#already in a hospital with mystery illness so nobody is having a good time besides maybe him

[thankstothe]

guess ill die

[duckyaltalt]

「herman tommeraas & cis male」⇾ mercer, ducky, the junior radcliffe student’s records show that he is a pisces and 21 years old. he is studying business, living in gorham and can be tenderhearted, nimble, compliant & taciturn. when i see him i am reminded of fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown . ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

hi :D this is the last of my OG characters ... the next two will b sexy n new bt they wont arrive fr a while bc i <3 need 2 hv a steady pace <3 anyways hes. rly sad so. good luck charlie <3 okay bye :D

TW CHILD ABUSE / DOMESTIC ABUSE / ABUSE, VIOLENCE, INJURY, TRAUMA, MENTAL ILLNESS, DRUGS / DRUG ABUSE / ADDICTION , GANGS.

aesthetic.

bruises; from beneath your eyes to the edge of your jaw, aligned against your stomach and the sides of your waist and the groves of your knuckles. bleeding noses and bleeding gums, spat out teeth, tattoos scarred from improper treatment, a facial scar; jagged and old, now, from above your eye to beneath your lip. worn hoodies and scuffed sneakers, sunglasses inside. the night sky, and it’s many stars, and how brightly they shone during the 2019 blackout, and wanting to be up there, with them. knowing constellations by heart. wishing to be the face on the moon. beer bottles and secret exchanges. dark alleys. fear, through the very core of your heart. fear, hidden behind a stoic stare.

basic info.

full name: donovan mercer

nickname(s): ducky but i’m 95% sure he hates the nickname it’s just. Stuck with him.

b.o.d. - march 15th, pisces :)

label(s): the allegiant, the despondent, the grifter, the malleable, the vacant, etc.

height: 5′11″

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york

sexuality: bisexual bt make it closeted.

pinterest

stats

inspired by: lip gallagher (shameless), freddie mcclair (skins), frankenstein’s monster (frankenstein), fez (euphoria) … that’s it i don’t know any other characters KJNSGLDNVLSDJNFDS

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

you can correctly assume that they grew up in a heavily abusive environment, and can imagine the sort of things the two have gone through. ducky was, maybe, the least favorite of their father’s -

- for numerous reasons, and one being that ducky’d always been a sensitive kid. kinder than his brother, and far kinder than his father - kindness is weakness, and ducky was filled with it. too much so, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice. should’ve - but didn’t. and never did, either.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed.

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be.

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. his grades fluctuated frequently, and it’s a surprise that he hadn’t dropped out of high school altogether.

anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip, the entire left side of his face a bloody mess afterwards. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly. corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

graduated high school and had been on-and-off attending community college since then. he’d miss days at a time, flunk an entire semester’s worth of classes - gpa dropped further and further. wanted to try, but life got in the way. always got in the way.

hadn’t intended on transferring to radcliffe, but their father’d been missing for a few months then, leaving ducky to handle the drugs side of their business in hell’s kitchen - and mercy’d disappeared, too, leaving their branch in lovell completely open. in a split decision - an opportunity, and opening - something he couldn’t miss, or he’d maybe never get the opportunity again, ducky bullshitted a scholarship essay (plagiarism, tsk) and transferred to pick up where mercy’d left.

this wasn’t very well thought out, because that meant there were no mercers in new york - and lars amaretto? not a very understanding man. more of a brute than their father was, by far. to keep a story short - ducky is missing a tooth (molar, luckily, this time) and is … more rough’d up than he’d like to be, for sure. but mercy’s back, now, and he’s still at lovell, at radcliffe.

and that’s enough.

UPDATE: heehaw. mercy is gone & ducky’s still here. feeling a bit lost - dealt with a lot of shit this summer, new wounds and old wounds and just. a lot. started an underground fight club on campus for some extra cash, reasons unknown. being blackmailed by someone named rocky - someone who knows ducky is skimming cash. god. i don’t know ... danger danger danger danger. nightmare-ville. wrapped up in more walls than ever.

personality.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be harder - and his hits will be, too. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures, occasionally, or physics - or anything that isn’t business, because he hates his major, but he knows it’s the only chance he’s got to stay at radcliffe. and that’s to follow his brother, to follow his father. a business degree treats you well, teaches you skills you’ll need to know for this type of work.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs, only to leave it in the gorham community fridge with no name, something for somebody who may need it. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing, the result of years of abuse. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy. his room is messy, but still oddly barren. nothing on the walls except for a poster or two, sheets a standard navy blue and a row of empty liquor bottles on his windowsill.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing. sex is uncomfortable for him, he always feels gross afterwards. wrong, sometimes.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it. it’s his first semester at radcliffe.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

uuuhhh. god. okay so ducky’s got an addiction to xanax. it’s numbing and it’s better than feeling, and he’d rather this than that and it’s. a Thing. we won’t go further into it. besides that - he does smoke weed, does try out some of their products to make sure it’s not … fucked, for their clients, but otherwise fucking hates drugs. social drinker, but still doesn’t like it a lot. hates beer but drinks it often.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted connections.

clients… first n foremost. he needs people to deal to. i don’t think he handles the Hard Shit like mercy does, but like coke and mdma? works for him.

