#another long post sorryyyyy

[moralesmilesanhour]

I'd love to hear what fundamental issues you have with spiderverse... 🎤

Hm I'm just gonna rattle off a few from most to least important before I forget (note: some of my issues with spiderverse are less about the concepts or characters themselves but more about how the writers or producers chose to handle them, or even just exploring the possibilities of what could've been. I still think it's a really excellent movie and complex story.)

If you're someone that skims through longer paragraphs a lot, I've also put my most important points in italics so that you get the gist of what I'm saying :)

Making Miles' story about everyone else but Miles. I understand that Miles' whole thing in Spiderverse is that by defying the odds, he inspires the people around him. But there's a certain point where the story become *about that* and the other characters more than him and his interiority. In its efforts to focus on his growing into the mantle of Spider-Man, the films only kind of allude to the fact that he has a life outside of the mask. His mental health and relationship to his community are pushed to the wayside so much that even Ganke is only on-screen for a few minutes at most.

(This is a long one sorry) Spiderverse as a movie doesn't seem to know for sure whether it likes cops or not. It presents the literal police and policing as a concept as something that is inherently neutral, likening it to the mantle of Spider-Man where they simply have power that they have to use responsibly, and that there are just "bad apples". But the way that Spider-Society operates quite closely parallels how policing and criminality work: you have a bunch of spiders go out and detain people and send them where they're "supposed to be" under the guise that a) the order of things will essentially fall apart if you don't, and b) there is a specific way that your story is supposed to go, and you should be willing to sacrifice lives to maintain that status quo. There's also the categorization of those who break those rules as an Other (anomalies), and the fact that Spider Society reacts to the presence of the anomalies instead of addressing the thing that created them (the collider. HELLOOOO). With all that being said, Miguel and the rest of Spider Society are clearly framed as anatgonistic forces by the film and even has a punk anarchist character calling them out and being right about it. The movies simultaneously critique policing metaphorically through Spider Society while trying to justify it in the real world.

Girl where is Pavitr. His character is literally perfect for Miles to interact with, but we don't see him again until the very last scene. Same thing with...literally everyone we just met. The movie is over two hours long, where did all that time go--OH WAIT

Gwen and the scene with her dad take up wayyyy too much of the movie's runtime, I'm sorry. We spent the entirety of the beginning of the film learning information about Gwen and her dad that could've been quickly conveyed in much less time. Not to mention that, apparently, Mr. Stacy literally gets fired in the comics for letting Gwen go, so that whole plotline didn't even need to happen. Why change that? To say he's a 'good cop' that does his job? The trauma of losing Peter would've been present in her story either way.

The art style. No, this doesn't mean what you think it does. I do not have an issue with the 3D and 2D hybrid style of animation obviously. Spiderverse has literally revolutionized the field, but there are some limitations to it that were made especially clear once TMNT:MM came out. You may or may not have noticed, but isn't almost everyone in Spiderverse...kinda gorgeous? Hear me out here. Someone has pointed this out before me, and it really changed the way that I look at aesthetics in animation. In Spiderverse, everything from the environments to the way that things are shaded and colored is extremely stylized and pushed quite far...until you get to the main characters. Yes, there is diversity in features the likes of which we haven't seen 'till recently, but I'm purely talking about the style in which they're drawn. Compared to everything else, they look closer to something Disney or Pixar might produce. This is not inherently problematic or "bad", but I do wonder how much cooler and cutting-edge and comic-y we could get if it wasn't so pre-occupied with beauty. You can disregard this one, it's just a thought. Apparently the idea that not every cartoon character you see on the big screen has to be hot makes people very angry.

I think those are all the big ones. I'll reblog with new additions if for some reason I come up with new things to complain about lmao

[dark-fics-4-you]

hi queen 🤍 the way i squealed when i saw ur post PLS

ok but umm what if your tire went flat at night and dark!rafe happens to be driving by, kinda crossed after leaving a party super late but he stops and helps you…. but plans to make you pay him back one way or another right there on the side of the road even tho you thought it was just a nice stranger doing a favor…..aldfjidoendkd

dw im seeking out help rn.

it’s okay i need to seek out help for writing this the way i did. This fic alone is putting feminism back 50 years okay sorryyyyy enjoy

Equal Exchange

Warnings: noncon, smut, reader gets assaulted by a stranger, degradation, rough sex, implied drug use, misogyny, slut shaming

“Fuck!” You hissed, slapping your steering wheel in frustration before flicking your hazard lights on.

Of all the times and places for a tire to pop, of course 1AM on a back road was just your luck.

You opened your door, examining your parking job before checking out your tires. Sure enough, the right hand rear tire had a gash in it, and was now considerably less full than the others.

With a groan, you retreated to your trunk, opening it and locating your spare. However, only then did you remember lending your jack and wrench to a friend and you cursed angrily.

How could you change the tire now?

As if on cue, the back of your car lit up as another car approached. You spun around, only to be momentarily blinded by the truck’s headlights, but you could hear the large vehicle slowing to a stop.

You nervously shifted your weight from one leg to the other as you watched the door of the truck open and a tall, blond man exited and walked closer to you.

“Engine trouble?” He calmly asked, blue eyes looking down at you kindly. The scent of weed hit your nose, and although you silently judged the guy for driving while high, you weren’t one to turn down help when it found you.

“No, my tire popped. I have a spare, but I don’t have the tools to fix it,” you sheepishly explained, crossing your arms around your chest when the cool wind made you shiver.

“Lucky I was in the area then.” He said with a friendly grin. “I’ve got a jack and a whole tool kit in my truck. I’m Rafe, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Y/N. Thank you so much for the help Rafe, I really appreciate it!”

You watched as the blond got his kit and jack out, and then observed as he masterfully changed your tire. You didn’t miss the way he glanced over the stickers you had on the window there, a couple band ones and then a few feminist stickers that he stared at for just a little bit longer than you were comfortable with.

However, he was helping you out, and by the time your spare tire was on, you had almost forgotten about the way he looked at your stickers.

“Wow, I can’t thank you enough Rafe, you really saved my skin. I’m glad you were driving around here tonight when you were,” you politely smiled up at him, genuinely grateful for him coming to your aid.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” His eyes lingered on yours but he made no movements to go back to his truck, instead taking a step towards you.

You backed up nervously, why was he coming closer to you rather than going back to his car? It was well past midnight and maybe your paranoia was getting the better of you, but you suddenly really wanted to leave.

“Well, it’s late so I better get home,” you started to turn away from him, but his hand flew out and clamped down on your wrist.

You whipped around to face him, crying out and wincing at the painful way his fingers were digging into your skin.

“What are you-?”

“You just said I saved your skin, didn’t you?” There was an icy edge in his voice, and Rafe pulled you closer to him, chin ticking as he looked down at you in disapproval. “I mean, if it weren’t for me you’d be stranded all alone out here for god knows how long.”

“I-I know, I said thank you, Rafe, now please just let me go!”

“What if I didn’t want to, hm? Are you going to make me?” He chuckled when your face dropped, enjoying watching the severity of the situation he had placed you in dawn on you.

“I mean, don’t you think you could repay me for sticking my neck out for a dumb bitch like you?” He held you in place with one hand, allowing the other to snake around your throat.

Your eyes widened and you thrashed against him when he clamped down around the tender skin, choking you hard.

With all of your power, you aimed your knee in between his legs, missing his crotch, but still catching him off guard enough to get him to release you.

You screamed as you pulled away from him, hoping that someone else might hear you and come to your rescue.

Stretching your fingers out to reach for the handle of the door, you had almost grabbed it when Rafe’s large arms encircled your waist, tearing you away from the door.

You were no match against his strength and he easily pushed you back before getting behind you and shoving you as he bent you over the hood of your car.

You yelped when your hips painfully dug into the metal in a way you were sure would leave bruises.

His large hands pawed at your clothes, and you hopelessly struggled in his arms. When he ripped your shorts and panties down in one movement, dread gripped your heart. You felt dizzy with fear.

Before you could even register the chill of the night air, Rafe roughly slammed your head against the hood of your car, holding it there and chuckling at your terror before hissing into your ear as he undid his shorts with one hand, “I’ve never understood girls like you. I mean, you have those dumbass girl power stickers all over your car but you can’t even change a tire by yourself. And I bet you learned that little move after mommy signed you up for a self defense course, huh? You can take all the classes in the world, but you never really stood a chance against me, sweetheart. I mean, you are so fucking stupid it’s actually adorable.”

His cruel words brought a burning pink tinge of shame to your cheeks, tears beginning to pool in your eyes.

When you felt the tip of his cock brush against your slit, you tried to move again to get away, but you were pinned down by his rough hold on your skull.

“Uh uh, Y/N,” your name sounded all wrong on his tongue, and the smug overfamiliarity from this stranger who was now assaulting you made your stomach turn in disgust. You froze when he pressed the head against your slit again, this time you were slick enough for him to slowly press the tip past your lips and into your warm cunt.

“You’re gonna stay still if you don’t want to get hurt,” his sick laugh barely reached your ears, as your focus was locked on the building pressure between your legs as Rafe pushed himself into you, painfully stretching you out inch by inch.

You whimpered as he sheathed himself inside you, trembling with adrenaline and fear underneath him. He was big, too big, and you clenched around him when he tilted his hips back before snapping them against your ass.

“Fuck, Y/N, I thought I wasn’t gonna get any tonight after that party turned out to be so lame but shit-” he groaned before slowly starting to push his cock in and out of your heat.

“I guess I got lucky after all,” his gruff voice sent shivers down your spine and your tears only made you feel worse. Each stroke of his length was agonizing.

You could barely adjust to the feel of his thick cock dragging along your walls, it felt like he was going to split you open. The pressure between your legs had you gasping and crying out in a confusing mixture of pain and pleasure.

“God you’re squeezing me so fucking tight,” he groaned. “I knew you’d be worth stopping for.”

Rafe was rutting into you faster now, enjoying the way you fearfully looked up at him through teary eyes as he took advantage of you.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were enjoying this, Y/N.” His taunting voice was punctuated by his sharp thrusts, each one rocking your body. “Why else would you be moaning like such a fucking slut?”

[red-hemlock]

If River heard anything that the woman said to her, she did not show it. Could not show it, truly. Words had long failed her, as any remaining 'fight' left within was spearheaded to the frontlines of keeping her awake and from going completely dead-weight on Nora. It was a terrifying thing to feel as she was spirited-off to somewhere and lain upon that table, knowing that this losing battle could only be won on the whim of a complete stranger.

