#also ignore how bad this is. okay i tried and they’ve been rotting my brain for a week

[heartz4shauna]

i never was in love,

you know that you were never good enough.

fall asleep right next to me,

you know that you were never good enough.

[thesunicarusfellfor]

icarus my beloved, may i please request for a zombie apocalypse au (dsmp) and the characters haven’t seen you ever since the apocalypse started and they’ve been trying to find you for a long time, but once they finally find you, you’re already turned. basically how different dsmp characters would react to finding you turned as a zombie :> also i find your stuff ✨imaculate✨

and may i pls be ur 🌧anon?

I lovvvvveeeee Zombie apocalypse AUs. I'm very excited to write this. Also, thank you! I appreciate your compliment!

Yes, you can be! I'll eventually make an Anon list... Eventually.

In order of: Dream, Bad, Tommy (and Tubbo?), Ranboo, Ghostbur, Philza

Tommy's story is Bench Trio while Ranboo's story is more around Boreal Boys.

The Boreal Boys is set around the Antarctic Empire rather than the DSMP.

Edit: Trying to put a cut in. 50/50 on whether or not it worked.

DSMP Reacting to You Being Turned Into A Zombie (Multiple x GN!Reader)

They grunted, stepping over a fallen log as they yanked a crossbow bolt out of the skull of a fallen zombie, shoving it into their bag where other bolts and arrows were wrapped up. Ignoring the murmuring of their companion(s) as they looked over the faces of rotten flesh, thankfully none of them striking a familiar chord in their mind.

"They could still be alive..." They murmured softly under their breath as they walked back to the campsite that they and their companion(s) had originally set up. With a sigh, they plopped down in front of the crackling flame and adjusted the food that had been cooking before a horde of zombies had made their way through the makeshift barricade.

Ignoring the snores of their sleeping 'teammate(s) of survival', they eagerly dug into the food after it finished cooking before pausing mid-bite as they heard a crackling in the branches. Drawing their sword out from the sheath on their hip while they set their food down back into the pan, they spun around to face their possible attacker, silently hoping it was a wild animal they could use for meat, wool or feathers.

Glancing through the forest, they squinted as they saw movement but the firelight only spread so far which wasn't enough to shed light on the figure. With a sigh, they took a burning branch from the fire and lifted it, beginning to walk forward.

Judging by the guttural growls, groans, and scent of rotting flesh, it was definitely a zombie. Lifting the makeshift torch enough, they were able to see the undead being better and squinted, trying to recognize the creature before it turned around.

(H/c) hair... Albeit matted and overgrown, and torn clothing loosely hanging to their rotten skin... But when the zombie turned their head... They'd recognize them anywhere... Even after so long...

(Y/n).

Dream

His breath caught in his throat temporarily and he felt the torch slip from his hand, but it didn't fall.

Gritting his teeth together, he cringed and gripped onto the damaged smiling mask he usually wore.

"Fuck... (Y/n)... FUCK!" He took a few steps back to avoid the lame swipes you took at him.

He was thankful that your movement was hindered to the point where your steps were small shuffles.

"You promised..." He whispered, looking down at his trademark symbol.

It was a gift from you. Two years ago... You had promised... You promised that you would be okay...

And now here you were... Lifeless but alive... Groaning and gnashing your teeth at him...

He faintly heard the pounding footsteps of George and Sapnap behind him, likely having heard him yell.

"Dream?!" George yelled before the steps immediately came to a stop.

"Is that..."

"They promised..." He whined softly before pinching his eyes shut again as anger quickly overtook him. With a fierce battle cry, he swung his sword.

The strike was sloppy, filled with emotion and too much power. He had a feeling that if Technoblade was around still, he would be mocked to death for such a shitty swing.

But this was a brainless corpse. They couldn't rub two brain cells together to even think about dodging. This wasn't his smart, clever... Cunning... Alive... (Y/n)...

So it hit.

The gleaming diamond sword sliced through the rotten skin like a hot knife through butter, especially easier due to the Fire Aspect engraved into the sword.

He took a sharp intake of breath as he heard the horrible screeching noises that came from you as you sunk to the ground, desperately reaching out to him in one last attempt to get even a taste of his flesh.

He turned from your burning body and placed his mask on to cover his face before his friends saw the silver tears in the corners of his eyes, "Let's go."

"Dre-"

"I said, let's go."

They decided not to comment further.

Bad

He slowly felt the torch slip from his grasp and clatter to the ground, burning the dew-soaked grass it had landed on but it didn't matter.

Groaning and snarling at him, you lamely stumbled forward to grab at him, but he grabbed you first.

The Demon cringed slightly at the feel of rotten flesh beneath his fingers, but he held you back from walking forward.

He dodged the gnashing of your teeth as you tried to bite his arm, but he couldn't bring himself to bring the sword through your chest to finally end your suffering...

He glanced in the direction of the camp where Skeppy was still asleep, hopefully anyway...

Bad knew Skeppy would never agree to keep you around, even if you had once been someone very important to him.

Neither of them knew how zombie bites would affect Diamond Sprites or Demons, and weren't too eager to find out.

"(Y/n)... You muffin..." He put a hand on your chin, preventing you from chomping on his arms, "I wish... I wish I could've said goodbye..."

"Maybe I could've protected you..."

"Would you still be alive if I hadn't stormed out that day?"

He continued whispering questions to your mindless form, but his only responses were watery gurgles and the odd groan.

"Muffin... I'm so sorry..." He whispered, lowering his head to look down at you better, lava tears dripping down his cheeks and landing on your rotting away face, causing horrible screeches and snarls to escape from you, but you didn't yank away.

"Bad?!" Skeppy's voice came from the camp, and he looked over his shoulder to stare at the Diamond Sprite, "What... Why are you..."

"I-I... Skeppy... Do you think... If I had done anything different... They'd be alive?" He whispered, moving aside to let his small friend see his former friend.

The blue-skinned male sighed and loaded an arrow into his bow and grabbed onto the string, getting ready to pull it back, "Bad... You can't rewrite history... What's done is done, it's too late for them..."

"Can... Can you...? I don't think I can..." He whispered and finally let go of you, causing your balance to be set off.

The second he turned his back, he heard the stretching of a bowstring before releasing it. He shut his eyes tightly as he heard the familiar impact of a bow hitting mostly rotten but still solid flesh.

He didn't turn around, instead choosing to keep his head down as his friend brought him back to the camp.

"Goodbye, (Y/n)..."

Tommy (and Tubbo?)

He was frozen stiff, his grip tightening on his sword and the torch as he stared down the undead being.

Honestly, if anyone had asked him why he was still fighting through this damned apocalypse, he would say that he was fighting to survive.

No. He was fighting to make sure you were still alive...

Now, what was left?

"For fuck's sake! You were supposed to be alive!" He yelled, no doubt waking up the camp of other survivors.

"You were the only one- Dammit, (Y/n)!" He cried, ignoring the tears running down his cheeks as he threw a punch that connected to your jaw, cracking the weakened bone almost instantly and causing it to hang like an angered Enderman.

He continued to shout at your undead form and cry, ignoring the worried calls and frantic scrambling of his friends from back at the camp.

"You used to be such a great fighter, and you lost to FUCKING ZOMBIES!" He swung his arms around, his mind barely cluing into the fact that he dropped his sword and torch, "You almost beat Technoblade for fuck's sake! Technoblade! And-and..."

'No. No. Stay angry. They lost the fight. They- Don't mourn their stupidity...' He crumpled to the ground in despair, his tears dropping into his lap as he quickly grew deaf to the sound of shuffling feet.

Luckily, someone ran past him and shoved you to the ground with a shield, sending you rolling into a puddle of mud.

"Tommy!" Tubbo cried, setting down the shield as Ranboo quickly looked him over for any bite marks or injuries.

Once he found none, he gave a large sigh of relief and looked over at the corpse that Tubbo had shield bashed away from his friend, "Oh... Wait..." He frowned, struggling to remember the face that was struggling to crawl their way over to them through the mud.

"That's (Y/n)..." Tommy murmured, sounding rather numb, Tubbo and Ranboo noted, "They taught me and Tubbo to fight, back before we lost L'Manberg... They practically raised us... Despite being a similar age... They were so strong... and brave..."

Tubbo's breath hitched as he took another look at the growling creature desperate to feast on their flesh, "N-No... They're too strong to- I don't- No- No!"

"Guys... I know- I- No, I don't know... But we have to leave. They're going to call more zombies- And... We have to kill them..." Ranboo whispered, flinching a bit when Tubbo and Tommy whipped their heads in his direction, fire burning in their eyes.

Tommy's inner flame was the first to die out.

"I know..." He whispered, ignoring Tubbo's cries of protest as he picked up the diamond sword, twisting it in his hand and watching as the torchlight reflected off of it.

"You can't kill them, Tommy- They're like our older sibling-... Were... like... Our older sibling..." Tubbo corrected himself with hesitance and a sniffle as he looked away.

He turned back to your gurgling form and walked over, moving his feet away from your grabs at his ankles while raising his sword.

With a sharp intake of breath, tears continuing to drip down his cheeks as he rose his sword, "I'm sorry..." He whispered before bringing it down through your chest.

Ranboo

Sure, his memory was bad, but he could NEVER forget the face of the name that was scrawled through his memory book.

He stumbled backwards and tripped over a log with a small yelp, his sword and torch falling from his grip.

The water from the recent rain seeping through his torn clothing caused his skin to hiss, and a small whine tore from his throat as he scrambled backwards.

His noises of pain and distress failed to scare the zombie of his former best friend off, instead only persuaded them to lazily drag their feet towards him a little quicker.

Thankfully, although he was deaf to it amidst his panic and sobs, heavy footsteps and the ruffle of feathers echoed through the forest.

"Ranboo?! Mate, are you okay!?" Hands flew to his shoulders while a pink and red blur hopped the log he had tripped on to start a brawl with the zombie.

"DON'T HURT THEM!" He wailed to Techno, fighting against the hands that held his shoulders to reach out at the zombie.

"Heh?!" Techno used his shield to hold you back, dodging the swipes you took at him with your unkempt nails, "Ranboo! They're dead! A zombie!"

Ranboo sobbed louder, fighting the urge to cover his ears at the horrible words, "(Y/n) isn't dead... They aren't... They can't be! No... no...!"

Calloused hands carded through his black and white hair, which would've calmed him down on a normal day, but now... How could he feel anything but despair? His best friend was now a lifeless being...

They promised that they'd see him again, alive, not like THIS!

"Ranboo..." Phil murmured from behind him, likely having finished checking him for bites. The avian pulled him into his chest, allowing him to bawl his eyes out, the fabric muffling his desperate wails and preventing the tears from burning his skin too much.

"You- you said a gapple and a weakness potion could turn them back, right?!" Ranboo cried, looking up at the elder male, "C-can't we try it out on them?!"

Phil and Techno were silent, and the only sounds that were heard were the crackling fire back at the camp and the gurgles of his former best friend.