f…riend..s?… like it’s so hard for ducky to be sincere with people but if you don’t mind like … an emotionally distant man who doesn’t even hit 6′ then maybe? he’s your guy? maybe you can break him down a little? chip away at his cold shoulder?

a close…r friend… maybe not like. the best of friends. but at least one normal friend whose world does not revolve around fucking drugs and violence would be nice for ducky. someone he can be a little soft with, as a treat.

hook-ups… not many, because ducky doesn’t really enjoy sex too much but y’know. that’s just how it is. he do be having needs, tho. KDSJGSHDKLFSE god.

fisticuffs!… someone he got into a fistfight with. multiple people he’s gotten into fights with. he’s probably lost them (on purpose) but - mayhaps, some of them, he did not?

gorham roommate… god… i don’t know what these two cld get up to but! maybe give him a sexuality panic but who knows.

unrequited feelings… there’s probably a few of these. whether people are drawn to his fucking ~mysterious~ demeanor (he just has fucking anxiety, man) or mayhaps. mayhaps he has the feelings.

flirtations… he’s never been in a relationship so i can’t really include exes, but he can flirt with people i’d like to think … when he’s drunk. :-)

ghostees… everybody he’s ever fucking ghosted because he’s stupid and is afraid of both friendship and relationships and romance and platonic? feelings of warmth? so sometimes he panics and ghosts people forever. :) spite!

new yorkians… who are familiar with his family or the business they have there

enemies… god. i’m sure he has a lot of these even without attempting to make them. just like, by association, you know? sometimes ducky hates people because mercy does. sometimes he hates people because mercy likes them. JKSDGDSJGFSNLKF

i won’t lie i’m very tired and am having a Troubled Time coming up with connections please. bare with me.

annoyances… i don’t know if ducky can get annoyed very easily but? thorns in his side? something lighthearted? alternately, something Not lighthearted and then ducky :/ goes rogue JKDNGDSNLFK

idk something soft… literally anything soft. please :) give me something soft and cute :) and peaceful and not stressful :)

something ANGSTY and AWFUL… literally. i don’t know. duality of man.

ok i have been awake fr too long i’m going to bed goodnight.

[spilled-ink-and-city-lights-blog]

Chapter One of my novel (and an extra plug for patreon)

I’ve been working on this beast, Wayward Soul, since my senior year of high school and I’m just now releasing it into the wild, forgoing traditional publishing because down with the man or something like that. I figure I’ll post the first chapter here for anyone so inclined and then a link to my patreon, in which a dollar a month will help with rent/catfood/human food/etc. 

I tossed the end of my cigarette from the open window of my truck, watched the resulting fireball skitter away before dying on the asphalt. My girlfriend wasn’t present to give me the usual spiel about my litter being eaten by squirrels or stray kittens who would then develop cancer because of my negligence. It was three in the morning and I had to be back to work in five hours. The regular night shift worker had called off with a mysterious illness that had conveniently struck on the first warm day of spring when everyone was crawling out of their houses and blinking as if they’d never seen such sun before. As for me, I was stuck in the cold damp of The Warehouse.

The Warehouse wasn’t a warehouse of anything specific, more of a hub of all things needing shipped. Every breeze that blew through the Civil War era structure set the building to sounding as if it were alive and displeased about it, with creaks and groans echoing down the oversized corridors. I didn’t believe in the rumors that The Warehouse was a hospital for soldiers in days gone by and I didn’t believe in ghosts, but there’s something about three in the morning that strips the skepticism from a man.The only good part about working graveyard was that everyone in their right mind was already home in bed, and I had the roads to myself. I was already half asleep and the fewer obstacles to crash into when I inevitably dozed, the better.

 I slipped into autopilot and my mind wandered to my bed. The radio did nothing to improve the situation; I had heard the same six songs on the local station so many times that they all blurred together into what may as well have been a lullaby. Something moved in the corner of my vision at the side of the road. I hoped that I wasn’t going to get bombarded by Bambi or his woodland friends. As soon as the thought crossed my sleep deprived brain the thing shot into the road in front of me and stopped still. and I slammed on the breaks at the same time as wrenching the steering wheel to the left, into the empty other lane. The truck skidded almost sideways across both lanes before it came to a stop with the thing standing close enough to reach out and touch the bumper. A person? I wondered what the hell a person was doing trying to play Frogger on a backroad at three in the morning. I didn’t think that there were any bars nearby to send too-drunk patrons stumbling home in the early hours. I jumped out into the darkness, the residual adrenaline telling me to beat the Hell out of the asshole that had nearly caused me to wreck. The slam of the door sounded like a gunshot in the darkness. And then I paused. 

Now that I was standing so close, I could see that it was actually he, and he was a child that came up just past my waist. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself, watching me with huge, shockingly green eyes that seemed to reflect the beam of the headlights as an animal’s would. He shrunk away from me as I approached, adding to the illusion that it was some sort of strange animal that sat before me in the road. Good parenting, I thought, losing a six-year-old in the middle of hillbilly backwater country. I looked around for any sign of a parent: flashlights, headlights, panicked screams. A loon wailed from beyond the line of trees, and that was all. “Better get out of the road, kid. You’re gonna get yourself killed,” I called, and his eyes locked on mine, startled and hurt. I could hear the distant roar of a car, far away but fast approaching. “Seriously, move!”The kid started crying and covered his ears. “You’re going to be roadkill here in a second!” I said, and scooped him up under the arms, ignoring his protests. 