But the fear that rent her heart and squeezed her guts like a horrid pain-homunculus, was not even spared mostly for her own life.

"-ny..." The final thought on her mind before that uncertain slumber finally dragged her down under, was the face of her young daughter.

"DAGNY!"

Rising hands reach to nothing, the name tearing from her throat strangled and raw as the wounds still dotting her form. The one at her side is all-too happy to 'punish' this harsh awakening with a searing spike that forces her to double-over.

"Sh-Shit. Good morning to you too, body." River hisses under her breath, wide-awake now, as she takes-in the surroundings through sweat-covered bangs. Where the hell was she? The place she'd stumbled-into the night before was decent from what little was remembered, but this? Total bad vibes painted these walls.

Swallowing, River raises gingerly this time, swinging her legs over the table to stand. Her body, however, plays the part of Judas well. Pain awakens anew the moment any weight is put on her feet; and that red-stained table and anything near it clatters as she's brought to her knees.

"Ugh-...! M-Maybe I should've asked for a robo-body instead of a patch."

It was a quiet night for Nora as relaxed in her large armchair with a good book and a glass of red wine. She felt a clam come after she had just spent the last few days going from her day job as a surgeon and saving lives of men, which she hated, to her night job of killing and slow torture of them. Cycle of life in her eyes.

But as she felt a nice calm as she took a sip of her wine, a loud and pounding KNOCK came to hear door. She sipped some wine on her shirt and she was not happy as she got up in a huff and marched to the door, ready to curse the person behind the door... but when she opened it, her features softened at her visitor.

A new woman. Injured and bleeding. Woman who looked like she owned the color as it matched her so well. She was hurt and bruised and needed help. She did care how she heard of her, Nora never turned down a cry for help from a fellow female.

But as she picked up the body of River, she saw Batman across the street and they shared a glare for what felt like forever until Batman went away. Nora pulled River down to her secret room behind her bookcase and down the stone stairs to her torture room that rarely operates as a moonlight surgery room for injured women like River.

Nora went to work, once changed into scrubs, and mended River. Cleaning her wounds and sewing her back together as the perfectionist she was. The wounds told Nora she fought long and hard against Batman and she longed to hear River's story. Even pulling a few bullets from her and a Batarang. Wrapping the wounds in dressing to help them heal. She looked down at her new friend with a wicked smile.

"You owe me more than interest for my rug, my new friend. Rest. Tell me your story tomorrow." She said softly to let River rest for the night.

The next morning, Nora awoke and brewed coffee for her and River, if she awoke...

@red-hemlock

[brisquad-unit-4402]

zombie au with ike ft. luxiem - In Pursuit to and from the Sun

(i think this submission got lost in the sauce and i can't find it but at least i still have this screenshot)

lmao sorry i went off the grid for a sec. life happens, you know, applied for some vsf programs, went on a classified operative excursion away from my post and got a new writing software. i actually wrote the last of this on a helicopter returning from the mission so that’s why i didn’t proofread beforehand sorryyyyy. but more importantly I TOUCHED GRASS. guys. i touched so much grass. i touched so much grass i could replant a garden. call me a topiary, i touched that much grass. is this what it’s like to work at a dispensary? bc i touched so much grass

a few disclaimers: this fic is ike centric but contains general luxiem angst as a treat and may be read in a platonic or romantic tone, whichever you prefer. it's also another 10.7k words long so if you want to read but don’t have the time, use a like/rb as a bookmark. most importantly: heed the tags for this one, i kind of went off the deep end here

tags: platonic relationship, hurt no comfort, angst, zombie au, no happy ending, gender neutral reader 

⚠️ major character death, suicidal thoughts, gore, infection, arson, and apocalypse-typical violence

continued au notes and commentary here (spoilers)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ever since the initial zombie outbreak, you’ve been running around the country with your best friend Ike and the circle of close friends you both share. You’ve made peace with the fact that it will always be hard. You and your band hop around from town to wilds, with no real objective other than to survive. Every location has something to glean, after all. It’s just that the zombies are always on your tail, and there’s only so much looting to do before the chorus of dead can tear you and your family apart.

It’s deluded to pretend you’re the invulnerable main characters, though. You and your friends are in a townhouse currently being ambushed by a strain of zombies. You swear they’ve gotten more intelligent since your last encounter. A dense herd of bloodthirsty undead is one thing, but a dense herd of bloodthirsty undead that have a chance of understanding positioning is another. Closing doors is barely a second of relief now. 

You were lucky to be in a room with Vox when you got ambushed. He lived his post-apocalyptic life with a rebar rod in his hand, wrested from a collapsed concrete building early in during the initial outbreak. He claimed to be a trained swordsman once, and even though the rebar was more of a club than a sword, you admit you would’ve been worse than dead if you didn’t have him by your side. You’re sure he’d be screwed without you, too. Now that the world’s gone to the dogs, you stay prepared with a pair of climbing picks that can clobber in zombie brains just as well as scale walls. Vox shoved zombies out of the way while your picks cleared a path to escape from the house out through the window, Vox in tow.

You and Vox reunite with Ike and Shu outside. The former keeps various kitchen knives hidden under his no-longer white mantle, and defends Shu from stragglers while he digs into his backpack. You notice his weapon, an iron fire poker, by his feet along with a bottle. He rips sheets off of an old Millwall brick to stuff inside the bottle.

“Blowing the place up,” Shu says, in case you didn’t make the connection already. His breath is ragged. “Where’s Luca and Mysta?”

Like a stage cue, you hear the rocket of gunfire the second he says it. Your hope is crushed. Noise attracts zombies, and Luca was the only one with a shotgun. If he pulled the trigger, the situation was even more dire than you thought. 

Shu grits his teeth and repeats himself, intensity barely restrained. “Where is Luca and Mysta.”

“I’m going back in,” Vox declares.

Ike drives a knife into the head of a fallen body. Destroying the brain confirmed they wouldn’t regenerate, and he minimizes the risk as precise as a surgeon. He made short work of the zombies that hadn’t overrun the house yet, but you could see them flood the interior. “Don’t be stupid, Vox, that’s suicide.”

“You heard the gun!”

“And I said that’s suicide!”

“Not if someone goes back in!”

“How are you going to find them without getting yourself killed?” Vox opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and Ike took advantage of it. “That’s what I thought. Luca’s our muscle and Mysta’s a clever guy, you’ve seen him outsmart the zombies so many times before!”

“They know basic organization, Ike!”

“All the more reason not to go back in! Have some faith in your friends!”

Vox grants him an unholy leer through his haunting yellow eyes. “How dare you lecture me about faith when I’m trying to save their lives.”

His glare was lost. Ike focuses on confirming the dead stay dead. His back is turned from the swordsman as he chops a skull in two with a butcher’s cleaver. “Because no matter what, they’re going to get out, and they want you out just as much as they’re fighting.”

But Ike’s words were just as lost to Vox; you barely saw the trail of his blood-splattered haori before he ran back to the townhouse, rebar in hand and fury on display.

Shu shoves the remains of the Millwall brick into the cupholder of his pack, a battering ram for another day. He produces a box of matches instead. “It’s best to take them all out at once.”

You speak up. “But Vox just-”

“I know.” Shu’s lips purse. “And I’m not going to throw them. Not until I know they’re all safe.”

You watch as Vox speared through a living corpse, then threw its remains on the ground. The zombies are centered inside the house, but the windows are all covered. The door stays open as he passes through the threshold, but you can’t see a trace of him left.

Ike stabs through a brain close to you and Shu. You see him heft himself up, and the traces of a permanent dead remain on the ground. The head is split open with precision, and the brain blooms out from the skull. It leaks pink nerves and black rot among the blood, like a disgusting flower. 

He passes by you, dead set on his goal. “You’re not going, Reader.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“And don’t expect to.” Ike’s words are emotionless, but not cold. As much as he pushes away Vox, you know he cares for everyone in your group like brothers. He’s the least risky out of all six of you- after all, he’s tearing apart zombie brains without a complaint while you catch your breath and Shu stands watch.

You draw your climbing picks and follow him to the field of dead. “Let me help you.”

You feel useless just standing there, after all.

Though the task of confirmation is much calmer than fighting for your life, it’s still unenviable, and you have to admire how Ike distances himself seemingly so easily from it. You try not to look at their faces, but that’s just as impossible. After all, the brain is right between the eyes. That’s the worst part. 

You made the mistake of looking into zombie eyes twice in your life. 

The first was your first fight of the apocalypse; a zombie had you deadlocked in an aisle of an outdoors store, and only when it was within biting range did you drum up the courage to grab the first thing you saw- two fluorescent orange climbing picks, never used- and drive them into the writhing heart. You bolted then, too focused on escape than freezing, and those climbing picks proved themselves to be your best survival tool in combat and exploration. 

The second was the first time you confirmed the dead, and those eyes, that face- skin and bone but youthful, blue bleeding through the iris like a cracked yolk, remains of eyeliner and mascara along her deteriorated features- she was a person, so young, so beautiful when she was alive, like she knew she had decades to go- sometimes you swear she’s the face you see at night when you remember how human and how simply unlucky this world is now. It’s simply unlucky, and being unlucky is simply brutal. 

(You held back your tears when you bashed her brain in. Later that night you pulled your best friend Ike aside, and cried in mourning of a woman whose name you never learned. He didn’t complain then, either, and you only sobbed harder when you realized as much as he comforted you, he could never muster up the vulnerability to grieve himself.)

You club a pick into the forehead of the fresh, putrid dead. The other pries it open, and a third swipe pulverizes with finality. 

It’s messy. When you drive your weapons into the skull there’s a crack of metal against bone, and a thin gush of blood that spurts out to your arms. Especially large openings reveal nodules of black rot spotted through the brain. If you focus, you can see the moist, moldy texture seep through the wrinkles of the brain, and if you were any less jaded it’d be enough to make you turn your head and hurl. 

But the deed is done in only three stabs, and you cling onto that fact. The more mechanical the task is, the easier it is to drive yourself to just get it done. Club, pry, pulverize. Club, pry, pulverize. 