Perhaps he panicked himself into a light-headed state, or maybe his memory was worse than before because the next thing he knew Techno was dragging a chained and growling corpse while Philza was practically carrying the enderboy who was pretty much twice his height.

The next few days felt like a fever dream. He spent most of his time sitting in front of a cage where the corpse of his friend laid on the cold stone ground.

Phil had doused them in a splash potion of weakness and forced a golden apple down their throat a few hours after they caged them, now it was Ranboo's job to watch over them for any changes and write them down.

"Yeah then Me, Phil and Techno travelled out of the Tundra back on the DreamSMP, and we made our way to the Antarctic, back to the old Empire that they used to rule over..." He rambled onto your lifeless corpse, reading through his memory book to continue telling you stories, even if you were dead.

"Ran...Boo..."

"(Y-Y/n)?!" He threw the book aside and ran over to the cage, only to see the corpse had gained more of a human flesh tone rather than a sickening green, and formerly black, now (e/c) eyes were staring up at the stone bricks that made up the roof.

Ghostbur

He absolutely lit up with a happy squeal.

"(Y/n)! I knew you would make it through this whole apocalypse thing!" The ghost walked over and put his hand on your shoulder, brushing off the way that you didn't flinch away from the intense cold that radiated off of him.

You only continued walking...

"Oh? Do you know of any shelter? Lead the way then!" He chirped, pulling on the lead that was hooked up to the blue sheep he knew as Friend.

The two of you walked through the forests, Ghostbur blabbering away about memories he had involving you both, but he had a tight grasp on something blue the entire time.

You never responded to him, other than the odd groan or gurgle, but the ghost never found anything wrong with it.

Inside, he knew that you were an animated corpse. He knew that you would never be able to lose your three canon lives, and become a ghost.

Instead, you were stuck as a corpse that would perpetually come back to life over and over again until your body completely got destroyed.

Every time he looked at your growling form, he wanted to feel happy, you were back travelling with him! But... You weren't the same person...

"Wil- Ghostbur!" A voice came from behind him, and he saw the father of Aliverbur standing in front of him, sword at the ready.

"Phil!" He chirped, moving beside you and holding your shoulder, so you didn't run towards Philza, "Hey, how's it going man?" He smiled widely.

The flightless avian put his hand on his hat as he watched you reach towards him uselessly, being held back by the ghost of his son, "Ghostbur... That's not..."

"(Y/n)? Yes, it is!" He continued to smile, although it seemed a little forced, "It's just been a while, don't be so negative, Philza Minecraft!"

He sighed heavily, "Wil, that is not (Y/n) anymore. They are a senseless mob!" He reached for his sword, only to blink when Ghostbur quickly ran in front of you.

"No, no! It is! It is them!" He sobbed, his tears burning his transparent skin as his body shook with horrible coughs. "Please... It is... It is..."

"Okay, okay." He put his sword in the sheath and held up his hands in surrender to make Ghostbur stop crying, "It is, it's (Y/n)... Go say hi to Techno and get some food for Friend... I'm going to talk to them."

Ghostbur wiped his eyes with his sweater and eagerly nodded, "Okay! I haven't spoken to Techno in so long, I hope he's been doing okay..." He continued to ramble as he walked to the attached cabins next to the mountain, dragging Friend along.

Philza turned back to you and drew his sword, watching as you dragged your feet through the snow to reach him, "I'm sorry, (Y/n)... He just... Doesn't understand that you're stuck suffering..."

"Philzaaaa!" Ghostbur skipped out the door, pulling his blue sheep along as Philza sheathed his netherite sword, "Where did (Y/n) go?"

The avian folded his wings to his back under his cape as he looked over his shoulder, "Oh, they were going towards the portal. They said they would be back soon."

"Oh, they finally spoke? I'm so proud of them! I'll wait for them here!" Ghostbur smiled widely, completely unaware of the burning corpse hidden behind the trees.

Philza

Maybe he should've felt something more...?

Then again... He was the Angel of Death, he caused and attracted death like a magnet with a knife.

He swung his sword simply, watching as the corpse burned and crumpled to the ground before him with desperate wails and growls.

First Wilbur... Then Tommy... Now (Y/n)... Who was next, Ranboo or Techno?

He sighed, turning away from yet another person who had meant the world to him but was now nothing but rotting burnt flesh on the stark white snow.

"Phil!" Ranboo gave a chirping noise, a static-filled deformed mimic of one of the noises he often made due to his avian genetics, "Are you alright? One of the traps went off an-"

He wanted to smile, he did. He wanted to tell the boy who was practically shaking with worry as he checked him for bites that he was alright.

"It... Was (Y/n)..." He murmured softly, feeling... Oddly calm about the situation... Or was that empty? It was like how he felt after he killed his son...

Ranboo's bi-coloured eyes slowly rose up to meet Phil's blue ones and almost cringed as he saw that he was practically looking through him, "You... Mean, your..."

"Yeah... That's them. B-But it's okay-" He went to say but Ranboo gave an upset growl sort of noise as his monochrome tail wrapped around one of his lanky and abnormally long legs.

"Okay?! Phil, you just killed one of the most important people in your life... You- You aren't okay! You're numb!" The Enderman grabbed his shoulders... And the feeling of floating that he hadn't even noticed came to a sudden halt.

Oh. He was numb... That's why he didn't feel it...

Wait when did Ranboo bring him inside?

He slowly glanced out the window to see the sun had set long ago, and the fire in the fireplace had practically died out. Ranboo was curled up on the couch on the other side of him, and Techno was nowhere to be seen.

'I killed them... Without a second thought...' His mind caught up with the situation much slower than his body had, and he slouched against the arm of the couch he was propped up against.

'I killed them like I killed Wilbur...'

'Terrible person... Horrible...'

'I kill everyone I love...'

'Techno and Ranboo are left... They're in danger from you too...'

"Phil?" A hand grabbed one of the ones that were entangled in his long golden locks, "Hey, hey... I want you to listen to my voice, okay? You're okay... Follow my breathing..."

When did he start crying?

[romanceimp]

Bitter Taste: Iwaizumi x f/reader Pt. 1

pt. 2 here

THIS IS SO LATE and I’m a fuck up hahahaha (kinda ironic this was 2 weeks late for Mental Health Awareness month) 

I am crediting my girl @kuso-deku for giving me Iwaizumi brain rot to begin with. I am also crediting @gixxie and @idonotagreebitch for helping me talk through my ideas... and crediting @doinmybesthere for the wonderful idea of a mental health awareness collaboration the link is here. PLS READ THE REST OF THE WORKS. Everyone deserves the love.

TW: manipulative male/female relationships, gaslighting?, subtle shit head crap that most men do (don’t worry Iwa is a peach as always tho, it’s Ushijima that’s the problem)

_ 

Iwaizumi stands and stretches in the cinema. The movie had been good, but long, he figured it was a little after midnight. “What’d ya think?” Kuroo asks as they exit the theatre. “I hated the ending…” Oikawa gripes, “I hate endings where everyone just dies.” “You are such a princess Tooru, I swear, it’s a metaphorical ending… did you not catch all the symbolism in the opening credits?” Iwaizumi sighs and turns his phone back on, trying his best to ignore their bickering. Slowly, notification after notification pops up… all from you. He blinks, surprised. You had declined his offer to join him for the film, stating you had previous plans attending a close friend’s birthday.

Iwa opens the messages from you. He sees first the selfies. You look beautiful, extravagant even. Your dress is beautiful, it compliments your figure perfectly with the corseted bodice. It’s white and so is your lace mask. Broad, feathered angel wings rest on your back. Angelic would have been a word he’d used to describe you before, but now, it was confirmed. He wants to keep staring at the photos but Kuroo and Oikawa are starting to become too curious about the contents of his phone. He scrolls and relaxes his face to look more casual. But it’s hard when your intoxicated messages are so darn cute.    

hope the movie is good!

okay so I guess there’s an open bar? Is it my birthday too?

if you wanna come by after the movie I’msure you coul

this partyyyy suckssssssss assssssssss

wish id gon wiht u xx

You are clearly drunk and he laughs to himself before Kuroo peers over his right shoulder. “Well she’s thinking about you at least,” he smirks. Oikawa peers over Iwaizumi’s left shoulder, “ooo play the voice message.” Oikawa taps the message before Iwaizumi can give him an answer.

“Hiiiii Iwaaaaaa, hope you like the moovie and you’re having a good time, cuz I’m having a preetyy good time, they gots free margaritaaass. Okay byeeeee”

The guys laugh and Oikawa presses the next one.

“Hey Iwaaa, I made up a song about you, ready?

Iwaizumi

Doesn’t know what he does- to me…

Sshfhsijknfhahaha I cant remember the rest som’n bout… som’n I dunno. Byeee”

“Okay, Ushi says that I need to say sorry for sending so many…” you pause and then whisper, “drunk messages, but I’as only tellin’ ya I ssink ‘r awesome ‘n you should totally come to this party and hang out with me… you’re awesome, okay byeee”

Oikawa and Kuroo pause and look at Iwaizumi. “Ushi?” Oikawa asks, “like Ushiwaka?” Oikawa’s eyes are narrowed and he gags dramatically in disgust. Iwaizumi nods and walks to exit the theatre. “Wait… that’s her friend who’s having the birthday party?” Iwa grimaces as Kuroo chuckles. “No wonder you’ve had a stick up your ass all night.” Iwa glares at him, “they’re just friends… apparently… I don’t know, she said they’ve known each other for a really long time…” Kuroo claps Iwaizumi on the back. “I think you should definitely go to the party.” Iwaizumi starts to object but the ring of his phone draws attention, and he answers it. “Heyyy you're outta th’moviee, heheeheheha,” you slur. Iwaizumi laughs softly and smiles, “yeah, I’m out of the movie now, are you… good?” There is so much background noise, it almost drowns out your sweet sleepy voice. “I’m soooo good… … I just-” he can hear your voice drop to a drunken whisper. “I’z just hoping to see you today,” you mumble finally.  

Iwaizumi can feel his heartbeat quicken, his head reeling. “Oh really?” He plays cool but then instantly regrets it when you give him a serious answer. “Yeah, I was really hoping you’d come to the party, even for just a little,” you murmur. Iwaizumi can’t help but chuckle. You were pretty cute like this, not normally so transparent. You were actually quite hard to read, so sweet but guarded and teasing too. You were a friend of Oikawa’s first and he had met you through him. He’d liked the way you sat cross legged on the couch smiling, chin in your hands while you asked questions and listened to his answers. Your eyes sparkle when you hear something you like, and your face lights up when you talk about things you find interesting.

“Ya don’t have to, I can just see ya another time,” you add. He’s been silent too long which causes him to speak without thinking. “No, I’d love to see you, I’ll head to you now.” Kuroo and Oikawa are silently cheering him on and Iwa turns away in embarrassment. “Really? Okay! I’ll drop my pin… as the kids are sayin’ these days hahaha.” “See you soon, drink some water okay?” “Mhm, I will, see ya soon!”