I opened the passenger side door and tossed him in the general direction of it, jumped in myself, and reversed to swing to the shoulder of the road. He was howling, and he had compressed himself as far away from me as he could manage. I locked the doors, half scared that the kid would make another break for it and head straight back into the road. It crossed my mind how this must look to an outsider: a shaggy, pale, probably wild-eyed man with a tiny child locked in his truck with no indication of a booster seat or anything else that might place the ownership of the child in his hands. Dammit. “What am I going to do with you?” I asked. The kid was making some impossibly high, keening noise directly into my right ear. I tried to turn on the radio, hoping for some potentially soothing music to diffuse the situation, but all I got was a harsh blast of static that caused me to jump and accidentally punch the horn as I tried to turn it back off. The only CD in the six cd changer was slipknot. Soothing. At least the screaming of the music deadened the kid’s screaming a bit.

 I flipped open my crappy dinosaur age cellphone and dialed 9-1-1.The dispatcher sounded irritated. I had always thought that they went through training to be able to talk about guts and severed heads while still sounding as close to Bob Ross as humanly possible, but this guy wasn’t having it. He promised to send the cops my way and I hung up to let him get back to whatever dispatchers in rural areas do in the middle of the night when nobody is doing anything stupid to send paramedics or cops to. I turned the heat up. The kid had warn himself out with his carrying on and his eyes had begun to droop. I closed mine as well. If I was going back into work at six in the morning, not even this was going to stop me from getting some sleep first. What else was I going to do, besides stare at trees or watch the kid sleep like some kind of actual creep?

When I woke up again, the seat behind me was empty. I assumed the kid had crawled into the back, but he wasn’t there either. I found myself awake with a solid jolt of adrenaline straight to the bloodstream. He didn’t look old enough to be competent at managing door locks, so where had he gone? Surely enough, upon examination the doors were still locked locked from the inside and the keys still in the ignition. My pulse throbbed behind my eyes. I had always figured that my brain was a tad bit fried from a decade of drug use, but hallucinating small children on abandoned roads was a new one. I decided the best course of action was to take off before the cops finished their snail-paced crawl to my location and pretend that this night had never happened. 

 https://www.patreon.com/dcayton

[artificialqueens]

saint in the city ch.6 (katlaska) - comeapart

a/n: angst! if scrubs was still filming, i’d be right up there begging for an option to write all of the angsty subplots. anyway, enjoy. ch.1 here & ch.2 here & ch.3 here & ch.4 here & ch.5 here

Sharon was getting better, but Courtney wasn’t. Courtney, out of everyone, was the one who should be getting better. She was a vegan most of the time, and she was healthy, and she always did the right thing. Sharon took absolutely no care of herself, and spent the entire time that Alaska visited talking about her new boyfriend who supposedly didn’t do drugs. Alaska was happy for her, really, but it hurt knowing that she was replaced so easily.

Willam called out sick and spent nearly all of her time besides Courtney, and if she wasn’t spending time by her side, she was in the staff-room crying. Alaska figured this was one of the perks of being a doctor, being able to see your sick girlfriend despite the quarantine placed on her. It had passed the few days of incubation, so at least Willam wouldn’t be getting sick too, but she was still constantly on edge. Everything felt sort of blurry, like she wasn’t wearing contacts and she’d forgotten her glasses, and she found herself more often than not lightheaded. Trixie and Bianca were starting to be warmer, helping her and picking up the slack that Courtney used to when she wasn’t ill. She had even noticed that Katya was around more, hovering by Courtney’s room and asking how she was every time someone walked past her.

As much as Alaska knew that normally, Katya’s presence would’ve been an instant mood booster, she couldn’t bring herself to notice anything outside of her work at all. She was clumsier than ever, which hadn’t changed, but her ability to make conversation had completely deteriorated. Katya said a lot of things that either went past Alaska, or seemed like they were out of pity, and Alaska didn’t have enough time for either.

She ate at least once a day, because the mystery admirer was leaving food on her desk and it was rude to ignore it. She didn’t have much of an appetite, but she forced herself to as a trade-off for avoiding sleep. The notes were getting longer, and Trixie had even found out about it. She seemed like she wasn’t happy with it, but Trixie was too nice, so Alaska was happy to pretend that she was just jealous. The gifts she was left with were part of the reason she hadn’t entirely given up, and the flowers came home with her every time she had a moment to drive back.

*

By the next week, Courtney was finally starting to show signs of improvement, but she was still ill. Trixie invited Alaska out, and although she was pretty sure it was because she felt guilty that everything in Alaska’s life was going wrong, Alaska wasn’t going to stop her. She took her to see the Harry Potter movie that Katya had shot her down on, and then took her out for dinner, and invited a girl named Kim that was almost as clumsy as Alaska was.

They talked about a lot of things, like how Alaska was a great nurse and how Trixie was busy with her family trying to get her a boyfriend, and how Kim was a makeup artist and could get Alaska a discount if she wanted one. Alaska couldn’t concentrate much, and Trixie ordered for her to save the hassle. By the time it arrived, Kim and Trixie were talking again, and Alaska was able to zone out and stare at everything except them, slowly chipping away at the plate she had been given.

“Alaska,” Trixie said, and when Alaska looked up, Trixie was staring. She looked almost offended at the fact Alaska hadn’t been paying attention, and she could hear the impatience in her voice.