You pass by one of Ike’s carvings as you move onto another body. His work is premeditated from habit; he usually does this deed while everyone else recuperates. A standard chef’s knife is his weapon of choice when he faces against zombies, but he keeps a cleaver sheathed to his side when he has the time to get precise. One good slash goes through bone. Bone sweeps through the brain, and the work is done, and he carries on to the next, messy on his mantle but clean in the cut.

There are only a few more bodies left untouched on the yard where you hear heavy steps on the grass and Shu’s voice cry out. “Luca!”

You and Ike snap up. Luca’s blond hair is matted to his face with blood and rot as Vox runs beside him. They look like they ran through a blender of decayed flesh, and considering the herd of dead inside the house, perhaps that isn’t so strange of a metaphor. Even as Luca sprints, he turns to pump shotgun lead to the predators when they get closer, and each corpse’s fall is punctuated by hot gunfire.

Shu calls out his name again frantically. The men return, and so do you and Ike, five missing one. “Luca, where’s Mysta?”

“It’s bloody,” Luca simply says. His breath is short, and he wipes at the mess of gore and hair on his forehead. All it accomplishes is smearing black and red together along his face and in a blotch along his arm. 

“But where is he, I need to know!”

“And it’s so much.” He trails off. He stares into the side of the townhouse and beyond the distance. Strapped to his back is his go-to weapon, a baseball bat littered with nails, each with residue dripping off the spikes from freshly killed zombies. “There’s a lot. Oh, I’m feeling kind of- kind of cold.”

“He’s in shock,” Ike says. He takes Luca’s hand in his, but Luca doesn’t even react. “Oh, Luca. What happened?”

“Kind of a lot?”

“Where’s Mysta?”

“He…” Luca’s eyes dart to the center of the townhouse. “He’s stuck, because of me, isn’t he?”

“Alright, lay off the man.” Vox intervenes. “We’re done asking questions. Shu. Your matches. Light it up.”

“What?!” Shu screams at Vox. You’ve heard him yell, but never once have you heard him scream. Especially not with Vox sounding so detached. “No, are you crazy? Mysta is in there!”

“Light it up, Shu-“

“I said, no! No! No way, not a- not a fucking chance!”

“Shu, listen to me!” Vox thunders. “I’m sorry, but Mysta is gone.”

Shu stands his ground. His features are tense, and his ultraviolet eyes burn holes through the earth. “Not a fucking chance.”

“Mysta is gone,” Vox insists, and you hear his bassy voice break even lower. “I saw it myself.”

“He is not.”

“It was too overrun, it’s miraculous Luca even got out.”

“Mysta,” Luca says, and closes his eyes. Ike holds him upright and rubs his arm, as comforting as he possibly can in the worst situation, as much as possible when his own face is just as distraught as everyone else.

“And I wish with everything that I have that I could’ve gotten him out,” Vox continues, more of his own justification than anyone else. “And I wish I was just a little faster, and that they were a little further away, and, God, that he wasn’t trapped, but he was, and I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t close enough…”

Shu is murmuring his own protests to himself at this point, and feeling the pit in your stomach yourself, you reach to hold his hand. He jerks away like you’re made of lava. You feel ill. “You’re lying to me.”

“And he got bit, and he knew that meant death. And he ran, ran upstairs, to draw them away from us, and there were more, and he knew, he knew, he knew he was dead but we weren’t.”

Luca lets his head fall on Ike’s chest. Ike becomes his crutch, and holds him. “Mysta.”

“His distraction saved Luca’s life. And mine if I was slow.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He was a hero,” Vox says.

“Stop.” Shu’s eyes shut. He looks like stone about to break, paralyzed in denial as the proper grief is setting in. His hands dive and clasp around yours. He’s trembling. You squeeze back. “Don’t talk about him like he’s dead.”

“He was a hero, and our brother, and the sun. Please don’t devalue his sacrifice like that.”

“Oh my god.” Ike interrupts, and his face is paler than the dead. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Luca, don’t look.”

With one hand, he buries Luca’s head into the fabric of his mantle, and with the other, he points to the tallest point of the townhouse. 

You crane your neck up and squint. The townhouse has one window peeking out from the room along one small wall. When you recognize the shapes through the window your legs nearly give out. Startling, saturated, unadulterated horror grips you. You see his hat.

“He’s still alive,” you whisper. “Or he rose. But he’s still surrounded.”

With revived desperation Vox grasps Shu by the shoulders. “Don’t devalue his sacrifice, Shu, you know better than anyone he never wanted to fall victim to that curse. Let him and the rest of the zombies pass on properly, like a hero should. Light the match, please. Please.”

You absorb the chaos as if you weren’t there. You’re detached. Nothing feels real, not even as Ike strokes Luca’s hair, distressed and staring at the window, while Luca is just as distanced as you are. Vox’s heroic resolve shattered as he recounted Mysta’s last moments, and Shu, the smart one out of your group, can’t even function anymore. You knew everyone considered themselves each other’s family, but Shu and Mysta were especially close, and it tears you apart to watch Shu finally grasp the terror of the townhouse ambush. 

Shu lets go of your hands to cover his face. Through the gaps between bloodstained gloves, you can see the sparkle of tears. He’s crying. “This isn’t possible.”

“Do the right thing,” you say. “Do what he would’ve wanted.”

Shu stands so still. He looks up to the sky, as if it could all go back just by an hour. The clouds just kept rolling. 

He picks up a bottle and lights a match.

“This can’t be happening.” A teardrop nearly flicks out the match, but he gathers his strength, and places it by the newspaper wick. The paper flares alive in caution orange.

Shu breathes in. You see his face is scrunched up from crying even as he tries to aim, and it’s like he’s aged years in a matter of minutes. His face has never truly been clean of dirt or gore in weeks, just like the rest of you, but even under the orange fire his eyes go dull. There’s weight under his eyelids, and his mouth is forced into a tight, shaky frown as he exhales.

“I’m so sorry.” Even when it was a zombie Shu always apologized before killing. He treats it as a blessing of what they once were. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry it had to be this way.”

Shu throws the molotov. 

You lose track of Mysta’s silhouette as the townhouse goes up in flames.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The death of Mysta Rias was the death of the sun, and the world has been even drearier than the desolate land would have you think. 

Everyone lives on edge frostily. It’s barely been a month since he passed, but the wound hesitates to close. 

Ike is maybe the best adapted to your band of six now as five, but even then you can tell he’s not the same. He’s a champion of reservation. Every sweep of his knives into dead flesh are purposeful, every word spoken is calculated. 

You think back on that night you cried in Ike’s arms the first time you confirmed the dead. You still haven’t seen him cry. Strange, since he was the type to get emotional at sappy movies and video games before the first outbreak. You’re worried, but he insists he can keep it together. To be fair, he’s doing an excellent job at not having a conniption, but the way that he acts so much more emotionally distant isn’t exactly inspiring confidence either.

But Vox, for all he puffs himself up about making sure no man gets left behind and all that heroic junk, hesitates far more than his honed swordsmanship would have you think now that Mysta’s gone. It hasn’t gotten in the way of surviving yet, but you have to wonder when it will. He’s gotten indecisive and requires time to think- great for planning, not so much for a live-or-die fight. 

Luca’s the one that surprises you. You wouldn’t go so far as to call him happy when your band of friends started roaming the country together, but he was good natured, and was the first to pick himself up from a bad scrape. He had a sly, sideways curve to his lips whenever he laughed, but it’s been so long since you’ve heard it that you’re starting to forget the way his skin curves into smile lines. 

He doesn’t smile at all, really. As optimistic Luca was, it was no secret Mysta was the other half of the laughter in your group, and now that Mysta was gone the morale was as well. Luca keeps up his positive attitude as much as he can but it’s rare, and it’s quiet when you see it. 

You notice whenever someone lights the campfire, he’s never around to watch it, and no one makes him do it. You don’t think anyone’s ever talked about it out loud, nor has he ever let himself show it. But when he turns around to feel the warmth, Vox is always to his front, blocking off the bright blazes, and sits by him while he cooks game. You have a theory Vox hasn’t given up his hero complex yet, but for as tense as he gets by the fire Luca hasn’t had a breakdown yet either. Unless things change, you won’t bring it up. Your group has never experienced a loss quite like this in the zombie apocalypse, and all things considered, for as awful as the morale it could be much, much worse.

Speaking of much worse, Shu…

He was a wreck when Mysta passed away, and that’s putting it lightly. When you ran from the remains of the burning townhouse and into a forest, your footfalls were punctuated by Shu’s shortened breaths, and he held back hiccups as you left Mysta behind. By the time Vox figured you were safe from the horde and Ike’s feet gave out from exhaustion, Shu’s eyes were shut tight in disbelief. 

You barely uttered a word to him before he fell back into sobs, and when you offered a hand he threw himself to you. It was disorienting. You always considered Shu the face of serenity and restraint even in your lives before the apocalypse, and after the outbreak he was always the one that could find the best path to follow for the greater good of all six of you. But now there were only five, and the grief was fresh.

But Shu howled. He clawed himself against your chest in inconsolable wails, and his face was contorted, sore and raw red in splotches of unmuted primality, nearly unrecognizable. There was an animal in your arms. Agonized. 

“It’s not possible,” he heaved. His articulation was lost in his eruption. “It can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be!”

You didn’t have any words to say, and clearly Shu didn’t either. He howled again as his bestial hands clutched around your arm. Nails dug through his gloves and into your skin, and if he clutched you any tighter he’d tear the flesh off the bone straight, a creature of despair. Screaming and howling, and soon enough he was choking on his own spit and the block of mourning in his throat, some ugly peals of tears and snot, and the remains of rot on his hands and blood against the hollows of his ghastly cheek; the ash left in his lungs and the smoke that lingered in his hair, and the flames that licked through his fingers and inside the bottle and outside the glass; the blazes that ate through the wood of the house, the very same hue as his brother’s favorite shirts, his hat, flickering a cycle of brightness and color and roiling heat until he knew the fire had swallowed up what remained of Mysta.

Shu had no choice but to scream. When his throat took away that privilege he mustered up what he could of his vocal chords and churned. All his mouth went dry but he still smacked his tongue against his gums and huffed out seethings and surges of thin breath through gritted teeth, more akin to wheezing than anything else he’d howled but the pure distress gone untouched.

He eventually exhaled himself into an uneasy sleep, but even in sleep his face was still struck with suffering. Rest was more like a pause to a realized horror than it was a reprieve. You and Ike cleaned him up and laid him sideways on the ground for the night- after all, it had been an awful day, and as the moon rose in the sky you know you wouldn’t be getting anywhere after the horrible events, much less with an unconscious Shu.