You were at a club owned by Ushijima’s family. A place called ‘Eagle’s Nest’. He’d only known you for a few weeks but he couldn’t help his infatuation. It was immediate, the night he had gone to Oikawas for game night. You spoke to him so easily not knowing him at all and laughed at his little side jabs to his long time friend. The way you looked at him… Iwa knew then that he wanted to see you smile, hear your laugh, and that he would be happy to assume the responsibility of making that happen.

He was surprised when you had declined his offer for the movie, feeling that you both had some definite chemistry, but Iwaizumi was even more surprised when you had said that you had prior plans with his old time rival Ushijima Wakatoshi. Iwaizumi hadn’t seen him since high school but they knew a few people in common, Oikawa being one of those people. Oikawa could sure hold a grudge but Iwaizumi took all of his comments with a grain of salt. Ushijima often came off entitled and cold, which would leave Iwaizumi with a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe Oikawa had the right idea holding a grudge… But grudge or not he wanted to see you, hear your voice and admire you all dolled up.

When Iwaizumi arrives at the club he is met with a large security guard. “Invitation?” he grumbles. Iwa remains calm but a small trickle of fear runs down his back. Iwaizumi gives the guard a casual smile before he starts to answer but he is interrupted. “Iwaaaaa,” you cry from the top of the stairs. The mask you’d had on is now resting on top of your head, the delicate features of your face now exposed. The floofy skirt of your dress bounces with your excitement as you run down the stairs. You crash into him, throwing your arms around his neck. You bury your face in his collar and still momentarily. Drunk and bubbly, you melt when Iwa wraps his arms around your waist in return, avoiding your costume’s wings. “Mmmm,” you hum, breath hot against his skin, “you smell good.” You pull back and stare into his wide eyes. “You look incredible,” he offers, a slight pink tint to his cheeks. You grin in return and simply take hold of his hand. “He’s with me,” you beam at the guard. Iwaizumi is doubtful this trick will work here. But he is surprised when the guard steps aside saying, “as you wish Miss L/N.” You giggle and pull Iwa towards the doors. “I’ll bring you some cake later, okay Jurou?” Jurou laughs, “just have fun darlin’.” “You’re the best,” you call behind you as you push open the doors. Iwaizumi can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy knowing that you are on a first name basis with one of the body guards at the Wakatoshi’s club. How close were you with Ushijima?    

Blue and purple lights illuminate the vast space while black tiles make up the main floor. The dance floor is sunken, in the middle of the club with a small set of stairs leading down to it. It’s made entirely of glass, beneath is a saltwater garden of different plants and coral.  

“You’ll need one of these,” you explain, swiping a simple black mask from the welcome table. You hand it over to him and pull yours down over your eyes. Iwaizumi adjusts it to where he can see. “You look so handsome,” you admire. He grins, “what about you? You’ve got wings!” You laugh and adjust your mask back on top of your forehead. “I’m a swan, and Ushi said I couldn’t be a swan without wings!” You spin for him, trying your best to flap the feathered wings. Small pieces of confetti glitter rain from the skirt of your dress. Iwaizumi takes in your face illuminated by the lights of the club. Blue and pink dancing over your cheeks as you smile up at him. “What?” you giggle nervously. Just a few weeks but he is mesmerised by your everything. He shakes his head and tries to move on. He wanted to tell you how he felt but this wasn’t the right time. It should be when you’re sober, when you can take in his words properly.

You coax him down towards the bar.  “You’re sure it’s okay to sneak in uninvited guests?” Iwa questions. “Well, I asked Ushi ‘nd he said it was okay, so yeah!” You grin but notice Iwaizumi’s reserve. “It’s really okay, I promise, let’s just get a drink,” you suggest and take his hand. “Only if you drink more water,” he smirks. You roll your eyes at Iwa, “I drank some water before you got here actually.” You look back at him as you both head down to the bar. “I’ll prolly regret that yurr seeing me like this tamorow, ya know,” you call over the blaring music. “It’s cute, you’re cute,” he assures as he leans against the bar, “I didn’t know you thought about me this much until I saw all the snapchats and voice messages and texts.” You cover your face in humiliation, “I knowww, I’m sorry but you were on my mind a lot, alot alot, and  couldn’t stop think about ya, and the booze told me to keep on messaging…” You trail off,  finding the last shred of your filter to keep you from talking.  The bartender hands you your water and you take a long drink.

“Iwaizumi,” a voice projects over the baseline. Ushijima stands tall advancing towards where you both stand. His expression is neutral though, his eyes keep darting to you and then back to Iwaizumi. Ushijima is dressed as a knight, his silver mask hangs languidly around his neck. “Ushiwaka,” Iwa acknowledges, “this is a hell of a birthday party.” You giggle and point at Ushiwaka, “he’s 28 today; getting sooo old.” In that moment, Iwaizumi watches him do something he had never seen him do before. Smile… and then laugh. Ushijima wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer.  “You’re just a baby,  you’re only-” You wave your hand in front of Ushiwaka’s face, shushing him. “No, no, Iwa doesn’t knowww, don’t tell him,” you plead. “She’s only 23,” Ushiwaka says. You hold your face in your hands once more and groan. Ushijima pulls your hands from your face, “just barely twenty three too.” You glare at him and look back at Iwaizumi embarrassed.  “Did she not tell you her age?” Ushijima asks Iwaizumi. Iwa shrugs, “She didn’t, but I never asked,” Iwa shrugs casually, addressing you now, “didn’t seem important since you carry yourself so well.”

You turn to Iwa, mouth open like you’re about to respond but Ushijima swipes the glass from your hands before you can finish. “Drinking water?” You look up at him. “But it’s my birthday… and this is a party…  you need something stronger…” Ushijima beacons the bartender with a single flick of his hand. The barman pours three double shots of a clear liquid from a foreign looking bottle. Ushijima takes a glass and hands it to you, before handing another to Iwaizumi. Ushijima gives him a wink as he loops his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He raises his glass, the violet lights illuminating the liquid. Iwaizumi follows his lead. “To my Juliet, the belle of the ball,” Ushijima bellows. You smile slightly and shake your head. “No no, to you Ushi, it’s your birthday, not mine, we are celebrating you!” Your eyes find Iwa’s, but you leave your glass raised. Ushijima grabs hold of your hand that’s still wrapped around the glass. “Cheers,” He tips the glass towards your lips and you swallow the clear liquor as he feeds it to you. You down it all in one go and Ushiwaka smiles wide once again. “She’s good, huh?” With that, Ushiwaka clinks his glass to Iwaizumi’s, “to you brother,” he assures. Iwa is surprised with the sudden sentiment. “And to you,” he replies before downing the shot. The liquor is surprisingly smooth, expensive, and strong. Iwa can feel his head starting to get light from the small portion that was in the glass and Iwa wasn’t a light weight. “Strong huh?” Ushijima smirks. Iwaizumi nods then turns to the bartender to signal for a water.

Ushijima turns to where you stand swaying slightly with the music. “Look at her, she gets drunk so easily,” Ushijima smiles. “How are you feeling, princess?” he shouts over at you. Iwa turns away and downs his water in disgust. ‘Princess?’ Ushijima shouldn’t be calling you that if you’re both just friends. You blink and give him a smile and a thumbs up. There was a natural innocence about you, a childlike wonder and curiosity, the embodiment of sanguine. Ushijima’s air was sometimes sinister, like he was taking advantage of your natural trusting nature. Iwa watches as Ushijima’s large hands rest on either of your shoulders and he pushes you back and forth like a pendulum between his palms. You giggle and try to push him away, “Ushi stooopp.” He laughs with you and continues pushing you around, “you’re so cute and small though, see?” He places a hand on top of your head and you still. “I said to stop,” you mumble. “And I did,” he retorts before letting you go.

Iwa watches the sudden weight of gravity find you as you stumble in your heels. He catches your arm just in time. Your arms find their way around his neck once more, your face in the crook of his neck. You pull away and Iwa examines your foggy eyes. “You okay?” You nod, pushing off of Iwa’s chest. You fix your hair, “it’s fine, he just messin’” you turn to Ushijima, “and someone doesn’t know when to quit.” You’re pulled away into Ushiwaka’s arms. He sways you back and forth, your back held against his chest while he says soft apologies. He whispers something to you and you nod. Iwaizumi wanted to pull you away from him. Not because he was jealous, but because the way that Ushiwaka was behaving with you was odd.

“Y/n is a little bit tired, why don’t you join us in VIP?” Iwa smiles and gives his thanks, trying his best to hide his scowl. Iwa follows after you and Ushiwaka, upstairs and under velvet ropes hoping that he will find a good moment to pull you away. But instead you are pulled onto the couch beside Ushiwaka. He lights a cigar and offers one to Iwa, but Iwaizumi declines with a simple, “no thanks, don’t smoke.” It’s strange the way that Ushiwaka keeps whispering in your ear, giving you sips of his drinks, and blowing smoke in your face. “Ushi, stop please, the smell is making me sick,” you whine. But he just pulls you closer to him, chuckling all the while and does it again. You’re laughing and poking his face, but it’s not out of joy... Watching Ushijima interact with you the whole night has been like watching a cat toy with a mouse.

Iwa grimaces when Ushiwaka tickles you. “Stop-stop-don’t-stop,” you giggle and howl. “She said to stop!” Iwa raises his voice. Ushijima’s eyes shoot towards Iwaizumi while you squirm off the couch. Your eyes are heavy as you walk towards a dark hallway and disappear into the shadows. Iwa’s eyes flick to the entrance to the hall. Ushiwaka sits in a contented silence, sipping a drink, “she’s so dramatic,” he sighs. He continues smoking, arm rested over the back of the purple velvet sofa. Ushijima takes a sip of his drink, swirling the ice in his glass. Iwa doesn’t move to break the silence no matter how expectant Ushijima’s expression was. He stamps out his cigar in the tray before addressing him.

“She’s awfully talkative, and incredibly fond of you…” Ushijima starts, an odd smirk painting his expression. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow in intrigue and Ushijima’s face hardens. “She won’t shut up about you since she met you… it’s annoying...” Iwaizumi, remains quiet, the silence settling over the men like a thick fog. The only sounds are muffled club music and the ice tinkling against Ushijima’s glass. “I’m going to be honest as a friend… bad idea.” Iwaizumi can feel the rage bubbling inside his gut, “I don’t think that what’s going on between us is any of your-” He’s cut off by Ushijima.