“I’m sorry. What?”

Trixie’s face fell, and Kim looked uncomfortable. “I asked if you were going to be alright, Lask.”

“Probably. I’m not the one sick.”

“I’m sorry, Alaska. You know it’s not your fault, right? Courtney’s getting better, too. And I know that Katya is trying her hardest too. Between you both, we have the best doctors in the entire hospital working to make sure she gets healthy again,” Trixie said, sighing and sitting up straight. “And they’re flying in new doctors to help. Specialists. She’s going to be okay.”

“We don’t know anything about them. They could be just as clueless as we are.”

“Everyone is saying they’re really good. I knew one of them in med school, she’s from Seattle. I know she used to be really nice, and she’s a brilliant doctor,” Trixie offered.

“We have brilliant doctors here, too,” Alaska mumbled, looking back down at her plate again. “But our team can’t solve it. My best friend might die, because the death rate is rising every single day and she isn’t getting much better, and my ex who I haven’t seen in years nearly died because of this virus.”

“Alaska,” Trixie repeated, snapping her out of her trance. Alaska looked up again, jutting her bottom lip out before trying to smile at her.

“Sorry. I’m not particularly fun to be around right now. I think I might just go home,” Alaska said quietly, handing Trixie a few bills from her wallet and excusing herself. Nobody followed her on her way out, and Alaska didn’t blame them. She was a terrible guest. She thought she heard Trixie say something along the lines of Katya predicting the night, but she didn’t care anymore, because Trixie was probably lying.

The drive home was silent, and Alaska fell asleep on the couch when she got home. By Wednesday, Courtney had managed to catch pneumonia, and Willam was running out of holiday to use up on staying by her side. Alaska was vaguely expecting the worst, but she wasn’t going to give up hope that Courtney would recover. Courtney was a fighter, and if she wasn’t, then Willam would fight for her.

*

It was freezing outside, but Alaska couldn’t find it within herself to go back inside again, and she didn’t need her coat anyway. She barely noticed once she was past the carpark and the main grounds, even with her knuckles starting to ache from the breeze. There was a park just outside the hospital, and it was mostly deserted due to the weather. Alaska briefly thought about why people normally went there, but she didn’t dwell on it for too long. She wasn’t there to process grief or fear.

She wandered down the empty pathway, eventually deciding to take her seat on one of the less icy benches in the empty park and pulling out her phone. She didn’t bring lunch, because without Courtney the cafe was dull and with everything going on in her life, she didn’t get hungry anymore. Her appetite was almost gone, with the exception of ready salted chips whilst watching rom-coms. Courtney probably would’ve yelled at her for the choice, considering how unhealthy they were.

She almost didn’t hear the footsteps approaching her, only looking up when they were directly in front of her. When she did look, she stared without making the connection between Katya Zamolodchikova standing there looking at her and, well, Katya Zamolodchikova.

“You forgot your coat,” Katya said carefully, holding out the coat that Alaska had left in her office, draped over her chair.

Alaska blinked up at her, and Katya looked guilty. Or embarrassed, with her cheeks starting to flush pink. Alaska just stared, waiting for any sort of explanation. The coat hadn’t been the most obvious thing in her office to find, and they weren’t exactly close to the main grounds.

“My office is there,” Katya explained, pointing up towards a window that Alaska was pretty sure was too far away to see people from. “It looks out here, it’s… It’s really cold, Alaska. You should wear your coat.”

Alaska wanted to tell her she loved her. There was so much she wanted to say, but there was no energy left. Everything she did was going badly, and it wasn’t worth the effort of breaking her heart again. She took the coat, pulling it on and smoothing down one of the tufts of fake fur, pocketing her phone in the process. It didn’t help at all, but her fingers did stop aching.

“Thanks,” Alaska mumbled, shoving her hands into her pockets.

“Can I sit down?” Katya asked, looking at her like she was a patient being prepared for the worst. Alaska wouldn’t have blamed her if that was the case, with how her luck was going. She nodded carefully, watching her sit.

If either of them moved, they would be pressed up against each other. Alaska didn’t try anything, because life wasn’t like a movie. No matter how many fantasies she had, she couldn’t just wish and have a better situation, one where her friends were alive and her most recent fuck liked her back.

“I’m sorry about Courtney,” Katya said.

“It’s not your fault,” Alaska answered without thinking much.

“It isn’t yours either,” Katya sounded certain. Alaska knew that she was just trying to be nice, but it still didn’t feel good to think about. She didn’t say anything back, and after a moment, Katya sighed. “It’s not even -”

“Why are you talking to me?” Alaska asked, her voice quiet. She knew how emotional she sounded, tired and defeated and exhausted. The filter she had was gone, and in the back of her mind, she knew that wasn’t what Katya needed. She had already managed to embarrass herself around Katya enough for the rest of her life, and maybe the afterlife too.

Katya turned to look at her, swallowing. “I… I want to? I know you’ve got a lot going on right now, and I -”

“You don’t have to worry about me calling in a debt, Katya. I’m not a charity case. I’m not going to kill myself if someone I care about dies, I do have some self control,” Alaska said.