Luca spent the rest of his day detached from his own experience, even after the shock wore off. When Shu’s composure broke, Vox had attended to Luca, and they quietly wept together while Shu bawled. By the time Shu began to rest, Luca looked into the ground, water bottle in hand.

Vox approached you while Ike started a fire and prepared some rations for the rest of the group. “He’s not taking things awfully, but I’m concerned for him,” he said. “Luca, I mean.”

“I know you mean Luca,” you responded. You couldn’t hide your own exhaustion from the day either. 

“As much as I hate to say it, Shu freaking out was to be expected. He and- and Mysta- those two- they were so close. And Luca, too. I thought he would freak out like Shu, but hell, Reader, I cried more than him. I know I get emotional and he’s better at keeping it down than me, but…”

Vox’s eyelids fluttered as he looked up at the dark sky. His eyes were red. “I’m just concerned, that’s all. It’s not like him.”

“Well, living without-” Your exhaustion dragged down your sentence before you could finish it. You thought you were well-adjusted to the death, but your voice caught before you could utter his name. You cleared your throat. “Living like this. There’s going to be a lot of weird changes, and everyone mourns differently.”

“I suppose you’re right.” But Vox didn’t look too pleased to hear that. “We need to protect him.”

“He does plenty of protecting himself. And we look out for each other regardless.”

“Then we should look out for him especially.”

“Of course. I don’t want him to get overexerted.”

“And let’s tap out of any interaction if we can, including looting. Last thing we need is to get into another big fight with the zombies, or worse yet, other survivors.”

“Avoiding fights has always been our M.O.” A chilled breeze ran through the forest. Vox fiddled with his haori. You stared right through him. “Sorry if this comes across as weird. But do you really think laying low is a good idea?”

“It’s dangerous to let anything interfere with us.”

“We’re in the zombie apocalypse, Vox, everything is dangerous. It’s not like I can just wave a wand and poof, we’re immune from the plague. Besides, we’re just two out of s- out of five. We’ll figure it out when it’s not so late, and Luca and Shu are in working condition.” You squinted. “Hey. Enough about them for a second. Has anyone ever asked you if you’re okay, Vox?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Is now. How are you holding up?”

“What, do you want me to lie to your face? No one’s doing well.” He averted his eyes, and you knew he was averting the question. “I could ask you the same thing. Shu was intense.”

“Tired,” you said. “Just plain tired. I don’t even think I have the energy to properly grieve.” And just like the man standing before you, you averted your eyes as well. “I don’t think I want to either. I don’t know. I miss him a lot, but I don’t have the time to miss him. Not when the apocalypse is literally unfolding in front of us and there’s people taking the brunt of the loss way harder than I am. I wish I could give him the remembrance he deserves.”

Vox nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything in response, and the silence made you feel like you aged hundreds of years in his presence. 

“You’re very observant, Reader,” he finally said. “And you spend a lot of time making your own conclusions before you act. That’s smart. But knowing too much prevents you from action, full stop.”

Campfire smoke curls around the chilly air and by Vox’s face. His head was still angled up to look at the sky, and the orange glow against his sharp features weathered him into a dreary oil painting. There was a gash between his cheek and ear where a tree branch hooked him while he evaded a zombie’s grapple, and the light illuminated the soft pink flesh exposed under the cut of skin. The corner of the gash met his thoughtful frown. “Every moment of life teaches you something. I’m wondering when it’ll be too much and we simply can’t go on the way we used to.”

“Might be soon.”

“Today definitely sped it along.”

The fire crackled. You and Vox sat there unmoving, too focused on the blaze and how controlled it was compared to the townhouse. 

Even as the tinder burns, your thoughts were still so awry now that the group got smaller. Vox had a point about Luca. You needed to keep an eye out on him in case he’s putting on a brave front. Even then, you didn’t like how Vox deflected your concern, but prodding him would only make it worse, especially when the loss was so fresh. 

Your thoughts drifted to Ike, and how you haven’t managed to share a word with him at all since the townhouse burning. He hasn’t cried, you recall, not a single time since the first outbreak. You admired his composure but now that Vox admitted his own fears for the others (and neglected to tell you the ones about himself), you can’t help the unease that settled into your stomach. What were his thoughts like? Everything went off the rails whenever you tried to collect yourself, but if Ike was able to keep it all under wraps, then his mind must be a storm.

Speak of the devil. Ike hands Luca a small can of beans, but the blond stayed by his lonesome. Your best friend took the empty seat beside you, and gives you and Vox your dinner.

You thanked him, and after savoring what little you had of your portion, you asked how he’s doing.

“Just gotta get through another day,” Ike responded. 

Then he tipped the last of his beans into his mouth and stared at the fire, just as you did after talking with Vox. He was unreadable as ever, but the only thing you could glean from him with confidence is that he had just as much on his mind as you thought. Maybe even more.

You wished he would just tell you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

But grass grows over graves, and even if Mysta didn’t have a proper send off, time waits for no one. 

Once Shu woke up, his face was a mess of bleariness and exhaustion. Something in his bright eyes froze over during the night. Amethyst faded to plastic. 

“We’ll keep moving,” he declared, and his voice chilled you to the core. He called out the order as a leader, not a friend, without the care or delicacy he always granted to your group. His emotion died with Mysta. 

(And you saw Vox ready himself to refute, but once he met those purple eyes filled with something unearthly, he shank under Shu’s presence.)

Days pass. All of them are spent on the road. The group spends as little time resting as possible just to get a few extra miles out to your next destination. 

Shu and Luca say it’s to get away, but they end the sentence differently. Shu says to get away from the zombies. Luca doesn’t finish his thought at all. 

It’s no surprise that Vox opposes it. The more distance between the group and the townhouse, the more he speaks his mind. 

But Shu is determined to go further, just as much as Vox is convinced everyone needs to lay low.

And in all the time you’ve known these men, you’ve never seen any of them fight against one another quite like this. Vox always concedes, but not before Shu spits venom and he flings it right back. Their words are always about the plan, their future, where the group is going and why don’t they wait out the zombies instead of these hourly skirmishes on the road; but everyone can tell there’s more lying in subtext than the literal argument. You’ve seen the way Vox grits his teeth and musters up his courage whenever he’s about to tell Shu off, and you know that disgusted glare Shu gives Vox whenever he brings up hiding from the zombies.

Ike usually ends up being the one to break up their fights. One dismal evening while he lectured them both about teamwork and other platitudes, you and Luca sat next to each other. He’s a big guy, but he’s lost a lot of weight from rationing, and his expression looks like an abandoned dog more often than not these days.

He talks quietly, but plainly. “Shu hates me, doesn’t he?”

“What?” The bluntness startles you. “Luca, listen to yourself. He could never.”

“He could.”

“He wouldn’t,” you insist. “He’s gone through a lot, and he’s not taking it well, but I know it’s always because he wants to protect you. All of us.”

“So is Vox. But he just shuts him down without a thought. You ever wonder why, Reader?”

“To get away from the zombies,” you recite. That’s always his reasoning. Staying put in one place just means more time for zombies to gather at the scent of the living.

“So would finding a secure shelter, like how Vox says.” Luca sits with his knees close to his chest, and watches from a distance at the quelled fight. Vox says something, and you can see Shu’s face contort even though you can’t hear what he says. “But he doesn’t even listen to him. He doesn’t even listen to you, Reader, when you try to break it up.” He holds his legs closer to himself. “I don’t know if he’s ever listened to me. Or anyone.”

“He would if you told him you feel like that. He’d understand.”

“Would he really?” You nearly answer that before you realize the question is rhetorical. “You’ve got eyes, Reader. Be attentive like how I know you always are and look at how he looks at us. Me and Vox.”

You try to follow Luca’s request but Ike is speaking, and Shu’s eyes close.

He elaborates. “It’s not a nice look.”

“He’s stressed.”

“Then why doesn’t he ever look at you like that? Or even better, why does he listen to Ike only, and how come it never seems to stick?”

“He’s going through a lot.”

“We all are.”

Across the camp, you watch Ike run a hand through his hair. Shu is still talking, and Vox sighs.

“I think he blames us.”

You grab Luca’s arm. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s obvious anyways.”

“Because that’s our friend.”

“He hasn’t acted like one for a long time.”

“Because he’s lost so much.”

“We were all friends,” Luca snaps. “We lost just as much. Hell! I was in the house! We were together! And then we got separated, and unlike someone Vox actually tried to help him out until- and I should’ve- we saw him get bit, and I couldn’t- I just, I-”

Luca shuts himself up. Your hand falls from his arm to his palm and squeezes. No life returns your gesture. 

You sit in the stagnant silence. 

“I’m sorry.” Luca lowers his head. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Get it off your chest, Luca. I won’t hurt you.”

“No, I don’t think I should.” He unwraps his legs, and stands up from the ground beside you. “I’m not going to say it and be an awful friend, even if he’s acting like one.”

Before you could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, Luca already turned his back, and you sat alone from the argument as he walked away from everything.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Despite all their bickering, Shu and Vox lead the group through travel. It’s more likely that the bickering is the exact reason why. The fire iron and rebar push aside the greenery, until Vox stops with his rebar casting the brush aside. “Fucking finally.”

You catch up and look across the hill. Buildings. This used to be a small rest town in a clearing between the hills before the outbreak, but now the bright signs are dimmed out and dirtied. Not a soul lurks in the abandoned town, including the dead. 

“We’re not stopping,” Shu says.

“Piss off, Shu. I’m tired.”

“You’re never going to be well-rested.”

“Then how does safe sound?”

“Not possible no matter where you go.”

“But safer than on the road-”

“Guys,” Ike interrupts. “Quit acting like toddlers.”

Vox pouts and Shu squints. None of the three want to get the next word in.

So you speak up instead. “We’re running out of supplies. If we don’t find any more food soon, then we won’t even be able to continue on the road.”

“Reader has a point,” Ike agrees.

Shu’s expression sours. “Fine. We’ll look around, but make it quick. Camping out here is a great way to get robbed.”

“Then we’ll move together and keep watch for one another,” Vox declares, and he smiles. “Welcome to the correct side, Reader, Ike. It’s good to have you on board.”