“I’m really looking out for you Iwaizumi, girls can break hearts and Y/n is kind of known for that… she’s just a sweet soul, makes friends easily, but love? That’s harder for her… doesn’t have the best taste in men I’m afraid, I want to protect her and you from a situation where I can already see the conclusion… I get that you like her, everyone does.”  Iwazumi leans forward, “does that include you?” Ushijima is stone faced, then gives a cold laugh. “You’re funnier than I remember, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi rises and heads towards the hall you disappeared down. If he sat in front of him any longer he was going to say something he regretted… and you still haven’t come back. He slips into the dark hallway as you’re exiting the bathroom. Your mask has been removed and even in the dim lighting you look pale. “Hey, what’s happened?” You look up at him embarrassed, your dress almost as wilted as you are. “Got sick…” you mutter. You’re shaking slightly, arms wrapped around yourself. “Oh Y/n, are you alright?” he sighs. His arm starts to reach for you but he thinks better of it, pulling it back to rest by his side. His eyes widen as he feels the warmth of your hand in his. He didn’t figure that you would want to be touched right now. But your fingers interlace with his,  your skin soft. “Are you good to drive?” you whisper. His hand instinctively tightens around yours protectively. “I only had whatever Ushijima gave us, it was strong but I’ve had water- yeah I’m good.” “Would you mind taking me home?” you ask, as you start to walk back towards the VIP room. “Sure, course,” Iwaizumi replies gently. He feels how your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in silent gratitude. The gesture has his heart beating hard against his ribs. Iwa walks forward, his eyes on you and nothing else. Your brow is furrowed and your expression painted serious which was unusual from how he knew you to act.

“Iwa’s taking me home now,” you announce and walk towards the stairs. Ushiwaka’s face hardens, “I can take her home, you shouldn’t trouble yourself,” he addresses Iwaizumi. You smile and turn around facing Ushiwaka. “But Ushi, ‘s ur birthday, you can’t leave this party jus’ ‘a take me home,” You turn to Iwa now. “Let’s go,” you say and Iwa nods, still holding your hand.  “Where’s my hug, princess?” Ushijima calls after you. You stop in your tracks and close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. You drop Iwa’s hand slowly, hesitantly. You walk back slowly and stand before his open arms. He lifts you and you groan. You’re still hugging him tightly but not quite with the same intimacy as before.

As Ushijima places you down you turn to look back at Iwa when Ushijima catches your face with his large hand. He coaxes your face back towards him then leans down. Ushiwaka locks eyes with Iwaizumi as he whispers something in your ear. Then he presses his lips to your cheek, still not moving his eyes away from Iwaizumi’s. Iwa tries his best to remain neutral but he can feel his lip creeping upwards in contempt. Ushiwaka is too prideful for his own good it seems.

You take Iwa’s hand again, leading him towards the exit. An exasperated look rests on your face. “What did he say to you?” Iwa asks. You sigh and shake your head. “‘S nothin’,  ya shouldn’t worry your pretty lil head ‘bout it.” Iwa can’t help but allow a smile. He raises an eyebrow at you, “think my head is pretty?” he asks. He’s met with your hazy gaze, “I do,” you say simply. Iwa wasn’t prepared for such a straightforward answer to his question.

Once out of the club, the valet pull Iwaizumi’s car around. He’s careful not to let you walk too far on your own. Sick, in those ridiculous shoes and still quite drunk, he opens the car door for you before hopping into the driver's seat. “Will you put your address in?” Iwa hands you his phone and you type it in as asked. “Thanks for doing this,” you sigh. “Yeah of course,” he says as he puts the car into gear. A few streets of city light pass by in silence. Your hands are resting in your lap but your body is still trembling. “I can- umm- pull over if you need me to…” You wave the thought away with your hand, “it was the smell of the cigar more than anything…” Iwa’s gut begins to boil again. Your voice is soft, almost defeated. He speaks before thinking better of it. “Does he always treat you like that?” You look at Iwa and make eye contact briefly before his attention is back on the road. “He was being a little extra weird today, maybe because y’all used to play volleyball together or… I dunno really, he just gets like that sometimes…” You trail off, allowing your thoughts to fade into the rearview. The silence is deafening and you feel the need to break it. “He’s really nice too though, don’t get me wrong, he cooks for me and calls to check in, he even gets me little gifts, so I know he cares.” Iwa shakes his head, “if he cared he would have stopped when you asked him to.” You take a breath, “I know but he was just having a night I guess…” Iwa pulls into your driveway as the GPS notifies him that he has ‘arrived at the destination’. He puts the car in park, “you don’t have to make excuses for him… it’s okay to be angry, if that’s how you feel.” You start to open the door, your fingers on the handle. “I’m not angry though, I’m just kinda hurt.” You open the door and start to get out, “okay, maybe a little angry too.” You laugh to yourself but not out of joy. It’s an ironic laugh and Iwa can hear the pain ringing inside of it. “Let me walk you inside.”  

[rawbin69]

*Slowly walks up to you, cradling this*

*Gently sets it down in fromt of you*

*SPRIN TS THE FUCK AEWAY IN PANIC*

Okay anyways hi I’m back after like, months lol, sorry about that (but I’m not actually back because I’m busy trying not to die because of school-work and trying to work on some MAP parts. I literally said five days ago on my yt channel “Hi I’m back now!! :-D” and school just said “no <3″ which, um, rude. So yeah I might come on and occasionally come post something but I’m really not gonna be coming on here to be active

OKAY OKAY but I need to explain these sketches because they will be suuuper confusing without context, I am very aware, yes, so there’s an explanation (+ some extra art and a non-shaded version of the stuff above) under the cut :-)

BASICALLY, @lulzyrobot​ made this AU of Pokémon Sword and Shield and now I have brain rot because of it. Also this AU will indeed be confusing to those who have no knowledge about sword and shield so here’s a skippable paragraph about the game:

(OBVIOUSLY SPOILERS BELOW)

Basically, SwSh is just a Pokémon game (no surprise there) and its gimmick or whatever is Dynamax, which turns Pokémon like. Really fucking large. (Some of them can also Gigantamax which changes their appearance as well as size, but we don’t care about that here bc it really isn’t relevant). In all gyms (except one, Spikemouth) there are power spots, which are needed for a Pokémon to Dynamax. If they’re not close to a power spot, they can’t do it. There are also power spots in the Wild Area (which is, you guessed it, an area in the game). At one point in the game, the villain -- Chairman Rose -- starts up something called “the Darkest Day”, which happened before in the Galarian region (which is where everything takes place), in hopes of getting infinite energy for them or something like that (really makes no sense but like ok pop off ig). To do this, he basically uses these things called Wishing Stars -- which are what allows Pokémon to Dynamax -- to summon a Pokémon called Eternatus. In-game, you basically just summon two other legendaries (Zacian and Zamazenta -- they’re on the cover of the games) and fight Eternatus and then catch the fucker. That’s all context you need for this AU so let’s move on to that now:

The AU is basically that Eternatus sends out a powerful blast which fuses trainers with Pokémon, to varying degrees. The closer to a power spot you are, the more likely you are to get it bad. If you’re far enough from one you won’t be affected at all. A person can merge with multiple Pokémon, but the more of them, the harder it is to not go wild. If you merge with a wild Pokémon, you’ll become a Wild Trainer (and those basically act like, well, wild Pokémon).

If you want more info (which you do want, trust me on this), here’s a post made by the creator themself!! https://lulzyrobot.tumblr.com/post/610890677032747008/pokemon-dynamorph-au-masterpost

OKAY ANYWAY, back onto this specific sketch (wow I really went on a rampage there lol)

I decided to Dynamorph my trainersona(??????) (btw, both the Dynamorph version AND the “human” version are WIPs, I’m not completely happy with either of them) and this was the resuulltttt

- Their name is Robin (because I’m a bastard that does self-insert ships with no shame)

- They merged with their Arcanine (and I’m considering also adding a wild Lycanroc, both so I can give them Epic Claws™ and so that their whole extremely volatile nature makes any sense)

- They have some REAL trouble keeping themself in check. Like. They’re constantly on the edge between becoming a Wild Trainer and being “normal”

- Because I am, like I said, a bastard who does self-ships without any shame they are together with Piers. yes I am a simp for him. 

- Robin has their select group of friends (made up of all gym leaders minus Opal because they have no idea what the fuck is up with her, as well as Marnie, Hop and Leon. No they don’t give a shit about Bede) which they are super protective of. They have to be reminded that they can all handle themselves, because they might otherwise become a bit possessive.

- While they are a raging storm you do NOT want to get involved with in any way to anybody outside their friend group, they are really nice to be around when they really care about you. They may be pretty stubborn, but they always do what they think is best for their loved ones. On multiple occasions, they’ve gone out to collect any sorts of gifts they can find that they think their friends will enjoy. They are super gentle and kind with Hop and Marnie (which, by the way, they’d literally die for either of them) and they’re overall a good friend/partner. Their main flaw here is their temperament and somewhat possessive nature.

- If anybody did something to even moderately hurt any of their friends... hoo boy, you do NOT want to do that. They’ve nearly killed people for leaving so much as a scratch on their loved ones, and have to be physically dragged away so they won’t really kill somebody. 

- However. Despite really, truly believing they'd never, under ANY circumstances, hurt ANY of their friends... they’re wrong about that. The only ones they could truly never purposely cause harm to would be Piers, Marnie and Hop. Yes, it would take A LOT for them to hurt any of the others (like, they’d only hurt the others if they tried to, idk, kill them or something. Or if they tried or actually did kill somebody else in their close circle) but it could hypothetically happen.

- If they ever were to see Rose, he’d probably be torn to shreds on sight. Literally nothing would be able to stop them. 

- While it’s near impossible for anybody they don’t care about to calm them down, it’s pretty easy for especially Hop, Marnie, Piers, Raihan, Leon and Milo (and the others, but less so for them lol). 

- They were right by a power spot, like they were about to step into a den, when the blast happened so they were. Really fucking affected by it. They stayed in the Wild Area for a while after that, searching for their Arcanine who had “mysteriously vanished”, before they transformed. They were basically a Wild Trainer for at least a month before Piers found them and managed to get them to remember who they actually were over the course of two days. It was,, really concerning when they’d at first been texting him pretty much non-stop to update him on what was going on with them just to then go radio silent for a few days, especially since people had begun transforming at that point. Haha angst go brrr

- You must ignore how their clothes still kind of fit despite them growing to be both more ~muscular~ and tall and how it’s not dirty for the sake of my convenience ok

Ok I think that’s all? woah that was a long post lmao

Anyways, here’s the promised extra art (first one is the same sketch without any shading and that stuff (buT I MISSED ONE, I DIDN’T REMOVE THE SHADING FROM ONE I AM SORRY LOL), second is Robin as just a regular trainer)

Oh also some context for some of the sketches:

Bottom one where they’re screaming “yOU mOthErFuCKeR” is what their reaction would be to one of their loved ones being killed

The one with Milo is Robin just. Being near him. After probably having some sort of panic or anxiety attack because they’re worried about everyone. Because Milo is a really calming person to be around.

Top one in the middle is Robin just patting the red eye-lens-things Raihan got from his Flygon because they find it to be Very Entertaining to just pat them for no reason at all.

The ones where they’re hugging Marnie would take place right after they come back to Spikemouth after their month(s) as a Wild Trainer. They still weren’t used to being around people (and much less BEHAVING like a PERSON) so they were pretty awkward about Marnie hugging them.