“I didn’t,” Katya said, stumbling over her words. “I mean, you -”

“Katya, it’s okay. You can stop hanging around and looking guilty. I’ve had people do worse things than fuck and run, alright?” Alaska said, looking down at Katya for a response. She was silent, as if Alaska had said exactly the right thing to destroy any chance they had left. “Thanks for bringing my coat,” She added, standing up and walking back to the hospital, not looking back at the mess she’d managed to create.

When she got back, there was another box of chocolates on her desk, with a pink ribbon tied around the box and another pink rose. There was a note attached, reading ‘merry christmas, детка,’ which was the only reason Alaska remembered what day it was.

*

Alaska was woken up at five AM on Boxing Day by Bianca Del Rio breaking into her office and clearing her throat. She was pretty sure that she wasn’t about to be yelled at, but the sight definitely did make her jump. Something tightened in her stomach as she sat up properly in the chair, looking up at her hopefully. If anything had happened to Courtney, Trixie would’ve been the one to give her the news.

“You aren’t allowed to sleep in here, Alaska,” Bianca said pointedly, looking at the box of chocolates on her desk before back to her. “The specialist team want to see you. There’s a meeting at 8am, when they get in. Don’t be late.”

Alaska didn’t argue, just nodded and watched her leave before relaxing back into the chair and closing her eyes. She woke up again at six, putting her face on in the tiny mirror of her powder compact and making herself presentable. It was probably a good idea to be pretty for the team of the specialist doctors, anyway. They were likely going to tell her the worst, and if she had to be sad, she would at least sort of feel better about herself crying in front of strangers.

She thought about eating some of the chocolates, or looking for something healthy in the cafe, but she didn’t feel hungry when she thought about the meeting, and the news she could possibly receive. She barely had an appetite as it was, and the idea of being told her friend might die definitely didn’t help.

She walked into Trixie on her way to Bianca’s office. Trixie gave her a look.

“You’re not in until twelve,” Trixie said, looking her over carefully. “You’re going to die if you keep going at this rate.”

“I have a meeting with the specialists. They want to see me. You’re starting your shift now, right?” Alaska shrugged.

“Yeah, I just got in,” Trixie said, and then stared up at her for a moment before adding, “Why do they need to talk to you?”

“No clue,” Alaska said, blinking down at her. “Do you want to come?”

“Yeah, okay. Sure,” Trixie nodded, and joined Alaska on the short walk to Bianca’s office. Bianca let them both in, quietly closing the door behind them both. Willam was in the room too, bundled into the corner and looking ridiculously calm in comparison to the past two weeks.

The doctors were actually kind of cute, and they looked too happy for the situation at hand. One had a streak of white in her long black hair, and the other had red hair, and both of the doctors were shorter than Alaska. They both turned to grin at Alaska, and then stare over her.

“I didn’t know Rapunzel worked here, Bianca. You should’ve said, I would’ve worn heels,” The one with the streak in her hair said, and Alaska just blinked at her.

The girl next to her laughed quietly, looking to Trixie and then to Willam and then to Alaska. “So, we have Barbie, Rapunzel and party girl. I like the variation. It’s very diverse here, except for the fact you don’t have any black people here. What’s up with that?”

“Um,” Alaska breathed, glancing to Bianca who just smiled before looking back at them. “I’m Dr Thunder. You wanted to see me?”

“Hi,” The redhead smiled. “I’m Ivy. This is Manila. Jinkx is somewhere here, but she’s already briefing your current team. I’ve been told Courtney Act is your patient?”

“Yes, she is,” Alaska nodded, swallowing and looking down at her. Courtney wasn’t just her patient, but she was her best friend.

“Okay, well, you’ll have to give her acetaminophen to help with the recovery of pneumonia, but the new course of antivirals will definitely definitely help. She’ll have to stay in observation for at least another three days, though, after the virus is gone from her system. There’s a new immunisation shot for all staff, which we’ll be doing at some point today or tomorrow.”

“Wait, what? New antivirals? When… When did this happen?” Alaska raised a brow, pursing her lips into a tight line.

“They didn’t tell you?” Manila piped up, looking relatively surprised. “We found the root of the virus. It’s definitely going to be a problem for the weeks to come, but it’s curable. It’s actually quite interesting, it’s caused by influenza viruses that infect the respiratory tract of pigs, which is similar to something we studied a few years back,” She nodded, looking back to Ivy. “I don’t think party girl fits with Barbie and Rapunzel.”

“Sure it does. Do you have a better name for the look?”

“The virus is gone? You’re - The virus is gone? Everyone is going to get better?” Alaska couldn’t think straight.

“Yes,” Ivy nodded, smiling at her. Alaska could kiss her if she wasn’t too busy thinking about how much sleep she was going to be able to get. “Most people should be able to leave in a few days. You’ll be able to go back to your specific department, and your regular patients.”

“I just don’t think party girl fits. It’s not on the same level. Maybe Cinderella?” Manila nodded.

“Her hair is too tangled to be Cinderella,” Ivy argued, shaking her head before turning her attention back to Alaska. “It was nice to meet you, Dr Thunder. We’re going to be here most of the week, if you need any help or have any questions about the new treatment. Good luck with your patients and everything.”

They opened the door and left, leaving Alaska with the other few doctors and a smile on her face. She could cry with relief, and she was going to by the time she was home, but for now she just smiled, grinning at Trixie.