Ike rolls his eyes. “Don’t drag me into your petty fights.” You fight the urge to quip he’s already in the mess as the mediator.

But the group traverses the hills and enters the remains of the town. The ground is littered with garbage strewn about in the haste for its citizens to flee town- or for the ill-fated, become the corpses dragging along the cement. 

The zombies here shamble along independent from one another. That’s the best you could ask for. The only consistent thing about zombie behavior is their danger when in swarms. Alone, they’re nothing but fetid flesh barely clinging onto the skeleton, ready to fall into a hundred pieces at one strike, but when accompanied by others? Fodder makes up for each others’ weaknesses, and no matter how competent or skilled you are, one human is nothing to a crowd of zombies on the warpath. 

The zombies of this town haven’t synced up with one another, and you’d like to keep it that way. While on the road, you’ve had plenty of skirmishes with small groups of zombies, but the last time your band faced off against a proper herd, you lost one. 

A single zombie clambers to the front of your group. You hear metal against fabric as Ike pulls out his cleaver from its sheath, ready to do the deed, but before he can advance Shu already has his fire poker in his hands and the business end driven through the eyes of the zombie. He twists, assuring the brain is too punctured to allow the body to rise again, and the poker is back at rest. He barely even apologizes to the body as everyone trudges on.

Behind his back, Ike resheathes his weapon. He squints through his glasses, and you can read the confusion between his green eyes. Ike doesn’t meet your glance, but his expression is welcome, as unfortunate as it is. At least you’re not the only one that noticed how out of character Shu has been lately. You’re getting a sinking feeling about him.

However, the moment passes as soon as it appeared, and you and the rest of your friends rove onwards until you come across a set of stairs erring into the earth, surrounded by a dirtied glass entrance. 

“Who would’ve thought?” You wonder aloud. “I never would’ve guessed this little town had a subway system.”

Vox raises his hand along the cool glass. “This could be good. The entrance is camouflage pretty well considering the damage of this town, and there might be some preserved food in vending machines. All we need to do is break ‘em.”

“And if there isn’t any food, it’s still a big area,” Ike adds. “Plenty of space and a roof over our heads.”

Luca looks down the staircase. It’s dark, but not unnavigable. The edges of the sidewalk are lined with yellow paint stripes, and features small lights along the walls from a backup generator, most likely. “It’s a good hiding place,” he says.

Luckily for everyone, Shu can already tell he’s defeated, and doesn’t put up much of a fight before you all descend down the stairs. 

Not even ten minutes later Luca found a vending machine and smashed it apart with his spiked bat. Vox unwrapped a pack of Oreos with a smug smile. 

The subway was no longer in operation and the trains themselves were abandoned, but you found a sign with a map of the station. The subway connected the major areas of the town together, and could be used as secret passages through the ruins.

And most interesting, there were even less zombies underground than under the sun. 

“I wonder if the stairs confused them?” Luca says to himself. “Surely a few of them figured it out, since we killed some since we entered the subway, but it might be too complex for herds to come through. Or the architecture itself is confusing.”

You weren’t about to question it. This was one of the most peaceful environments you’ve entered since the outbreak, and there was no way you would ignore the moment to catch your breath, even if you can still cut through the tension with a knife. 

You enter first watch with the drifting bond between everyone on your mind, and when Ike relieves you for his watch, you fall asleep in record time.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

An arm jostles you awake. “Reader. Wake up, zombies.”

You curse, albeit a little groggily, but in a flash you’re on your feet. You thumb under your sleeping pad and grab your climbing picks. “I thought we were safe?”

“Not at all.” Your eyesight adjusts after you start walking, but you can already recognize the voice as Ike. Out of the corner of your eye you can spot Shu trying to shake Luca awake, and Vox gathering everyone’s things together. “They’re flooding in fast. Herds of them. Like they’re all on the same wavelength.”

“Like the townhouse.”

It dawns on you and you say it without thinking. Ike’s shoulders freeze over. “Don’t say that. Not so loudly.”

“Fine. What do you need me to do?”

“Get your things together. They’re not here yet, but they will be soon, around the corner we came.”

Vox approaches halfway through zipping a backpack together. “We should take the next right corridor. I remember that leads to a different exit.”

“You sure it’s not the same one the zombies are coming in through?” You ask.

“Positive.”

“We need to stay ahead of the herd,” Shu said, Luca in tow. “No fighting unless absolutely necessary. If we get started now we should be able to get away without overexerting ourselves. Ready?”

No words need to be exchanged. You leave the clearing just as you found it. 

A collected groan follows behind you, and a chill runs down your spine. You’ve never heard so many zombies, and never so man all in harmony. The moans arrange together in the cavernous halls, bouncing off the cement and down the station. 

The urgency rises once the cries grow closer. Vox breaks out in a run, then Luca, and Shu behind him. 

“Right,” Vox calls, and dives at the turn. A zombie greets him. He drives his rebar into its head and flings it away without a second thought like a lancer. 

The zombie smashes against a sight with arrows to different stations. Ike swerves out of the way. “Fork ahead, where now?”

“Right? I mean-” He goes one way to view a sign, then sprints the other. “Straight! Straight!”

The dead sing. You can’t think to look back but the smell of rot is suffocating.

Your foot falls under the concrete ground in time with your family, and in time with the stumbling zombies approaching faster than you’ve ever felt before. 

Luca halts in his tracks, and you thump against his back. Your mouth parts to speak but your eyes fall upon the exit.

Or rather, the lack of exit.

Boulders of broken concrete hide the stairwell from daylight.

Hot breath strangles you, and you turn with your picks in hand. Swathes of the dead are fixated on your group. 

Ike runs straight-on to the choir. You scream out as one reaches for him before he turns at the last fork in the road.

You cut your scream off halfway when you follow him without a second thought. 

A hand covered in dirt and mold grasps against the sleeve of your jacket. You swivel and sink your pick into the limb, and the wrist pops off under your blade. The hand goes limp and falls from the fabric.

You hear footsteps behind you, and when Luca speaks up you’re full of relief even if only for a moment. “What now?”

“Just run,” You say back, more of a guess than an order.

Shu drifts in front of you. “Where are we?”

“Give me a moment, I’m trying to think!”

“We don’t have time, Vox!”

“I know, Shu, shut up!”

“Going left!” Ike shouts, and you all move without question. 

But you realize only after the zombies cut away the turn that the station turns more decrepit on this side. The tunnels are lined with debris and the floor crumbles away along the painted stripes. 

And before you can find a new route, you see a puff of dust from the ceiling.

“The roof!” You shout. You’re gasping to breathe now, and your words stumble upon the exhale. 

Shu’s eyes roll up to the flickering light, and you both see the elongated crack above your heads. It’s been in decay for years. How unlucky. How simply, brutally, lethally unlucky.

“Hurry!” He pleads. He’s at the front of the pack, followed by Vox and Luca alongside each other. Ike trails behind you. 

The crack in the roof follows your every footstep even as ancient instinct kicks in. Adrenaline shoots through your veins and pushes you forward, accompanied by bits of debris tangling in your hair. The flooring turns from concrete to tile, and with the dirtied mosaic comes a glimmer of hope. Surely you must be going the right way.

The zombies’ cries are loud, but the squeak of your shoe against the tiles is louder. There must be something beyond.

But the ceiling splintering out is the loudest of all.

It all happens at once:

The way that Shu turns at the sound and can’t even get one of his own out before he sees your face-

The powdered cement turning to hail in the blink of an eye-

Your war cry through gritted teeth as you launch off, the fastest you’ve ever run before-

A knife unsheathed in in warmth and frigidity in your midst-

Luca, hated, blamed, petrified. 

Your brain catches up through the curtain of scrap. It’s all because of Luca. Even at his most vulnerable, you’ve never thought of him as weak. Nonetheless, his eyes are dead purple crusted against his ghost-white face, and his lips force open while a vein along his neck strains to scream out your name, but he lets out just one small, throaty heave. A miserable noise.

It silences you. 

You know it, and he does too. A chunk of ceiling drops mere inches from your last step. Vox approaches, calls out your name before he’s even comprehended the truth before him. You see the dark in his pale eyes tighten into a thin reptilian pupil and he reaches out in desperation.

The last of the ceiling shatters. A broken crag hammers into his palm instead. All you hear is Shu finally get out the scream before the remains of the underground roof shuts you out from your family.

The dead rises in volume. The glimmer of hope evaporates.

You force yourself against the barricade, but your weight is no match for the pile of rubble, and you watch the zombies shamble forward with your back against the wall. The only person you have left brushes plaster away from his eyes with one arm and brandishes a knife in the other.

Ike Eveland looks like hell alive. 

It would almost be hilarious if you weren’t facing a subterranean grave. His face is dirtied with mud and rubble, and the legs of his trousers are matted in blood, rot, and dirt, but even then, this is still your best friend. The years you’ve spent alongside him blend together. His once-delicate hands now bear countless scars from travel and fights, but the contours of his face are recognizable even through the dust that mars his skin. 

This is an unwinnable situation. You’re locked in checkmate, but Ike stands next to you.

You speak. “No more exits, right?”

Ike swipes at his face again, and the sleeve of his mantle comes back grayer than before. “I think we both know how this ends, Reader.”

“Yeah. I do.”

You both watch the leading zombie shuffle one foot forward, and each of its followers mimic the motion. 

You notice Ike’s hand against his face out of the corner of your eye. Then how his shoulders jerk up for a moment, before setting themselves in place, stony and rigid. 

His words break your heart. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Me neither.”

“I wish I could refuse all this- all this-” 

He sniffs. 

You move without thinking, and your mind is set. You wrap your arms around Ike. 

He doesn’t even raise his hands. He just leans against your shoulder lifelessly, and lets the tears fall. 

You rub his back as he hiccups into your shirt. How long has he been keeping this locked up? You ache for him and all his repression as his body goes limp against yours, the only thing keeping him standing. 

“It’ll be okay.” That’s only a lie you can hope is the truth. “After all this. We’ll be okay. Shu and Vox and Luca, too. It’s a straight shot now that all the zombies are on us.”

“I’m going to miss you. All of you.”

“We’re together.”

“I’m sorry this is how it ends.”

“We still have options.”

He scoffs, even as his voice cracks through his quiet crying. “We’re trapped, Reader. There’s no way out.”

“We can still go out on our terms,” you say. You place your hand over his, the one that holds the knife. “Once we’re gone, the zombies are going to search for the other three.”