The one where they’re surrounded by darkness to the right and kneeling forward is them in the middle of their “transformation” after the blast happened.

Fiery ones at the top right are just Robin being pissed as fuck lol

(Still haven’t decided if this will be the “official” team of Pokemon I have, but it’s cool for now. Also yes, I added an extra Pokemon to my “team” who isn't actually a battle-Pokémon or whatever. I NEED APPLETUNS EMOTIONAL SUPPORT OKAY)

[luxaofhesperides]

there in the tower.

A Sleeping Beauty inspired dark fantasy fic.

for ORV RARE PAIR WEEK 2021 @orv-week; day one, prompt: fairy tale

also on ao3.

. . .

They say that the dragon is guarding a princess. After all, dragons will always kidnap princesses and no one else. Who else is so valuable? So important in the kingdom? So weak? So when the dragon flew through the sky and curled around the base of a large tower, it seemed obvious that there was a princess inside, awaiting rescue.

Here’s the thing, though: Na Bori is not a princess.

She’s a seamstresses daughter, a common girl who doesn’t attract much attention from others. So why had the dragon taken her?

Of course, Lee Jihye had no way to know for sure that Na Bori was taken until she actually goes to the tower, but Na Bori had disappeared and a dragon appeared the next day. There were investigations, of course; nobility keeps track of their daughters and what bloodlines they marry into. Every princess and noble girl in the continent is accounted for. People have speculated that there may be a missing princess, perhaps born out of wedlock, or a sickly, weak girl who had never been introduced to society. And then they wondered if they should even bother rescuing the kidnapped girl if they weren’t respectably nobility.

Lee Jihye had to run out of town because of that one. Apparently starting a bar fight and smashing a chair over a marquis’ son is a bad move.

The barely suppressed panic thrums in her chest, filling the empty spaces between her ribs as she continues her journey to the tower. 

No one has seen Na Bori since the dragon appeared. No one had looked, either. Who would care for a seamstresses daughter? But Lee Jihye has been besides Na Bori for years, has grown up with her, has never known anyone so bright and clever and kind. 

The thought of Na Bori gone forever, trapped in a tower because  no one cared to look  makes her furiously blink tears out of her eyes. No one else is looking, but Lee Jihye. She would never stop until Na Bori was safe by her side again.

Here’s another thing: Lee Jihye is not a knight. She is training to be one, under the instruction of an old warrior who has settled down to live the last years of his life in peace. There are other knights and princes traveling to the tower, fighting beasts and bandits in order to rescue the poor maiden trapped besides a dragon, hoping to gain glory and honor for their deeds. Lee Jihye just wants her best friend back.

It’s easy enough to avoid them; Lee Jihye’s been dodging them for weeks, knowing she’s too tense to handle anyone’s company. These nobles are planning to gain fame or riches or a wife out of this. The last knight who had said something about pitiful women always clinging to their saviors got his teeth knocked out and a concussion from how hard Lee Jihye punched him. She left him lying on the side of the road, fists shaking as she desperately tried to erase thoughts of Na Bori married to a pig like him. 

The less time spent with others, the better.

She cuts down another branch in her way and dives deeper into the forests that surround the castle.

“But what if you get sent far away?” she asks, stabbing her needle especially viciously through the fabric.

Lee Jihye is rather happy that Na Bori doesn’t want her to go. The rare occasion where Na Bori clings to Lee Jihye instead of the other way around are moments memorized and held onto fondly. She knows that there is no one in this world closer to her than Na Bori, knows that she’s the person who knows Na Bori best, but it’s nice to hear that she’s wanted.

Smiling, Lee Jihye reaches out and takes one of Na Bori’s hands, stopping her from tearing through the fabric. “I’ll still come back,” she promises, “Where else would I come home to?”

“And if you get hurt?”

“I’ll just get strong enough that nothing can hurt me.”

Na Bori is mollified, and it shows in how she relaxes and finally sets down her sewing. “You still have a long way to go then. Strong knights don’t cry over a little tumble down the hill.”

Lee Jihye flushes and scowls. “Hey! It was my first assignment and it was a steep hill. I hit a lot of things on the way down! It hurt! If anything, it would be weird if I wasn’t

  crying when she wakes up. Lee Jihye faintly hears Na Bori’s voice whisper, “Crybaby,” but it’s only wistful thinking. Forcing her aching body up, Lee Jihye wipes away her tears and prepared herself for another agonizing day cutting through the thorny and impossibly large brambles that block entry to the tower. 

“Okay,” she tells herself, “You’re almost there. Na Bori is waiting for you, so you can’t give up yet.” 

Many of the others have turned back. She no longer sees other groups making their way to the tower. It’s been eerily silent for the past two days. 

If she had been anyone else, if she had been sane, Lee Jihye would have turned around too. The entire area felt unwelcoming, downright hostile sometimes, and made every nerve in her body scream at her to turn around. A heavy pit of despair grows in her stomach and the hopelessness it causes makes her physically sick a few times.

Still, Lee Jihye presses onwards.

The longer it takes, the more she worries, her brain providing morbid images of Na Bori’s body rotting in the tower, or being eaten by the dragon, or any other terrible thing that could happen to kidnapped people. It has Lee Jihye on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and she’s been teetering on that cliff for a few days now. 

There’s no doubt that the area around the tower is full of dark magic. It gets into her head, twists around her bones, squeezes the air out of her lungs and slowly suffocates her each day. It gives her nightmares, makes her relive memories that feel like they’re happening again, like Na Bori is there with her only for wakefulness to destroy the illusions. Lee Jihye has only been in this dark magic infected forest for two days. Na Bori has been missing for a week and a half. 

The fear she feels for Na Bori and what she’s had to endure only makes things worse.

Lee Jihye hacks through another large thorny bramble and continues in deeper, ignoring the weariness that makes her want to collapse and never get up. Thorns have caught on her with each step she takes; most of the cuts clot up quickly, but the rest leave a trail of blood to guide her back out. 

The tower doesn’t look any closer.

She lifts her heavy arms to cut through another branch.

Na Bori shrieks and jumps onto Lee Jihye, clinging with all her might. Startled, Lee Jihye stumbles back a few steps, trying to regain her balance without dropping Na Bori. She wraps her arms around Na Bori, holding her up, and looks around for the source of her distress.

Crawling across the road is a centipede.

Lee Jihye can’t help but laugh, easily carrying Na Bori away from it, continuing down the road to her house. 

Na Bori, still holding onto Lee Jihye and making no moves to get down, smacks her shoulder. “Don’t laugh!”

“I can’t believe you call me a crybaby when you jump into my arms as soon as you see a bug.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonably fear! Nothing should have that many legs, or those weird eyes, or pincers, or--ugh!” She shudders, scaring herself by imagining the very things she hates about bugs. 

It’s cute, how insistent she is that bugs are weird, gross, and wholly unnatural. Lee Jihye has listened to these complaints for many years, and she wouldn’t mind listening for many years more.

“Don’t worry,” she says, adjusting her grip around Na Bori’s waist. “I’ll always be here to rescue you from the evil, scary bugs.”

Na Bori tucks her face into the crook of Lee Jihye’s neck. Her warm breath sends shivers down her spine; it takes everything in her not to stumble or drop Na Bori. 

“My valiant knight,” she says, and Lee Jihye can hear the smile in her voice. 

Who needs kings and queens? The only person she ever wants to dedicate her sword to is already in her arms. And if asked, Lee Jihye would gladly dedicate the rest of her life.

It’s just. There are little moments between them, where Lee Jihye thinks Na Bori also wants more, wants to push the limits of their friendship into new territory, but what if it’s just wistful thinking? They’ve shared what feels like their whole lives together, and there’s no guarantee that Na Bori wouldn’t leave one day. But if she stayed… If she stayed, Lee Jihye would give

up and let the brambles consume her body. She doesn’t know how long it’s been, how far she’s gone. Dreams and reality feel the same and she can’t quite tell which is which anymore. The tower is still the same distance away it was when she first saw it rising above the brambles. 

Everything hurts. Her ears are ringing. She’s been bleeding sluggishly for days now, always torn apart by new thorns. There’s no point in trying to patch herself up when the next set of brambles is ready to rip her flesh apart.

The tip of her sword drags through the dirt. She’s given up trying to cut a path through to the towers. Instead, Lee Jihye settles for twisting between the branches, uncaring for the thorns that reach out for her greedily.

Whatever dark magic saturates this place is slowly killing her. Lee Jihye doesn’t know much about magic as she’s never had a talent for it, but she knows enough to understand that this is incredibly powerful and dangerous magic. 

What does it have to do with Na Bori?

The answer is: nothing good. Who cares about the specifics? All Lee Jihye has to know is that the magic is going to (if it hasn’t already) hurt Na Bori. The need to save her from this, to bring her back somewhere safe, is what keeps her going despite how painful it is.

As much as her body screams at her to give up and just lie down until she withers away, Lee Jihye pushes forwards, ignoring every ache and cut and bruise.

She will get to the tower. 

Na Bori will come home.

Their hands bump together and they both reflexively jerk away. The air between them is awkward for a moment, then Na Bori laughs and picks up the last apple slice and brings it up to Lee Jihye’s lips. 

"Here,” she says sweetly, and Lee Jihye takes a bite, watches the juice trail down her fingers and wants more than anything to lick it away, to press kisses against Na Bori’s nimble hands, wants

to cry, to scream, to just be done with it. The tower looms above her, no closer and no farther, mocking her and she twists herself through another bramble, wincing as a thorn drags along her arm, beads of blood beginning to

fall into the river. The colorful leaves line the banks of the river and Lee Jihye watches as Na Bori carefully shifts through piles of leaves, searching for the mushrooms that she needed for dinner. 

“Jihye, come here!” she calls, waving her over. 

And Lee Jihye goes, as she always does. “What is it? Did you find

a way in, but it’s all just stone. No doors, no windows, just stone. She finally got past those horrible brambles, and now that she’s at the tower she can’t find a way in. It’s too tall for her to climb with her how exhausted she is. There’s no way up.

Lee Jihye can’t help but cry, screaming in frustration as she presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, trying to breathe through the sobs that force themselves out of her chest.

The magic has only gotten stronger. Dreams, memories, reality, it’s all mixing together. One moment she’s walking through town with Na Bori, the next she’s trying not to gut herself on a large thorn. One moment she’s cutting down a branch and the next she’s waking up then walking past the brambles then waking up and seeing Na Bori smile then waking up and waking up and waking up but she can’t remember falling asleep.

Is this a dream? Is she awake? Is the tower before her real or is this just another illusion?

She’s come all this way. She can’t go back, not without finding a way in that fucking

tower over her and Lee Jihye is sobbing as she watches they push Na Bori into the river. The one holding her back is laughing meanly, saying something about how no one would care about what happens to them, just two poor common girls who only have each other, bet their parents wouldn’t even notice them gone.