“You look happy,” Trixie smiled, laughing softly before wrapping herself around Alaska, pulling her in. Alaska hugged her back tight before pulling away, looking down at her.

“Let’s go get breakfast. I’m starving,” She said, gesturing over to Willam as she pulled away.

[kittymonks-fanfiction]

Genderswapped Nations Review - Chapter 7

Welcome back to Genderswapped Nations, where the girls are mean and the plot is shitty. In the last chapter, we suffered through Ariana’s visit to the hospital where she did nothing to show her sympathy for Italy past bringing a Walmart cake and starting a food fight with her counterpart’s worst enemy. Not only that, but we also learned that Sealand is not only the god of rowing his boat but also the worst friend ever. In this chapter...well, let’s see what the title says will happen.

Chapter 7: Ice Cream and Ill Humor

Remember how chapter 5’s title (Hamburgers and Hurt) was the third worst title? This one is the second worst title. Yes, folks, it gets even worse than this. While ice cream does make a prominent appearance in this chapter, ‘Ill Humor’ is just referring to the fact that this chapter is serious in comparison to the food fights and implied attempted sexual assault in the last chapters. It would’ve been a much better idea to make the second word something related to the backstory which makes this chapter more serious instead of making the chapter proclaim itself as being serious in its title. And if you want to alliterate with an easier letter than ‘I’, you could’ve used a close synonym like ‘Gelato’ or ‘Sundaes’ or a synecdoche like ‘Cones’ . ‘Gelato and Guilt’, ‘Sundaes and Sadness’ or ‘Cones and Confessions’, for example, would have all been much better titles…though really anything would be better than ‘Ice Cream and Ill Humor’.

Ariana woke up the next morning and rubbed her eyes, before re-rubbing them when she noticed something on her nightstand.

Then she rubbed her eyes again when she remembered the shenanigans that took place last chapter, and again when she realized that she was in a bad fanfiction. Then she chafed her eyes and couldn’t use them anymore.

She picked it up, and found it to be a cold container covered with a thin layer of ice.

I mean, by that point, it should be obvious to Ariana that it’s ice cream.

She scraped off some of the ice on the container to see two words labeling the small container; ICE CREAM. "What the…?" she asked to nobody, wondering why there was suddenly ice cream on her nightstand.

Not only is there suddenly ice cream, but since there’s still ice on the surface, that means that the culprit must’ve left the room directly before she woke up. If the culprit left it any earlier, then it wouldn’t be icy anymore. Hm….

….

"ICE CREAM! ICE CREAM! ICE CREAM!" After hearing this echo through her dreams, Allison shot up to see what was going on. Expecting to see something dangerous,

What could possibly be dangerous about a person shouting ‘ice cream, ice cream, ice cream’??

she instead saw her gender swap jumping up and down and swooning over a container of what seemed to be vanilla ice cream.

"What the hell are you doing?" Allison asked America. "And how do you have ice cream?"

He could’ve gotten it from the freezer…though either way, that first question is totally justified. What the hell is he doing?

"I came in here to wake you up, and found this ice cream on your forehead! I thought you didn't want it, so I took it!" America explained ecstatically.

Wait, how was the culprit able to put a container of ice cream on her forehead without waking her up and without the ice cream falling onto the ground when she turned over in her sleep? And why would America see that ice cream on his counterpart’s forehead and take it with the intention to eat it? And if the culprit (assuming it’s the same person) just struck in the UK, then how did they get to the United States so quickly and break into the White House all without letting the ice cream melt??

"Hey, I still want it!" Allison said. She jumped from her bed and tackled America, and began to wrestle the ice cream from his hands.

Behold, a twelve year old girl wrestling the United States of Fucking America for a tiny container of ice cream that would be so cheap to buy at your local convenience store that even I could afford it! Genderswapped Nations, everyone!

….

Iscah woke up to the Baltic States looking over her holding something. "What are you holding?" she asked.

All three of them are holding it at the same time. It’s like Light as a Feather, Thick as a Board but with ice cream.

"I-it's something we found on your bedside, M-miss Iscah," Latvia said nervously.

"Well, then let me have it," Iscah said. Latvia shakily handed the item to Iscah, and then he and the other two Baltics left Iscah's bedroom quickly. Iscah rubbed some of the ice off the odd item once they were gone, and discovered that it was vanilla ice cream.

Well, that scene was totally pointless. Hopefully that’s the end of things because this chapter is quickly beginning to look like—

….

Louella woke up earlier than usual, and then prepared some food for her, Germany, and Felicity. After she finished her food and Germany finished his, she entered Felicity's room and set the food on her nightstand gently, before going to her room again to find something weird on her bed. She walked over to the odd thing and picked it up, and found its surface to be icy. She scraped off some of the ice, and found in blocky letters written on the side, 'ICE CREAM'. "How odd," Louella thought.

Are we really going through this same song-and-dance for every girl? It’s not like their reactions are that different, they just do normal things you’d expect their counterparts to do and then it’s like ‘oh look, ice cream!’, and that’s if you’re LUCKY.

….

Kierra woke up and got some tea from Japan,

Out of context this sounds really funny, like this girl goes to the nation of Japan specifically to get tea and then goes home to who-knows-whereland.

before returning back to her room later to straighten up her bed. However, when she made her bed, she saw a small lump underneath the covers. So she lifted the covers, and discovered ice cream. "Who in the world would sneak into my bedroom and give me ice cream?" she thought.