You squeeze one last time, and break away from the hug. You look upon the wave of dead flesh and rot, and draw your weapons. “I don’t want them to fight any more than they have to.”

“That’s hopeless.”

“It’s all I can do.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I’m not sure myself,” you admit. “It’s just that right now, I know I’m in a losing battle, and I accept that. But I don’t accept just laying down and dying like that.” 

Your climbing picks cross together as you ready your eerily still mind. The blades scrape against each other. Metal sings. “And I just want to handle things calmly. After all this time, I learned that from you.”

“I don’t know how you can just remember things like that when we’re about to die.”

“I suppose I only die on my own terms. Hey.”

Ike stumbles to his feet. His knife is pointed to the ground. With a tranquility that evaded you all throughout the apocalypse, you steady his posture and guide the blade up to the dead beyond.

Your hand rises up his arm as his eyes close, and he silently murmurs to himself. You rub his shoulder. “You good?”

Ike exhales. His body lowers as he does, and with the breath comes a relaxed posture. This is the most at peace he’s been since the outbreak strangled the past world. 

His eyelashes rise. Stormy green seas focus upon the staggering zombies. 

“No.” Ike’s lip trembles. But he’s set on the zombies ahead, and a bolt of lightning crosses through his eyes. “But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good man.”

“There’s about five of them leading the pack in that corner. We can pick them off and get some more breathing room.”

“Understood, Mr. Tactical.”

“Don’t call me that.” Under the exhaustion and the fear and the grittiness that comes with crying, you hear some of that classic, joking exasperation. You snicker to yourself, but the bittersweet smile remains. 

“Mr. Eveland, then.” Your sight hones in on one zombie to your right. Its jaw slides apart as it follows the scent of the fresh living. “It’s been an honor, Ike.”

“Likewise, Reader, we’ll do what we can.”

“Let’s go.”

At your command, you both launch off, laser-focused on the individual dead. 

Ike kicks a corpse down to knock it prone, then rakes his knife into the skull, and that’s all you can see before you throw yourself into the fray.

A one-on-one is simple. The zombie in front of you holds out a decrepit hand, perfect for your climbing pick to detach. It stumbles at the force and grants you an opening to clobber its brain in.

Rinse and repeat. 

You dive between the steps of your latest kills to divert attention in time to slay another and stay moving. The trick is to use gravity to your advantage. They aren’t smart enough to stand their ground, and when they inevitably fold from the pressure of your picks, it’s like the zombies present themselves for you can finish the job.

The next target swipes at you. You jut one pick down upon the corpse and one more meets the brittle skull. This gives you enough time to duck under a lunge, sweep the leg, and aim to kill. 

Something grabs your leg before you plunge the pick in. A body, dismembered from the waist up. 

You yelp as yellow-black teeth rise, and frantically kick. The zombie holds on tight, but when you regain your senses, it doesn’t even see the blade incoming before the soft brain squashes in. Splatters of gore and bits of chunky nerve endings sprays against your frame while your sweat mixes in with the stench of rot and muddy mildew.

You step back to reposition. Ike’s clothing is covered in blackened blood, and you watch him plunge his knife into the chests of whatever unfortunate beast approaches next. He twists and yanks out, then goes in for a final blow between the eyes. He has a rhythm established despite the shades of rot against his mantle and shirt. It almost looks routine. 

His next victim’s head rolls to the ground and breaks apart like porcelain. The brain is still in place, but the elongated gash through the nervous system confirms it would never rise again. 

But one gets the jump on Ike while his back is turned, and he yells out as he thrashes. He swivels on his heel. The zombie maneuvers around even as his hands push back in a fierce gridlock. It snaps its broken jaws in Ike’s face as it snarls, and sinks its claws in. Gunk travels through its saliva.  

“I got your back!” While Ike retreats, you trip the dead that crawls in front of you, and dash to his side. You drag your picks into the nape and back of the zombie’s head, and the creature goes limp just in time for Ike to shove it against the wall. 

Ike catches his breath, brushes his hand against his arm, and meets your concerned look with a nod in silent gratitude. “They’re gaining on us,” he says. “You don’t need to kill all of them, disabling them is fine!”

“Got it!”

But even that is easier said than done. There are so many zombies in the herd, it looks like you haven’t even left a dent, and your space is getting limited. You hack through the edges of the herd and pray that your wild swipes cut through a limb or two. 

“We’re losing turf!”

“Yeah, and I- gaah!”

Ike heaves. Your switch flips from ‘kill zombies’ to ‘check Ike’.

You follow his rasp to the corner of the room, where the ceiling crashed down. His back is pressed against the tiled wall, and he struggles to peel off his mantle. 

You don’t even need to ask. His hand clutches his arm, and the chunk of flesh missing from it. 

“Holy shit, Ike!” You can’t even mute yourself. Millions of warning bells go off in your head. The internals are coated in a dark membrane from where it meets the oxygen in the air, less red than it is purple, and his veins beside the mutilation rise in an ugly green. 

You reach your hands out as you rip off a cut of fabric from your sleeve. “No. No, this can’t be happening-“

He slaps your hand away before you can begin to bandage the blood loss, and immediately crumples. “Don’t do that! It’s the virus!”

“There’s no way it spreads that fast-“

“It will. I don’t want you to have that.” Ike sucks in air through his teeth as he sinks to the floor. 

“How did you even-“ you cut yourself off. “It was the zombie that jumped you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even notice the pain when it happened.” He curses in his native language. The green in his veins rise, and branches sprout from the veins under his graying skin, like tree bark. The rapid decay of the outbreak. “Oh, that’s not good.”

The din of the battle behind you is entirely forgotten as you focus on the uneven flesh, the imprint of the bite upon his mangled arm, how nearly every level of the wound has turned to the same rot of the zombies. 

Ike’s breathing is labored. The center of his shirt is soaked with the rot of those he killed, and rises and falls shakily. 

He smacks his lips, and you’re struck with the realization that talking is a strain. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

You crouch by his side and nod. 

“The sheath, on my belt,” he says. “Can you unfasten it?”

You comply without question even through your blurring eyes. I can’t refuse a request from a dead man, you think, and then the weight of your thought slams you. 

Ike’s unscathed hand rises from the wound, coated in slick purple gore, and brushes against the handles of his knives. The membrane pools together into beads along the handle. His fingers stop at the last slot in his sheath, and the tip of the cleaver is dyed in the beginnings of the rot. 

You think you’re about to vomit your heart out. 

“No.” Your voice wavers. “No. No, I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Ike comforts you, and you feel even more like trash. You should be the one comforting him instead. “I trust you.”

And that’s what gets the tears to spill out from your eyelashes. “But I can’t kill you.”

“You said it best earlier. Dying on your own terms, right?”

“But I can’t kill you.”

“I don't want to be one of them,” he admits. “Look around, Reader, we’re surrounded, and we both know there’s no way out. And being one of them, it’s unnatural. It’s just messed up. If I’m going to die, I want to know I’m at rest. None of this- whatever all this is.”

His head lolls to the side. “And I want to see Mysta again.”

The chorus of the dead accompanies Ike’s heavy breathing and your weeping. You are a helpless child. 

“I’ll help you,” Ike adds. “I’ll tell you how I usually confirm the dead. You’re my best friend. I trust you.”

It sickens you. 

You let out a puff of air as you draw your palm over your eyes. The gore across your face smears over with your tears. 

You take the cleaver in your hands. 

“Thank you.”

“You deserve better than this.”

“It’s the best we can do. I’m glad.”

“This is so fucked up.” You draw the cleaver with both hands, as if that would end the shaking. Even as you shut your eyes, you can’t get your resolve in place. 

“The trick is to be fast,” Ike says, and it disgusts you at how easily he says it. It disgusts you even more when you know the decay is spreading as he speaks, all the way into his raspy voice. “It’s all in the wrist. That’s what keeps it precise instead of clumsy. It’s where all the force is. Don’t swing wide. Just center it where you want to hit. How are you doing?”

“Not good.” Your breathing deepens, a last-ditch effort to remain calm. “I’m scared.”

You force your eyes open. The world floods in white, then falls into the blurred grays of the subway station. 

Ike is already so much worse for wear. The bite is entirely blackened, and the discolored skin stretches from his arm to his shoulder, creeping along what little you can see of his neck. 

His eyelids are shut, gentle aside from the furrow in his brow. 

“Me too.”

Even with his feigned nonchalance, there is so much sorrow laced between his words. 

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll be safer,” Ike says, and even he doesn’t seem so convinced by it. “Thank you for everything. I’ll miss you too.”

“You’ll always be my best friend.” 

You raise the cleaver. 

“Please tell Mysta I’m thinking of him. We all are, always.”

“We’ll be watching.”

Ike’s head is lowered, but you still see his attempt at a smile. 

You black out as you swing.

There is no memory left of his last moment. It’s all too much to bear. 

You cover your face, because looking at him is simply- just- too- much. Blood mixes in with your eyelashes, and you taste metal on your lips. 

You don’t even have the energy to scream, or cry, or do anything. You are a husk, and you do not hear Ike’s cleaver clatter to the floor. There is nothing. 

Your body moves without your command. You step back, and even though you refuse to look, you know you’re backing away from Ike. Your heart hammers, and so do your limbs. It spreads in droves, this pressure of heartbreak, constricting you and squeezing you apart.

Daggers fall into your skin. You snap out of your stupor. 

But once you identify the daggers as teeth, you wish you didn’t.

You tear your hands away from your face as a glob of rot (his rot, you realize, and you can’t even begin to wrap your head around that) flicks out in an arc. The hammering- it’s claws raking against your flesh and tearing you apart like meat.

While you accompanied Ike in his last moments, the outbreak stopped for no one, least of all you. You are no invulnerable main character. You blocked out the roaring chorus as he lay, but it continued outside of your little bubble, and with your back turned they absorbed the last of your free space for a perfect siege. 

You veer your head away out of instinct when the teeth pull away, and takes a bite of muscle out with it. The pain is blinding hot- you finally regain your voice in time to screech, but it drowns out through the zombie moans. 

A second set of jaws snaps you up. Already your head is spinning, and when you see the sinew from the corner of your vision you resist the urge to faint. If you take a look at the broken skin and extruding vine-veins again, you know you’re going to black out again, and never wake up. 

You force your sight to anything else. 

You make the mistake of looking into zombie eyes for the third time in your life. 