N a Bori is coughing up water in-between insults, and Lee Jihye whimpers as her arm is twisted more and more and any more will hurt her, will break her bones, their hands are too big and strong and no one is coming to save them and

"Get up Jihye!”

There is a dragon curled around the tower. It’s smaller than what she expected. Smaller than what she remembers. It stares at her, but it doesn’t attack.

It looks just as tired as she is.

“Hey,” Lee Jihye rasps out. “I just want her back. Please.”

The dragon huffs and drops its head to the ground. There is a collar around its neck, digging into its flesh. Dried blood colors the edges of the collar, and Lee Jihye feels sick to her stomach. Whatever magic is taking place here is vile enough to hurt a dragon, a creature of pure magic from the core of the planet. 

Killing the dragon would be an act of mercy.

Lee Jihye approaches. It watches and doesn’t move. Its golden eyes are so tired; the dragon has already given up.

She raises her sword.

They are seven years old when they first meet. The new seamstress in town is delighted to see that her daughter will have a friend her age. She waves the two of them off to play and goes back into her store, ready to get started on mending clothes.

Na Bori grins, bright and lively; it’s the biggest smile Lee Jihye has ever seen, and she’s instantly enamoured. 

"Hi! I’m Na Bori. Wanna play?”

"Sure! I’m Lee Jihye, I live down there,” she points behind them to the cluster of houses near the fields, “and you’re the first person I’ve met who’s my age!”

Na Bori doesn’t waste any more time talking. She grabs Lee Jihye’s wrist and drags her along. It’s the first touch she’s felt from someone outside her family that didn’t hurt. She’s gotten used to hiding from the local bullies and crying when they were done with her, but Na Bori’s hand around her wrist is what makes her feel like she’s splintering apart.

It’s a good feeling. 

She follows along behind Na Bori, and remembers that kind touch whenever she thinks about why she loves Na Bori so much.

The collar falls to the ground. It was hard work cutting through it, but just because Lee Jihye doesn’t have a talent for magic doesn’t mean she can’t use it. It’s all about mana direction and intent. This forest is full of mana that feels rotten and wounded, but it is mana nonetheless, and Lee Jihye has spent days in it. It’s easy enough to focus on the memory of the first kindness another child showed her and use that to fuel the intent of  help  rather than  harm .

The dragon blinks and some life returns to its eyes. It watches her carefully as she sheathes her sword and wipes the sweat off her brow.

“I helped you get out of the collar. Please help me too.”

And it does. 

The dragon nudges its nose against her stomach and lets her climb on. She holds onto it’s large horns as it ascends and circles the tower. There is a single window in this entire tower, up at the top, and it is there that the dragon stops, using its claws to dig into the stone walls and cling to the tower so that Lee Jihye can climb in through the window.

It rumbles at her softly, and Lee Jihye pats its nose. “I’ll be back soon.”

The inside of the tower is dark save for the light that comes in through the window. It’s full of books and bones, strange symbols drawn on the wall and the floor. There is a man collapsed against a table, gaunt and covered in dried blood. His chest moves, the only sign that he’s not dead, and symbols are cut into his skin, turned black from channeling dark magic.

Lee Jihye doesn’t hesitate to run him through with her sword. He dies silently, not knowing the danger he was in the moment he stole Na Bori away.

That is, if Na Bori is even here. If she isn’t, Lee Jihye is going to have a breakdown, then go out and continue her search. But she’s sure that Na Bori is here. 

She has to be. 

In the back is another set of stairs that winds up, and Lee Jihye climbs them, leaving her sword out just in case.

It’s much darker up here, but still Lee Jihye can make out the bed and a person lying in it. There’s a table besides the bed, full of sharp objects she doesn’t know the use for, and small vials of blood. Dread fills Lee Jihye and she approaches the bed to get a closer look at who is on it.

Na Bori sleeps peacefully.

Her arms are bare and full of healing cuts. Lee Jihye collapses, half-laughing half-sobbing in relief. She reaches out and shakes Na Bori, trying to rouse her from her slumber, but Na Bori doesn’t stir. 

She’s as still as a corpse. 

Lee Jihye shakes her harder, then pats her cheek. “Bori-ya? Hey, Bori-ya, I’m here. I’m here to take you home. Wake up, will you? Please, wake up.”

Na Bori remains motionless. She’s never been a deep sleeper, or a still one. Seeing her so still and silent terrifies Lee Jihye. 

“Please,” she whispers, grasping one of Na Bori’s hands and pressing her forehead against it. “Please, wake up.”

Lee Jihye sobs. She went through all this and now that she’s here, it doesn’t matter. Because Na Bori is stuck in a magical sleep that Lee Jihye can’t wake her from. 

Desperate, Lee Jihye pulls on the rotting mana around them. Blood drips from her nose as she pushes herself through exhaustion and pain, letting the decay take root in her body as she tries to use magic to break Na Bori out of her enchanted sleep. It hurts so much, behind her eyes, in her throat, around her heart. It hurts but there’s nothing else she can do, so Lee Jihye keeps pulling the mana in, then pushing it into Na Bori through their joined hands, wishing  wake up wake up wake up come back to me please I missed you so much please come back I want to go home please don’t make me leave you .

She’s not made for magic. Doesn’t really know how to use it and it takes a toll on her body. She barely notices that she’s stopped crying. She just doesn’t have the energy to make tears. 

Lee Jihye resigns herself to death. Better than leaving without Na Bori. She slumps over, slowly losing her strength. Na Bori sleeps on.

They were supposed to have a future together. She wanted to find the courage to confess to Na Bori, to make a life with her, to become a knight for her. She wanted so much but she’ll never get it because their story ends here.

These are her final moments. She’s allowed to be greedy. Lee Jihye leans down and kisses Na Bori; their first and last kiss. She presses her lips against Na Bori’s mouth and just stays there, tired and weak.

Na Bori takes a breath. 

And she kisses back.

"Why do you want to be a knight? Isn’t it scary?”

Was it? Lee Jihye had always thought the stories of adventures and fighting monsters was really cool. She says as much to Na Bori, who scrunches up her nose.

“But what if you get hurt or run into a really scary monster?” she asks, clutching the skirt of her dress in her fists, knuckles white.

“Then I’d fight back and come to you so you could help me! Being a knight might be a little scary, but I’d also be strong enough to defeat any scary thing that I find.”

“Would you save me if I was in danger?”

Lee Jihye grins and grabs Na Bori’s hand to link their pinkies together. “I promise that I will always save you.”

     Na Bori has to support Lee Jihye as they both stumble down the stairs and make their way to the window, where the dragon is waiting. It coos at them, concerned, and Lee Jihye manages a weak smile that seems to reassure it. 

They somehow manage to get onto the dragon, holding onto ridges of its back as it takes off and flies them away from the oppressive force of black magic.

“Jihye?” Na Bori murmurs from behind her, arms wrapped around Jihye’s waist as she leans against her back. “Thank you for coming to save me. I kept dreaming of you and our promise.”

 “I told you didn’t I? I’ll always save you.” Lee Jihye wishes she could be cooler when she says it, but she’s exhausted and the relief of having Na Bori with her makes her voice small and weak. 

Na Bori presses a kiss to the back of her neck. “Sleep. I’ll take care of you until we get home.”

Feeling like a child again, experiencing her first kind touch from another, Lee Jihye relaxes against Na Bori, and lets herself drift off as her heart splinters and fractures, then comes together whole.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 21

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 21 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

———————————————————————————

"Boss?" Mick says.

Len blinks. That might not be the first time Mick’s said that. “Yeah?”

"You okay?" Mick approaches Len almost warily. Len checks his mental clock; they haven’t moved a muscle for near on five minutes.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"You keep rubbing your chest for some reason."

"It's cold," Len says.

"It really ain't, boss." Mick hesitates. "If you're spooked about what happened with your dad – "

"I'm not spooked," Len protests immediately. "I'm the one with the spooks, remember?"

As if that's the words that open the door, Len is suddenly hit, dead in the chest, with –

"Unquiet dead?" Mick asks, instantly on the alert, looking around.

– euphoria.

Not Len's, though; he's vaguely aware that it's not him that's happy, but rather that someone very close by is very, very happy.

"No," he croaks. "Not unquiet – happy?"

"Happy? What's that mean?"

"They're – happy."

And then they come.

Ghosts.

Hundreds of them, pouring in from everywhere, streets and sky and sewers, swimming towards him, swirling in an ever-narrowing circle like they're caught in a giant drain-pipe and Len's the grate at the bottom.

Mick swears and jumps in their way, fist making contact with the first ghost that comes for Len.

"The unquiet dead in this world are happy?!" he yells, beating them off, but barely.

Len scowls even as he tries to back away. He doesn't understand, they don't feel like the unquiet dead – the difference between the worlds couldn't be that extreme, could it? Unless...

He licks his lips and swallows to wet his throat, and then he bellows, "Stop!" at the top of his lungs.

The ghosts freeze in place.

They're all smiling. Their hands are outstretched, but they're smiling, all happy, all delighted like kids out to the zoo for the first time –

"You don't have people like me in this world, do you?" Len asks, inspiration hitting. These aren't unquiet dead - these are regular old run-of-the-mill friendlies. Just...very deprived ones.

He points at a nearby ghost, a man in his early thirties with an earnest face. Kind of reminds him of Barry, if Barry had been a fighter pilot wearing an eye-scarring shade of green. "You, answer."

"Not in years," the ghost says promptly. "Before my time. They were all killed off."

"That sounds bad," Mick says, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, still standing protectively halfway in front of Len. "By who? They still a threat?"

"No, no," the ghost says quickly. "It was many, many years ago. That era is long gone."

One of the other ghosts twitches.

"You," Len says, nodding at her. Latina girl in her late teens, maybe early twenties. College student, he’d guess. Also wearing an eye-scarring shade of green, amusingly enough.

"It was less than a hundred years ago," she says apologetically. "Not that many years."

"That's plenty of years," the first ghost grumbles.

"No, it really isn't," Mick replies, scowling. "You made it sound like it happened in the dark ages or something. Less than a hundred years ago? What the hell happened?"

"Well, when they were eliminating the human targets for missile strikes during the Great War –"

"Great War – wait, you mean World War I?" Len asks.

He's met with a sea of confused faces. "There's only been one World War," the Latina girl says. "1914 through 1945, thirty years of endless war. And it was followed by the Rebuilding - and the Witch Hunts of the '50s, of course. I was a dual history-architecture major; we went into it in detail because that's the reason all the buildings in Central City are so new and shiny. They all date back to the Rebuilding. The post-war economic boom."

Len looks around.

She’s right – Central City is a positive smorgasbord of shiny new buildings: a monorail, skyscrapers, lovely art deco as far as the eye can see, even when you squint over in the direction of the slums. Even the slums are all gussied up and that’s just wrong.

The only way something like that would ever happen if is - well, if there weren’t anything left there to build on top of and you had to rebuild from scratch.