Better question: How in the world did you make your bed without seeing the ice cream first?

….

Francisca drowsily woke up, and immediately felt a presence behind her. She turned around, and balanced on her bed's headboard, found ice cream instead of an intruder.

Eww, the ice cream has an aura? It’s got to be moldy, then.

She took it off the headboard and inspected it, wondering, "Who put this here? It couldn't have been France…"

Why not? Is he too good to serve convenience store vanilla ice cream?

….

Yiesha yawned and woke up,

It sure is lucky that everyone’s waking up at the exact same time despite time zone differences!

before giving her panda plush a big hug. But instead of warmth from the hug, she felt coldness. "What's wrong, feeling bad, aru?" she asked the plush.

Yiesha’s supposed to be fifteen, by the way. Do you know any fifteen year olds who believe that their stuffed animals are living, sentient beings that can be in bad moods and assume that people are physically colder when they’re in bad moods? No? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

But upon further inspection, she found that her panda was clutching a container of ice cream. "How did that get there?" she thought.

How did that get there?? Of all of these occurrences, this one is easily the least plausible. I could believe that Allison could sleep through having ice cream placed on her forehead since I’m still not convinced that she can feel anything yet, but how do you put cold ice cream in the arms of a teddy bear being embraced by a sleeping person without said sleeping person waking up to notice??

….

Mattie woke up to a phone call. She got out of her bed, and answered the phone. "Hello, Mattie speaking," she said.

I can already tell that this is gonna end well.

"Mattie! Mattie!" Allison's shouting from the phone caught her by surprise.

"What?" She asked.

"Dude, check your nightstand! I just found some ice cream on mine!" Allison said.

No you didn’t, your counterpart found ice cream on your forehead! Or did you get two for some reason? Boo, you don’t deserve it!!

"Really?" Mattie questioned.

"Yeah, no kidding!" Allison said.

Mattie hung up and ran to her nightstand and searched around everywhere, but found nothing. "I guess I got forgotten again…" she thought sadly.

That’s a slap in the fucking face. Why even do that? Spoilers, the ice cream is supposed to be comfort ice cream to help the counterparts through this difficult time with Italy, so this just makes it extra hurtful.

Even still though, I feel like I’ve been arbitrarily doubling my additions to the Canada/Mattie Abuse counter enough as it is, so that’ll just be one point. Don’t worry, the story will make up for it later.

--CANADA/MATTIE ABUSE +1

….

Felicity woke up to breakfast on her nightstand, which looked great. She ate it quickly, and then fell asleep again.

Man, I wish my mornings were like that.

When she woke up again, she found a huge chocolate fudge sundae on her nightstand. "Dessert?" she questioned excitedly, before discovering a notecard beside the base. It read, 'Sorry about Italy. From, Anonymous'. She looked at the card oddly, before grabbing the sundae and beginning to eat carelessly.

And then it was probably poisoned? With the ongoing threat Prussia’s been (apparently), this seems a little careless. He’s inhabiting the same house as this girl right now, so I imagine she should be a lot more wary about this mysterious hot fudge sundae.

Then again, it’s Felicity and her only character trait is being a moron, so I guess there’s nothing to do about it.

….

At about the same time Felicity got her ice cream, Ariana was eating her ice cream on the shore, but noticed Sealand wasn't on his rig like he usually would be. 

I’m not even going to question how that works with the time zones and not letting the ice cream melt.

"Where could he possibly be?" She turned to her left, and said, "At least I've got you, Flying Mint Bunny!"

"Yeah, I'll always be right here by your side!" the imaginary creature said gleefully.

Ariana talked and played with Flying Mint Bunny,

Embrace this moment while you can, folks, because this is the last time that Flying Mint Bunny appears and the last time that Ariana is really characterized in the same way a Flanderized England would be. From hereon out, she’s just a Mary-Sue who whines a lot. Really makes the “I’ll always be right here” line pretty ironic, actually.

until she heard splashing to her right. She turned around, and saw someone running at a high speed across the water. It then leaped onto Sealand's rig, confusing Ariana. "Why would Sealand leave his rig?" she thought, continuing to eat her ice cream.

She sees her best friend running on water like Jesus and that’s her only question??

But then she took the lid to the ice cream container and noticed a logo- with Sealand's face in a shaky- looking chibi form as the centerpiece.

"It was Sealand!" Ariana exclaimed to Flying Mint Bunny.

"Yeah, figure that out yourself, Sherlock?" the bunny teased.

Apparently so, and it’s very strange that it took this long for ANYONE to notice. Nobody knew who it was, but with Sealand printing his mug on every container, how could they not? I guess he’s a little-known micronation, but even still, what?

"Oh, shut up! Who needs you?" Ariana shouted in anger, shooing the bunny away. It floated away in melancholy.

Well, goodbye forever, Flying Mint Bunny. You were a great ally for as long as you lasted. I salute you.

In the corner of her eye, she noticed bright orange float from the rig. Once again, Sealand leaped into the orange raft and paddled like mad until he hit the shore Ariana was on,

Why’s he bothering with the raft when we just learned that he can walk on fucking water?

before sitting down beside Ariana. "Hey, Ariana, where'd you get the ice cream?" he asked.

"I found it on my nightstand this morning," Ariana said, joking with the boy by keeping her knowledge of his ice cream a secret.

