday manifested as intense anxiety, leading his family doctor to prescribe benzodiazepines. He also started following what Mikhaila calls the “lion diet,” consuming only meat, salt, and water. In 2019, “the tumultuous reality of [being] a public figure” was exacerbated by a series of family health crises culminating in his wife’s diagnosis, in April, of what was thought to be terminal cancer. (She has since recovered.) Peterson—who notes that he had been plagued for years by “a tendency toward depression”—had his tranquilizer dosage upped, only to experience rising anxiety, followed by the ravages of attempted withdrawal. He was at the edge of the abyss—“anxiety far beyond what I had ever experienced, an uncontrollable restlessness and need to move … overwhelming thoughts of self-destruction, and the complete absence of any happiness whatsoever.”

Throughout this turbulent time, Peterson was working on Beyond Order. He makes no claims that his suffering provided a teachable moment (particularly, he notes, when a pandemic has upended lives everywhere). He also declines the opportunity to place his addiction in the context of the prescription-drug-abuse crisis. Peterson seems to have softened his disdain for religion, and as for Tammy, “passing so near to death motivated my wife to attend to some issues regarding her own spiritual and creative development.” Notably, Peterson is not ready to give up on the hero’s journey, despite the terror he has endured. “All of that misfortune is only the bitter half of the tale of existence,” he writes, “without taking note of the heroic element of redemption or the nobility of the human spirit requiring a certain responsibility to shoulder.”

This book is humbler than its predecessor, and more balanced between liberalism and conservatism—but it offers a similar blend of the highbrow and the banal. Readers get a few glimpses of the fiery online polemicist, but the Peterson of Beyond Order tends instead to two other modes. The first is a grounded clinician, describing his clients’ troubles and the tough-love counsel he gives them. The other is a stoned college freshman telling you that the Golden Snitch is, like, a metaphor for “ ‘round chaos’ … the initial container of the primordial element.” Some sentences beg to be prefaced with Dude, like these: “If Queen Elizabeth II suddenly turned into a giant fire-breathing lizard in the midst of one of her endless galas, a certain amount of consternation would be both appropriate and expected … But if it happens within the context of a story, then we accept it.” Reading Peterson the clinician can be illuminating; reading his mystic twin is like slogging through wet sand. His fans love the former; his critics mock the latter.

The prose swirls like mist, and his great insight appears to be little more than the unthreatening observation that life is complicated. (If the first book hadn’t been written like this too, you’d guess that he was trying to escape the butterfly pins of his harshest detractors.) After nearly 400 pages, we learn that married people should have sex at least once a week, that heat and pressure turn coal into diamonds, that having a social life is good for your mental health, and that, for a man in his 50s, Peterson knows a surprising amount about Quidditch. The chapter inviting readers to “make one room in your home as beautiful as possible” is typically discursive, but unusually enjoyable: Peterson knows his Wordsworth. (It is not free from weirdness, however. At one point, he claims to have looked at 1.2 million paintings on eBay while selecting his living-room decor.) His prose also lights up when he describes the wonder of watching his granddaughter encounter the world.

On the rare occasion that Beyond Order strays overtly into politics, Peterson still can’t resist fighting straw men. What Peterson sees as healthy ambition “needs to be encouraged in every possible manner,” he writes.

It is for this reason, among many others, that the increasingly reflexive identification of the striving of boys and men for victory with the “patriarchal tyranny” that hypothetically characterizes our modern, productive, and comparatively free societies is so stunningly counterproductive (and, it must be said, cruel: there is almost nothing worse than treating someone striving for competence as a tyrant in training).

But who is reflexively identifying all male ambition as innately harmful? If any mainstream feminist writers are in fact arguing that the West is a “patriarchal tyranny”—as opposed to simply a “patriarchy” or male-dominated society—he should do the reader the favor of citing them. Is he arguing with Gloria Steinem or princess_sparklehorse99 on Tumblr? A tenured professor should embrace academic rigor.

Peterson writes an entire chapter against ideologies—feminism, anti-capitalism, environmentalism, basically anything ending in ism—declaring that life is too complex to be described by such intellectual frameworks. Funny story: There’s an academic movement devoted to skepticism of grand historical narratives. It’s called … postmodernism. That chapter concludes by advising readers to put their own lives in order before trying to change the world. This is not only a rehash of one of the previous 12 rules—“Clean up your bedroom,” he writes, because fans love it when you play the hits—but also ferocious chutzpah coming from a man who was on a lecture tour well after he should have gone to rehab.

The Peterson of Beyond Order, that preacher of personal responsibility, dances around the question of whether his own behavior might have contributed to his breakdown. Was it really wise to agree to all those brutal interviews, drag himself to all those international speaking events, send all those tweets that set the internet on fire? Like a rock star spiraling into burnout, he was consumed by the pyramid scheme of fame, parceling himself out, faster and faster, to everyone who wanted a piece. Perhaps he didn’t want to let people down, and he loved to feel needed. Perhaps he enjoyed having an online army glorying in his triumphs and pursuing his enemies. In our frenzied media culture, can a hero ever return home victorious and resume his normal life, or does the lure of another adventure, another dragon to slay, another “lib” to “own” always call out to him?

Either way, he gazed into the culture-war abyss, and the abyss stared right back at him. He is every one of us who couldn’t resist that pointless Facebook argument, who felt the sugar rush of the self-righteous Twitter dunk, who exulted in the defeat of an opposing political tribe, or even an adjacent portion of our own. That kind of unhealthy behavior, furiously lashing out while knowing that counterattacks will follow, is a very modern form of self-harm. And yet in Beyond Order, the blame is placed solely on “the hypothetically safe but truly dangerous benzodiazepine anti-anxiety medication” he was prescribed by his family doctor. The book leaves you wishing that Peterson the tough therapist would ask hard questions of Peterson the public intellectual.

To imagine that Peterson is popular in spite of his contradictions and human frailties—the things that drive his critics mad—is a mistake: He is popular because of them. For a generation that has lost its faith in religion and politics, he is one of notably few prominent figures willing to confront the most fundamental questions of existence: What’s the point of being alive? What kind of personal journey endows our existence with meaning? He is, in many ways, countercultural. He doesn’t offer get-rich-quick schemes, or pickup techniques. He is not libertine or libertarian. He promises that life is a struggle, but that it is ultimately worthwhile.

Yet Peterson’s elevation to guru status has come at great personal cost, a cascade of suffering you wouldn’t wish on anybody. It has made him rich and famous, but not happy. “We compete for attention, personally, socially, and economically,” he writes in Beyond Order. “No currency has a value that exceeds it.” But attention is a perilous drug: The more we receive, the more we desire. It is the culture war’s greatest reward, yet it started Jordan Peterson on a journey that turned a respected but unknown professor into the man strapped into the Russian hospital bed, ripping the tubes from his arms, desperate for another fix.