Mick and Len exchange alarmed looks. "Central City got bombed?" Len asks, because his brain can't even comprehend it. Central City's in the middle of the goddamn country; how could it have been bombed? Much less - “To the ground?”

"Forget that," Mick says. "What's this about witch hunts? Is that when they went after the people like Len?"

"Well, you see, by the end of the war, when things developed into a race between the remaining major powers -"

"Cold War," Len murmurs.

"- there was a lot of weapons development by that point. Specifically, both sides had started using biomechanical targeting systems for their long-range missiles - in particularly, there were these homing beacons that could be ingested, so that they could smuggle them in just about everywhere, extract them, and then plant them to achieve a precise strike target. These beacons were powered by human heartbeats, too, so they’d stop working if the person died; that was a sort of fail-safe, you know, in case the enemy side found out about it, because if they killed your agent, then they were calling down a missile strike on wherever the homing beacon was. And, well, there'd been a solid war-time effort to find anyone who was giving off unusual energy readings -"

"Like me," Len sighs.

"And after the war they got paranoid about spies and sort of stepped up their efforts to find anyone with weird readings, no matter how faint, and that's why all the necromancers died."

"I'm not a necromancer," Len objects automatically.

Mick looks around at the army of ghosts for a quick second. "Course not, boss," he says. "But the name'll do for now, I think. Any chance of that sort of thing picking up on Len now?"

"Highly unlikely," another ghost chimes in, a portly older guy. "There was a pretty big backlash after the Witch Hunts, politically. We're much better now."

"Are we really?" the girl asks skeptically. "We still have all the laws on the books – they're the same ones that they use to target metahumans, or to allow those awful meta-detecting watches to be used to identify any meta as dangerous, no matter if they've done anything – "

"No wonder all those metas joined Zoom's army," Mick mutters to Len, who nods. What a shiny little dystopia there is here, hiding the rot under the surface.

Harry hadn't mentioned it when he briefed them all on what to expect on Earth-2, but then again, he's a rich white scientific corporation owner and probably the guy who invented those awful-sounding meta-targeting watches. It’s probably never even occurred to him to wonder what sort of impact that type of automatic detection device would have on a population already terrified of their new-found powers and desperate for support – yet equally afraid of the sort of summary executions that had occurred within living memory.

Harry had been in favor of re-using the pipeline to store metas on their Earth, Len vaguely recalls Barry telling him. And had possibly killed a man imprisoned in the pipeline.

And, somehow, he isn’t a villain.

What the fuck, Earth-2.

"Thanks for the intel," he says to the ghosts, trying to ignore how many there are. "I’ll keep it in mind. You can go now."

Nobody moves.

"No, really. Free to go. Anytime."

"We don't want to go," one of the ghosts says, staring at Len almost beatifically. "We want to be next to you."

Len stares. He's not sure what to do with that. He doesn't want to order them to leave, even if he could manage to order around such a large group, but he can't cart around a massive entourage of ghosts – sure, if he doesn’t power them up, maybe no one else can see them, but it's distracting as hell to Len.

"Mick, any thoughts?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," Mick says. "What d'you think of this: 'why do ghosts/suddenly appear/every time/you are near/just like me/they long to be/close to you'."

"I'm gonna punch you in your grinning smug face, you asshole," Len says after a long moment of shocked, horrified (and appreciative) silence.

"C'mon, boss, you've got to admit it was a good one."

"I admit nothing," Len says, even though he's having trouble keeping his lips from twitching. "Okay, all of you – how about a nice perimeter? Go back to about 100 feet away from me and hang out there unless I call you or look like I need your help."

There's a lot of ghosts pouting.

"Try ordering them," Mick suggests.

Len makes a face. He's still not sure he can order this many ghosts around, but they're only pouting, not actually objecting, so maybe a sterner tone of voice would work. "All of you," he says, raising his voice. "All but Mick. Go to the perimeter until I need you. Now."

They go.

They're still not that far away, perching on all the buildings like a giant flock of pigeons, peeping through alleyways and sometimes through buildings.

"That's a bit creepy," Mick says.

"A bit creepy?"

Len's Cisco-enhanced Earth-2-compatible phone – because the comms wouldn’t work for some technobabble reason that Len had stopped listening to about two minutes in – picks that minute to start buzzing.

He checks it – shit, he's missed a whole set of calls and messages.

"Yeah?" he asks, answering the phone. "Who's in trouble?"

"Firestorm," Cisco says in a rush. “The police station – there was an ambush – well, I think we were supposed to hit the ambush first, but they got there first so the group watching STAR Labs left and went there –”

Len straightens. “Lisa’s in that group.”

“She’s okay,” Cisco assures them. “The police thought she was the mayor, so they leapt to her defense – just her, and she’s kind of pissed off by that, actually – and got her to safety, then Barry picked her up before the actual mayor found out about it.”

“Good.”

“Oh, and, like, apparently you don’t exist in this universe? Or maybe died as a baby or something – Lisa asked around, but we weren't able to get anything out of them –”

Len thinks about watches designed to detect and out all individuals with the metahuman gene, witting or unwitting; thinks about fear and paranoia and biomechanical targeting systems; thinks of people being afraid of unusual energy readings – thinks, finally, about how far advanced genetic testing for infants has gotten back on Earth-1, much less in this shiny advanced and absolute awful universe. “Yeah, let’s not go into that, I don't care,” he says shortly. “Everyone’s safe?”

“Yeah, they’re all here at STAR Labs now. Caitlin's group is still out, though; they've reported in that they're still doing okay.”

"Good," Len says. "So what happened?"

"Zoom's people attacked, but it wasn't real, it was to distract us while Zoom attacked Firestorm. He hit them with a lightning strike, split them apart, and then he grabbed Ronnie and ran him away!"

"Shit. Did Barry follow?"

"Yeah, but no luck. We have no idea where he might be – or even if he's alive."

"Hold on a minute," Len says, then covers the mouth of the phone. "Ronald Raymond," he says. "If you can hear this, come here."

He waits a few beats.

Nothing.

"Okay, so I don't think he's dead," Len tells Cisco, then pulls away again. "Can you guys go check where a man named Ronnie Raymond is for me, and bring him back to me if you can?"

The ghosts pour out of the square – not all of them, but a good number. It's a little freaky how eager they are to do what he wants. With the exception of leaving him alone, that is.

"I have some people searching," he informs Cisco. "We'll find him, with luck."

"Well, if we can't find him soon, Stein's going to be in trouble," Cisco says grimly. "He collapsed a few minutes ago; we've got him hooked up to the equipment here, and it's not good. The Firestorm matrix in his cells is deteriorating rapidly – way too rapidly. It shouldn't be happening this fast, but we have no idea what's causing it."

"Didn't they say that was what happened when they didn't merge for too long?" Mick, who's been eavesdropping, asks.

"Yeah, that's it," Len confirms, glancing at his partner. "Got an idea?"

"Well, if it's only when they don't merge for too long, then why's he dying already?"

"Maybe 'cause Ronnie's dead."

"Nah," Mick says. "Then Zoom'd leave us the body to taunt us. Is there anything that doesn't involve killing that'd put stress on their bond, make it more unstable somehow? Kill 'em slow?"

Len conveys the question, and Cisco replies, "We don't know. We'll run some tests – you think maybe Zoom just took him somewhere that hurts their bond?"

"Stretching too much for too long can sometimes cause more stress than a clean break," Len says. "At least with bones, anyway. Anyway, Zoom's a sadistic serial killer, so I'm with Mick – if Ronnie was dead, we'd see a body. If we don't, it's 'cause Zoom wants us to see 'em die slow. At least, here's hoping that's Zoom's plan, 'cause otherwise I don't see why he'd keep him alive..."

Len's voice trails off as he watches a small crowd of ghosts, some of the more powerful poltergeists, zoom cheerfully towards him, a brightly flaming Firestorm in their hands.

It occurs to him, belatedly, that he didn’t specify which Ronnie Raymond he wanted the ghosts to bring him.

"Uh," he says. "Cisco. You said Stein's with you, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

Len takes in the darker uniform, the twist of a snarl on the man wearing Ronnie's face as he struggles to get free. The poltergeists are losing energy fast, holding onto him; the blows he strikes can't hurt them, of course, but a few more hits and they'll be too incorporeal to hold him any longer. "Then I think I found his doppelganger. I'll call you back."

Len focuses on the ghosts holding Earth-2 Ronnie and pushes some life towards them. At first it doesn't go right – slippery and sideways, not having any impact – but then he figures out that if he aims right next to them, kind of like trying to aim through the reflective surface of moving water, then it works just like it always has.

The poltergeists yelp like they've been zapped with static electricity, but he can see their grasp on Ronnie get stronger.

Good to know his curse still works here.

"Boss, you're pale," Mick murmurs.

Len feels it a second later, a rush of weakness, but it's only momentary. "Harder to power up Earth-2 ghosts, I think," he says. "I think I've got the hang of it now."

The ghosts drop Ronnie at Len's feet.

"Hi there," Len says, and points his cold gun at Ronnie's head. "Let's chat."

"Breacher!" Ronnie spits. "You're not from here."

"No," Len says mildly. "I'm not. What did Zoom do with your duplicate? He took alternate you away."

Ronnie sneers. "Good riddance. I don't – "

"Do you know how you got here?" Len asks.

Ronnie pauses.

"Invisible hands, huh? Grabbing you? You know what that was?"

"Telekinesis – "

"Oh, no. Nothing like that."

Mick chuckles, dark and dangerous. "Tell him, boss. Or better yet, show him."

Len focuses. It's the barest sprinkling of energy, all around him, but the nearest few dozen ghosts shiver with pleasure.

And, as he'd intended, become visible. Just barely, but there.

An apparition usually appears in the corner of your eye, not apparent dead on – pun intended, of course – but this square has far too many apparitions for that.

Ronnie's eyes go wide.

"These are the dead," Len says cheerfully. "Some of them may even be your victims. Now, if you tell me what I want to know, I may let you go. Of course, I could be lying. Maybe I'll still kill you when I'm done – but I swear this much: I won't let the ghosts do it."

Ronnie swallows. Clearly, Len's threat is having some serious effect - and no wonder, with all of these ghosts hanging around.

"Well?" Mick rumbles.

"I - I told Zoom about the connection," Ronnie says. "Stein and me – we die if we're separated."

"After a few months, though," Len objects.

"A few months if we're in the same city or if someone dies," Ronnie corrects. "It's shorter if we're still connected, but located too far apart from each other."

"So Zoom took him away?" Len says, nodding a little.

"Zoom planned to take him through a breach," Ronnie confesses. "To your Earth, then close the breach behind him. That way, they'll both die pretty rapidly."

"And you're not scared of him pulling the same trick on you?"

"I'm not scared of Zoom!"

Len rolls his eyes. "Sure," he drawls. "Trust the serial killer. Good idea."

"What're you talking about?" Ronnie asks suspiciously.