But this time you don’t retain the memory, either. Because for as little time you have left, how could you live knowing that your best friend’s peaceful green eyes snapped open in terror in his final moment? 

You choke out, and whether it’s from pain or grief or pure fear, you can’t even tell. Just that it all mixes together into a toxic blend, the poison of your undoing. 

And to think, you had the gall to meet such a grisly end head-on minutes ago. 

On the ground, next to his limp foot, the steel edge of Ike’s cleaver winks at you. 

It’s all in the wrist, he told you, and your blood burns into dust. But Ike is gone, now, and for as horrified as his melted remains were, he was certainly watching your every move. 

And the infection is unnatural, and climbs along your shoulder, and there is no agony in the world like this fate. 

And you wanted to see Mysta again. 

With the last of your strength you regain your legs, and kick off one zombie from your leg. It topples and gives you enough time to shake off another that has you grappled. 

The weight shift combined with your blood loss makes you hit the ground hard, but you scrape at the floor nonetheless. You are so weak, and you struggle, so focused on the glint of the blade that you ignore your skin crack apart like mud in a drought. 

You reach, bloodied and battered, and so close to rest. 

The washed light shines off the cleaver. Its reflection teases you as a monster snatches your foot and send you back into the horde like a toy. 

You emit your final scream, and that too dies as hundreds of hands hold you back. Your body and blood is swallowed by the herd of dead.

When you can’t keep your eyes open anymore, the dark in your mind rearranges to replicate the cleaver. Then it flattens, and you see the haunted remains of Ike Eveland between it. 

The only sound left is teeth meeting bone. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

[philosophilia]

Molly without her rain boots

I'm just kinda interested to how you'll fill in the gap

Day 9 and OMG GUYS LONG POST INCOMING I'M SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE

Okay so basically I was allowed to "fill in the gap" with whatevee I like

And for context: I got another ask while I was working on this one

And Anon, you gave me the courage to pull off the thing that I had on my mind from the start

We can't just leave poor Molly without any shoes so I decided to give her the shoes one of the small Mollys was wearing

This one to be specific (aka what @cameforexactlyonereason has a their pfp)

Oh yeah also unrelated but yesterday @cloudsanddays wanted me to give her lil vampire fangs which was such a small and adorable thing that I just HAD to do it right away sorryyyyy

Anyway

Drumrolls PLEASE!!!

I present you the RESULTS

I feel like this is a good moment to confess I'm doing all these edits on my phone which makes it a biiiit more difficult

God that was a lot of work but also really fun

Also does she give anyone else more werewolf vibes than vampire? Maybe that's just me though

[unnamedpheonix]

Hiiiii! This is just another small idea I had today. Nothing major, and I have yet to edit it so if there's some spelling errors or some small gaps in the story sorryyyyy! I'll edit it in tomorrows post!

Marks POV:

"...and now we're moving on to step 6 which is the..."

Mark could barely concentrate. He was so focused on figuring out the last couple steps he had barely been listening to the next few.

He turned to his left and saw Jack grinning at him with a big thumbs up. He did his best to smile. A pinch of concern tugged at Jack's face, but he quickly turned his head back to the front, focusing once again.

Break time came around faster than Mark would have liked. Had he really been practicing for that long? He was multiple steps behind.

As he went to grab his drink bottle, he heard a familiar voice from behind.

"Hey Mark! How are ya goin'? You looked a little worried back there? Anything I can help you with?"

The idea of Jack helping him rattled his brain. He would realize that he was horrible at this. He would much rather just fumble through and try to work it out on his own. Maybe he would just skip the dance all together.

Jack must have noticed his thoughts spinning him around in circles, because his face grew serious.

"Seriously man, if there's anythin' you need help with just tell me. I'm not gonna judge ya!"

Mark wanted to believe him. He wanted to trust him. But he was afraid. So afraid.

Music began to play from the large speakers on either side of the room. People were already making their way to the middle of the room to practice.

Before he knew what was happening, Mark felt a tug on his arm and began to follow Jack into the crowd of people. Once he came to his senses however, he realized what was happening.

"Wait. Jack! Seriously, I'm not ready! I don't wanna go practice in front of everyone. I'm so far behind! Please!"

Jack stopped walking.

"Mark, take a look around for a minute would ya."

Reluctantly, Mark did as he was told.

"Nobody's gonna be lookin' at ya. They're so focused on what they're doin', they probably don't even know we're here. Trust me. You'll be fine."

Jack looked into Mark's eyes. For a moment, he felt safe. For a moment, he felt fearless. Those beautiful blue eyes...Jack was here for him. Here to help him.

"Whaddya say? Wanna dance with me?"

"Okay..."

Jack's eyes lit up instantly, bluer than he's ever seen them. He led Mark gently through the crowd of people into a small corner slightly sectioned off from the rest of the group.

"How's this?"

Jack gazed up at Mark, smiling so softly.

"Do you remember how to stand?"

He spoke so carefully, as to not say anything that would belittle Mark or make him feel any worse than he already does.

Mark shook his head.

"First, you put your left hand on my shoulder."

Mark felt uncomfortable about leaving his stomach open like this. He never felt this way before at the gym or at home, but now...it feels strange. Ha was sure Jack could sense his unease. Still, he spoke slowly.

"Now put your other hand in my hand."

This was what Mark was afraid of. Getting closer to Jack. He was beginning to panic. He looked towards the door.

Suddenly he felt a hand in his. It was soft and slightly cooler than his own. He was sure his hands must have been sweaty.

"Mark?"

Jack's voice brought his attention back slowly to the room he was in. He was flooded all at once with feelings of panic, of fear. He wanted to get out. Run away. Escape.

His legs were carrying him out the door. He heard Jack behind him calling his name, but it sounded muffled. A blast of cold air hit his face as the metal door clicked shut behind him. He sat down on a nearby bench, hands shaking. He felt horrible. How could he let Jack down like that. He looked so exited when Mark had finally agreed to practice with him. He could still hear the muted music from inside the building. He placed his head in his hands, and cried. Silently.

The crying stopped as he heard the click of the metal door close shut once more. A figure sat beside him on the bench.

"Mark?"

Why? Why did Jack have to follow him out here. Now it's only gonna make him feel worse, seeing him like this. He kept his face buried in his hands.

Jack spoke again.

"Mark?"

Mark turned his head away.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I...I never wanted you to feel uncomfortable...I should have never tried to convince you to come with me. You were clearly upset I just thought that..."

Jack went quiet after that.

Marks voice cut through the silence like a knife.

"No."

"What?" (Jack)

"No. Don't apologize. Please. You were just trying to do something nice for me. I could have just said no. Now I'm sure you want to go home now. Have a nice night."

Mark refused to look at Jack. If he did he might begin to cry again.

"I don't want to go home."

This time Jack looked away.

"I want to stay here...with you."

Mark turned to look at Jack.

"Please." Jack said. He slowly grabbed hold of Mark's hand afraid that he would scare him off at any moment.

Neither of them said another word.

They sat like that for a long while. Neither of them knew how much time had passed. It didn't matter.

Finally Mark spoke.

"Thank you."

[laladellakang]

Guuurl Ik that taking a break means less works but more anxiety 😶😶 but personally I think that I want you with a good health than you who post every weeks and don't like what you wrote you know what i'm saying ? Idk if im clear but voilaaaaa ( iam french i use a lot voila to finish my sentences sorryyyyy) in all i hope that you're okay even if you have anxiety ik that it's not easy but really id you want to talk im here even if we don't really know each other okay ? Love you take care of you and lala ofc 🫶🏼🫶🏼

girlie ure so cute omg

and i totally appreciate it! honestly i’ve never called myself feeling this way as a burnout and i always blame it on my GAD but they do kinda affect one another so idk why it’s taking me so long to admit it maybe bcs i don’t wanna be called weak BUT I AM NOT WEAK I AM A FIGHTER ✊😔✨🧚🐉

love you and take care of yourself as well! it’s getting REALLY cold where i am 🥶🤍

[pumpking64]

OKAY so

Disclaimer

Before I go into this, a little disclaimer. I am looking at this from a bird ringing point of view as that is my only experience with ageing birds accurately. I have, however, never actually held a raven (or any other closely related corvid, the closest being an Eurasian Jay) or seen it held, so my raven ageing specific knowledge is limited to what I have read on Wikipedia, which also is the sole source I am using here because I don’t need to be 100% sure of my information anyway. I will maybe check up on this later on though.

Kenku maturity?

To start off, there is a bit of varying information on kenkus out there in terms of maturity and lifespan. My friend, who sparked this research, told me that the age of maturity was 9 years, and only after researching ravens and blackbirds for already over 45 minutes did I encounter what most sources say, which is 12 years. Because of that I will continue to use 9 as the age of maturity. That ends up working nicely especially because the age of maturity then will end up somewhere between 9 and 12 so that’s neat. In this case, age of maturity is the age of fertility because that is what makes this entire research and comparison possible in the first place. The lifespan of a kenku is around 60 years. I have come to the conclusion that this must depend on the bird that the kenku individually resembles, but more on that later. I am looking at the common raven for a start here.

Stages in the life of a kenku

I don’t know how kenkus reproduce, but I like to imagine them actually laying eggs. Because that is cool. I will use the day of hatching as the equivalent to the day of birth in human society.

So the first “stage” in a kenku’s life would be in at home in a safe area, which I will call a nest for simplicity’s sake. After some time the kenku is able to leave the nest and take care of itself to a limited extent. It might yet not have fully grown feathers at this point. I will consider this part of stage one.

It will stay with it’s parents after this for some time, before being able to live entirely independently. This is stage two.

Then it will have some time where it can roam freely if it so wishes. It is, however, not adult yet, which is visible from the plumage. This stage is number 3.

Then the kenku will reach maturity and at this point the kenku will also look like any other adult kenku. That is stage 4.

Now, a bit of age difference might still be visible in the adult kenkus, mainly on beak, eyes and other parts of the body, that are not covered in feathers. The kenku will continue to moult it’s entire life. This part is divided in several stages, just like that of a human. But there are no significant factors here that divide the stages necessarily, so I won’t elaborate too much on it.