They both know that the ice cream exists, so what does this even mean?

"Do you know who it's from?" Sealand asked, his voice being cracked by giggles.

"Yeah," Ariana said.

"Who?"

Ariana poked Sealand in the chest. "You."

Oh my GOD they’re flirting. GOD! THE POLICE! CALL SOMEONE! NOOOOOO!!

Sealand looked surprised. "How did you figure me out?"

Ariana simply held up the lid of the container, showing Sealand's odd chibi face.

Sealand face palmed. "I tried to cover it with white-out, but it didn't work! I feel dumb now!"

There are only two ways how that could be possible; either the white-out was removed when the ice was wiped off the cup or he never tried to use white-out in the first place. Either way, why would he print the containers like that if he didn’t want anyone to know that it was him?

"Don't feel dumb," Ariana said, ruffling Sealand's hair for no reason whatsoever.

Wait, so are they flirting or not? That seemed like the sort of thing that would be written to shut down a shipping attempt, but they’re definitely flirting. The Principality of Sealand has existed since the fifties or sixties! He’s young by a country’s standards but he’d still be robbing the cradle if he and Ariana dated! Like, can you even imagine that? Ewwww! Not to mention, Sealand is supposed to hate England! Why, then, would he turn around and try to fuck his female counterpart?!

"Anyone who can sneak into my room without me noticing is pretty clever." "Except Francisca," she thought.

Ew, not with this again.

"Ariana, I have something to ask you," Sealand said.

"Yes, what is it?" Ariana asked.

"Do you… like me?"

OH MY GOD! NO! NO! NOOO! CALL THE NAVY SEALS! CALL THE COAST GUARD! CALL THE ROYAL CANADIAN MOUNTED POLICE! CALL ANYBODY! SOMEBODY NEEDS TO SAVE US FROM THIS MESS!

Ariana responded in shock, "Not in that way! Just as a friend!"

Sealand looked sadly to the waves lapping on the shore. "Oh, okay then."

"Look, its okay," Ariana said, putting her head down too so she could look at Sealand. "I can't like you. At home, I had a boyfriend."

I’m almost surprised by that fact, not only because she’s thirteen but because she’s relatively unappealing as a person.

"What do you mean, 'at home'? Don't you live here?" Sealand asked with a puzzled look.

"Not always. I kind of only came to live here after I got kidnapped," Ariana explained.

"By that English twit?" Sealand asked roughly.

"No, by Prussia," Ariana said.

Wait, shouldn’t Sealand know this information already? If they’re such good friends, then how didn’t this come up sooner?

"And then he made me despise him more by attacking the most loveable guy I know, Italy."

"Can't you just ask to go back home?" Sealand asked.

"The thing is… I'm not sure if I want to anymore," Ariana said, looking down. "I've made so many friends here in Europe, and I don't want to lose any one of them."

Yeah, your beloved European friends! You’ve got Sealand, um…nobody else that I can think of since you like to randomly antagonize everyone else…Yeah! All of those valuable European friends that you should remain missing in the U.S. for!

"But… What about your parents? They must be so worried," Sealand said.

"Being the youngest out of four, I'm often ignored. I doubt anyone even notices I'm gone yet." Tears began to run down the British girl's cheeks.

What the shit? This is coming right the fuck out of nowhere. Like, where was the prompting? Also, four isn’t a lot of children and she’s the baby of the family. Of course they’re going to know she’s gone. And even if it’s not a normal family situation and her parents are abusive or something, then they’ll still take notice if their youngest daughter is gone. She won’t want to go back and they may not seek her out, sure, but it would be impossible to just disregard. Not to mention, she’s a bright-eyed blond little white girl. Her disappearance is not going to go unnoticed by the American media.

"I was outside when I got kidnapped. I always went outside. Getting away from the world where everyone ignores me to a world where anything is possible just felt like a miracle."

Wouldn’t this backstory be a lot more understandable if she were the middle child in a family of, like, ten? Or if she was adopted or something? Then her origins could be obscured enough that you could reveal later on that she’s actually a full-blooded Brit. And evidently she isn’t totally ignored since they bought her an iPod or an MP3 player or something for her to get kidnapped from, so it’s just super nonsensical. You can tell that I made this up on the spot.

"I think I understand now," Sealand said, before glancing to the empty container of ice cream in Ariana's hand. "So, do you want more ice cream? I can go get some."

Hold up, when the hell did she eat it? I think I missed something. Unless she was stuffing her face while crying and giving Sealand her entire life’s story, then that container should still be mostly full.

"No thanks," Ariana said, standing up and walking away and left Sealand sitting on the shore by himself.

Wow, cold! What the fuck? And it just ends after that. That’s all, folks.

I admit, this chapter was a little less funny than some of the other chapters, because I've wanted to explain the back stories of some of the gender swaps.

Feh, I wouldn’t feed that horrible backstory to my cat.

Next up is going to be Iscah, I think. Not sure yet :3

Great, let’s read about the character who’s been repurposed into a memetic molester. I’m soooo excited to see you defend her actions up to now. Anyway, you heard the woman. That’s what we’ve got in store for us next time. Exclusively. Without any B-story or relevance to the ‘plot’. Yaaaaaaay.

(CANADA/MATTIE ABUSE COUNTER= 13)