Len arches his eyebrows. He can feel Mick shift behind him; he doesn't need to see him to know they're of the same mind. "Oh, he didn't tell you?" Len says as casually as he can. "Zoom also goes by the name of Hunter Zolomon."

They don't actually know that for sure yet, but it's having a great effect on Ronnie – his eyes bulge out, his lips go pale, he swallows. "I heard about him," he says. "Oh god – Cait – Frost – she doesn't know – "

Nice to know some things are the same, assuming that 'Cait' refers to Caitlin.

"Don't worry, I'm sure he won't use your weakness against you," Len drawls as sarcastically as possible. "Being as he cares so much about being on the same team."

"I'm joined up – "

"So were they," Mick says. "Zoom split them, then took one. But hey, good luck with that."

"I'll let you go," Len decides. "But next time, I won't be so nice."

Ronnie's head jerks in a nod.

"One last question. Where can we find Zoom?"

"He's gathering the army at the CCPD," Ronnie says. He can't share information fast enough now. "I'm technically one of his lieutenants, but he hasn't shared his plans with any of us."

"Who are his lieutenants?" Mick asks.

"Me, Cait – that's Killer Frost to you – Reverb and Black Siren."

"Real names being?"

"Uh, Ramon and – Lance, I think? Laurel Lance. She's from out of town. She has scream powers."

"Ramon," Len says. "Francisco or Dante?"

"Francisco. The other one isn't a lieutenant – Rupture is more of a back-up, really."

"Good to know," Len says. "Now go."

Ronnie flies away, presumably to go find the Earth-2 Caitlin. Who apparently goes by Killer Frost – either she has meta powers in this universe or she has really badass taste in nicknames.

Len dials up Cisco. "Zoom took Ronnie back to Earth-1," he says when Cisco picks up. "That's why Stein is dying – too much strain."

"But our ride back to Earth-1 isn't for another 24 hours!"

"Find someone else who's compatible with Stein," Len suggests.

"From Earth-2?"

"Why not? Use those – one of the ghosts told me they have meta-human detecting watches?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, Harry showed us. Pretty snazzy stuff."

Len rolls his eyes. "Cisco, you ever read X-men?"

"Sure have; why?"

"Mutant – I'm sorry, meta – detectors for the general populace is a surefire way to radicalize an already oppressed minority."

"...oooooh. Shit. No wonder they all join in with Zoom. He's like Magneto, but, you know, badly written Magneto. The one they retconned to be Xorn or something."

Mick is nodding enthusiastically, because he’s never stopped being ridiculously into that comics stuff. Len just sighs. "Cisco. How do the watches work?"

"It's really cool – er, I mean, awful. Totally awful. It basically detects the presence of the metahuman gene in anyone in your surroundings - wow, that is totally like X-men -"

"Cisco. Focus. Can you use the meta detectors everyone's wearing and program them to track for Firestorm compatibility instead? That possible?"

"Yeah! I can totally do that."

"Good. I'm going to call Caitlin now."

Len hangs up and redials. He's painfully aware that he's just standing on a street corner surrounded by quiet, watching ghosts. A lot of ghosts.

Mick shifts and stands closer. Len relaxes a bit. At least he's got Mick.

It takes a few rings, then Caitlin hisses, "I'm busy."

"With what?" Len asks skeptically. She still answered the phone, after all.

A moment's pause. "Wally and I are about to go into Zoom's lair."

"You found it?"

"Yeah, I, uh, have a guide. Don't tell Barry! Zoom is tracking him. Uh. Apparently."

Mick is silently laughing.

Len closes his eyes. "Is your guide named Killer Frost?"

"...maybe."

"You know she works for Zoom, right?"

"We bonded! And – hey, cool, it's Ronnie! Er, Earth-2 Ronnie. Anyway, I have to go – "

"You know it's probably a trap, right – " Len starts, but she's already hung up. "Well, crap."

"They're real good at this whole being subtle crap, ain't they, boss?" Mick says, shaking his head.

"No kidding," Len sighs and redials. He feels like a goddamn telephone operator. Next rescue mission: conference call lines. "Cisco, send me the coordinates of either Caitlin's or Wally's phones. Preferably both. Then focus on saving Firestorm and, I don't know, send Barry out as a distraction. Zoom’s tracking him in specific."

He hangs up. "Wally first," he tells Mick. "Then back to Firestorm. At least Jax and Lisa are fine."

"I'll get a car running," Mick says.

"The jeep down the way still has its keys," a helpful ghost chimes in.

"...well, that takes all the fun out of it."

[sortyourlifeoutmate]

Self-Publishing - But it’s not really about self-publishing.

(This is a big ol' rant and ramble and most of it is probably wrong. So bear that in mind. Not that anyone is going to bother reading this.

Ignore my dead words. I scream into a silent void. My dreams are dust.)

So I got kinda salty reading an article on the internet. That was my first mistake, of course; you should never do that. I very rarely do, normally. I very rarely get that worked up over anything because I'm a husk of a man, but ever so often something touches a nerve and fills me with terrible purpose.

Typically I lack the ability to properly articulate this and my bitterness just sinks down to the bilge of my brain and rots there, filling me wordless despair. But this time I actually tried to kinda warble about it.

It's about self-publishing. It's pretty obvious clickbait. To sum it up: Wah! Self-publishing cheapens proper authors because any asshole can get their book out there and it might be bad and that's not fair! Wah!

Now, I know little about self-publishing. I've glanced at it every so often – Smashwords, mostly, but not really – but not done anything because my output is 300% dogshit so what's the point? Lots of people do do it, however, and as with all writing the quality output is variable. That's fine.

There are those famous self-publishing success stories (The Martian is the only one I can think of right now but there's probably others) but they are hardly the yardstick by which you should measure all of them. In the same way that regular, old-fashioned published works also don't all smash the market not all self-published ones do. That's just life.

I think it was just the central conceit of the article that somehow the whole setup of agents and publishers and whatnot serves as some sort of quality-check on anything that seeks to enter into public circulation – gunning down anything that fails to meet some sort of standard – that made me so angry.

This kinda seems like bullshit to me. I mean, for one thing the idea that the publishing industry are the flag-flying, quality-conscious gatekeepers of the printed word is pretty laughable given that it's mostly a 'Can we sell this?' attitude gauged against the current climate. Call me cynical, but publishing is a business, yes? Quality enters into it, but only about as far as they worry if it's too bad it might not sell.

Again, call me cynical. I'm probably insulting someone here, I just know it. The climate of what people want to buy and read shifts and changes because that's what it does and what it always does and what it will always do. If people are only publishing what fits the public interest at that one time, everything stagnates. You pick up stories that you think people will want to read because they read the last one like it which was like the thing before it and so on forever. Risk is terrifying in all walks of life but in business where risks entails possibly crippling investment in something that might turn out to be a dud. However, risk also shifts the Zeitgeist (to sound high-falutin'). Someone taking a risk is usually what shunts everything in a new direction and starts a hot new bandwagon rolling.

Like, every time anything big and popular comes out everyone is tripping over themselves to publish anything similar and leap onto the bandwagon before it collapses (see: paranormal romance). Would any of those have got a look-in previously? No, probably not. If they'd been self-published before having a chance to be snapped up by a regular publisher would they still meet some weird, arbitrary standard? I don't even.

Are you following this? It just seems weird to de-legitimise some writing because it doesn't go through a particular process. It's like punk never happened.

I'm especially a fan of the slightly sour grapes "Any bastard can write any shit and publish it and people can buy it and it can become popular!" angle. Like, oh no, people liked something, how awful. If it was shit but came through orthodox, established, approved channels is that better? Enough people with enough experience said it was okay? Alright then I guess it must be okay. Worked for 50 Shades, right? Maybe I'm salty.

Heh, 50 Shades is the go-to argument for a lot of this, I think. The Godwin's law of any talk about publishing. Maybe. I could just be insensible at this point. But anyway. It's getting someone to take a risk that's the tough part. Publishers do this, sometimes, but it's not exactly easy. If some person whose made something can find no traditional avenue to get it out into the public eye why shouldn't they do it themselves? Being told 'no' by an industry that's considering how it'll play out in the climate they're living in right at that moment is not the same as being told your work is bad.

Though your work might also be bad, just to say. Writing is not the easy thing a lot of people think it is, though it's also not the mastercraft some like to believe it is. Which brings me onto another thing...

I'm actually getting angrier the more I think about this now. Writing isn't some fancy-pants club where they check you at the door to see if you're up to scratch because if it was then Waterstones would be a shit-tonne emptier than it is now. Writing as a business is, well, a business and publishers are primarily interested in making money - which is kinda their right, I guess - with quality only a concern as it impacts on this. Looking down your nose at someone for thinking they can write because they don't have years of practice or some shit is kind of a dick move. If a brain surgeon did just happen to want to start writing after he retired he's well within his rights and he may turn out quite good. There are technical aspects to writing, sure, but comparing them to brain surgery is pretty fucking rich. Yeah, Atwood; got your number!

Are you following what I'm saying here? I doubt I'm being clear. I'm not trying to throw shade on anyone in particular, it just seems super-weird to me to write an article slamming self-publishing as some sort of garbage chute when publishing as a business is A BUSINESS and so is always going to act in a way that benefits itself financially! That alone should make you wary! Right?

And the just because you think it's the 'correct channel' doesn't mean they have a lock on quality writing! What even is quality writing? A lot of books that come out people will read regardless of the technical mastery put into the actual wordcraft itself! A lot of is subjective!

People read some authors for their particular style. People read some authors for the world they've put together, even if their prose might be clunky sometimes. People read because they enjoy reading! Like, experience is important, right? But if some housewife in some shithole in the midlands (I am making up an imaginary self-published author, here) has written something and someone else likes it and buys it and recommends it to their friends are you going to show up to their house, spit on their shoes and tell her she's not a proper author because someone with thirty years experience in the industry didn't vet her story first?

What do you want from this?!

And, like, I don't GET a lot of popular books that are published the regular, 'quality-approved'. Mostly because a lot aren't aimed at me, and I am actually fine with that. Like, I tried to read The Fault In Our Stars (having no idea what it was, I just heard people talking about it) and I could not finish it because IT HURT ME in ways it was not meant to. And that's cool, it's not for me.

(Also, Augustus was unbearable I don't even care.)

I'm losing whatever thread I had to start with so I'll wrap up.

Conclusion: read what you want to read. If you're published, why put your dick on the face of people who couldn't get published? They might be better than you, but be writing for a market that doesn't exist yet. That's not their fault, you know?

Can't we all just get along?

PS: If you're a published author and feel threatened by self-published authors slap your agent into shape or start putting more work in, 'cos successful self-published authors (read: not many) work their bollocks off and do most of it themselves. If you're a published author and feel your work is cheapened by self-published authors then go eat a dick. Do musicians with albums in the charts go around spitting on buskers for daring to get people to listen without going through the industry? PPS: Grr. Clickbait fuckin' internet bullshit gettin' under my skin why I oughta. PPPS: I will not be self-publishing anytime soon. But that's not a surprise.