Life cycle of a raven

So how long are these stages? In general, kenkus are described as being the most similar to ravens. So let’s look at how the life cycle of a raven is in relation to these stages:

Age when fledging 35-42 days

Age when their juvenile plumage is complete I actually can’t find any research on this! I assume it is because a bird will usually have completed the juvenile plumage before fledging, but I am not sure. I have seen a fledged bird (Chaffinch) that hadn’t yet completed the plumage though (with basically no tail yet, and only a wing length of under 60 mm, which is a lot less than the common length somewhere in the 90′s, if I remember correctly). That leads me to adding a few days here, so let’s say that after 45 days, the plumage is complete.

Age when they usually leave their parents 6 months

Age when the plumage is adult 3 years

Age when they can reproduce 3 years for females, however most breed first time when they are 4 years old

Typical life span 10-15 years

Possible age in the wild Over 20 years

Oldest recorded individual 44 years

Note that I am not taking the average age as the most important age, as ravens (like all other birds, I think) have a huge mortality rate the first year / first couple of years. Also, I will be taking the oldest recorded age into account, because these birds will usually be captive birds. I think it would be fair to assume that a kenku’s life conditions are more comparable to that of a captive raven than a wild one, as kenku’s don’t really face the same problems as ravens, or at least not to the same extent.

Life cycle of a kenku

Now, what would this mean in kenku time? If a kenku reaches maturity at 9, and a raven at 3, then a kenku ages three times as slowly. This would mean that for a kenku:

Age when leaving the nest 105-126 days, about 4 months

Age when their juvenile plumage is complete 135 days, nearly 4½ months

Age when they usually leave their parents 1½ years

Age when the plumage is adult 9 years

Age of maturity 9 years, however most will not get children before they are 12 years old, which fits very nicely with the different information on maturity

Typical life span 30-45 years

Oldest life expectancy, from realistic to not-so-realistic 60-128 years, probably most realistic 60-80

To sum it up, a kenku’s life cycle would look something like this Babies and toddlers: 0 - 4½ months Children: 4½ months - 1½ years Older children and teenagers: 1½ - 9 years Young adults: 9 - 12 years Adults: 12 - 30 years Elderly: 30 - 60 years Old: 60+ years

Final comments

Now, and I want to make this clear because it’s a common misconception that I also had to be taught: when a bird leaves the nest it’s bones are fully grown. They are not smaller than an adult bird’s bones would be. Additionally, the first plumage (juvenile) of a bird is the same size (to a vast extent, few exceptions in some species) as the adult one is. An example of an exception is the common raven, which doesn’t have the elongated throat feathers even after the post-juvenile moult.

So if you saw a juvenile bird it would be indistinguishable from an adult one, based on size alone.

I’ve just spent literally an hour researching the stats on kenkus in D&D and the life cycle of ravens. And I’ve now come to some conclusions about the life cycle of a kenku.

[bookofmirth]

please share your stranger things thoughts i’m curious 👀

okay but I am not going to tag this because I don't want people yelling at me! I am disagreeing with posts that have 5k+ notes so... I will put everything under the cut and still tag it as spoilers.

Fair warning! Stranger Things 4 spoilers below.

(Sorry it got long-ish, I have a lot of thoughts. I liked the season overall, btw. I know a lot of people are pissed about how it went but I'm not!)

The second - the second - that Mike told El he loves her, I was like oh shit. Here we go. That fandom collectively just imploded.

While I understand why people ship it - why wouldn't we want Will to get everything he's ever wanted? - I never thought it would actually happen because I saw no hints at all that Mike is queer.

I didn't feel either way about it happening, for context. If Mike/Will happened great, if not great. I'm not super attached to... probably any of the ships at this point, other than lumax. I've never really cared about Mike/El, at this point breaking up Nancy and Steve in season two feels like a mistake they are now trying to fix, I guess Joyce/Hopper is alright. My point is that I had no horse in this race.

Is Will queer? Obviously, and idk why people are mad that he didn't come out. Like what would that even look like? This is 1983-1986, remember. What community does Will have, as a queer person? What role models in his immediate, personal life? How do people around him talk about queerness? (A friend pointed out that they were also in the middle of the AIDS panic, which would have a major influence on how Will sees his own queerness, if he could even define it or label it in the first place!) I understand that there are fantastical elements to this story, obviously, but they are still living in our world, in our 1986.

It's super easy for people on tumblr to be like "just come out, just say you're gay!" but we have basically this whole website as support to do that, we can find communities online. When Robin "came out" she didn't actually say anything either? She just said "Steve" and gave him A Look until he figured it out. Call me crazy but these two characters can exist being queer without wearing their "I'm gay, ask me how" buttons to work/class every day.

So yeah I personally don't think there was any queerbaiting because, as a bisexual who has watched this show since the beginning and probably rewatches once a year, I am satisfied that Will is indeed queer and Mike is not and Robin is. I don't need a ship to happen, I guess, I just need the queer characters to actually be queer, and I think that Jonathan's talk with Will in the pizza place set that up perfectly to happen in the final season! Because now Will knows 100% that he can live his life, figure out who he is, and perhaps find someone to be with who is not his straight best friend. I don't think that anyone is arguing that Will isn't queer. (I keep using "queer" instead of "gay" because I did lowkey think he was aro/ace for a while, and he hasn't put a label on it. He's probably gay because that was some serious unrequited pining, but anyway.) We know he is! So are people mad that he and Mike aren't happening? Because ships aren't a guarantee. That particular ship not happening is not queerbaiting. It also reminds me of e*riels sorryyyyy I had to say it, it's just another example of making mountains out of molehills!

Like I said above, Will is obviously queer, and they have set him up to live his best queer life in the last season. I don't feel "baited" in the slightest.

(Side note, I don't pay attention really to interviews or articles or whatever is said outside the show itself. Much like any interview or event with Sarah J Maas, I don't rely on that event to tell me things that the show/book hasn't already told me.)

Now, Eddie. His death was sad, I cried both times (because I've watched the episode twice haha) but it did make sense, to me. He felt guilt for having left Chrissy behind, though obviously he couldn't have done anything about that. He couldn't have saved her, but like Max's guilt over Billy, that doesn't make him feel any better about how he responded to the situation. His death was not pointless? When he and Dustin went back to Hawkins, they would have ceased being a distraction for the bats. The second they leave, the bats would go back to the murder house, where Steve, Nancy, and Robin were trying to kill Vecna's body. They were supposed to be a distraction for a reason, they weren't just on a field trip to the Upside Down. So Eddie stopped, realized he was running again, and that doing so would actually in this case have been leaving other people in a lurch. (Now that I am writing this, I wonder if Steve had an influence on Eddie's decision to stay and fight. Something to think about.)

One more thing, but I also don't care that Vickie was kissing her boyfriend? The girl could be bi! Bisexuals exist y'all, and the fact that people are annoyed that a potentially bisexual woman was kissing her boyfriend,,,,... it just grosses me out tbh. Is Rickie their ship name, btw? So yeah, bisexual Molly Ringwald is gonna hopefully be a great girlfriend for Robin.

idk, some of the criticism I've seen just doesn't totally make sense when we still have another season coming. And when, like with Will, I feel like these things are going to continue/be resolved. I was watching something a while back and Oliver Stone was talking about the movie Wall Street, and how being a director means knowing that the viewer is absolutely going to misunderstand your intentions. I think there is a lot of that going on right now.

I liked this season. Some of the memes making fun of it had made me laugh. I'm not trying to be an active member of the fandom, I just have a lot of thoughts. (If this somehow gets outside of my usual fandom/followers, just FYI that I don't hesitate to block a bitch.)

[nyaitsu-writes]

hello new(?) enstars blog!! could i request kohaku first date hcs? i absolutely love your writings :3

ahhhh I’M SORRYYYYY ;; <333 i know that it took me so long but i’m still learning when it comes to everyone in crazy:b so i had to do a ton of reading to try and get kohaku right aaaand i’m not too sure that i managed ;; but aww thank you so much for your sweet words!! i might have another kohaku post in the works too so keep an eye for that c;

✧ kohaku | first date hcs ✧

KOHAKU OUKAWA;

✦ it was him who proposed having a first date! you hadn’t started dating too long ago and you had decided to do a quick visit to the cospro building, to try and catch kohaku when he was done for the day… and you ran into crazy:b, who were just leaving practice. great timing!

✦ as rinne started getting all over you, taking your hands, ruffling your hair and asking if you were kohaku’s s/o (because yes, much to kohaku’s dismay everyone knew already), it took kohaku less than 15 seconds to grab your hand and excuse you two saying that you had a date, together. the two of you. on your own.

✦ this was, of course, a lie. external kohaku: very much chill, doesn’t seem too nervous at the fact that he has randomly proposed a date. internal kohaku: is probably going through the 435345 reasons your date might flop and he’s panicking, as realization hits him on what he has just done. the idea that you might catch him panicking is making it worse. and he’s holding your hand too, someone save this poor boy.

✦ knowing that he lacks experience in the dating department, he has already tried to do his research before this day, only to give up at the millions of different “dating hot spots” he has found online. which is why he has chosen a quiet place for your first date: a park.

✦ kohaku doesn’t like crowded places so he’s grateful to find only a couple people in the park. he likes having a quiet time with you, just talking about your day or the things you like is enough for him. he’s genuinely eager to learn more about you and he won’t hesitate to ask and show interest in everything that you’re telling him.

✦ you get to see a beautiful sunset with him, sitting in a bench together as you eat some sweets. after seeing you shake slightly over the lower temperatures, he takes off his jacket and puts it around you, insisting that he won’t let you get sick for something as silly as a date. seeing you happily cuddle his jacket and taking again his hand makes his heart skip a beat. a few beats. a million beats, actually. ahh, he got really blushed this time…

[blackthornfaery]

thank you to the one and only @marilyn-monroes-jeans for tagging me <3

1. how did you choose your url?

one of my favorite cicely mary barker flower fairies is the blackthorn fairy, i think she’s so pretty and she looks like me when i had my natural hair color

2. any side blogs?

@vivaciouslady is my old hollywood/vintage blog and @tiredfaery is my side/personal that i post random stuff on, mostly things i want to save for later like recipes or witchy stuff

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

oh boy a while, since august, 2013. back in those days this was a total tumblr girl 1D 5sos zoella acacia brinley justgirlythings blog lolol then it was a soft grunge blog for a lonnnng time and then it sat relatively dormant for a couple years until I changed the url to blackthornfaery in june, 2018 and made it into what it is now. i don’t even think of this as those other blogs anymore because i got all but 100 of my followers after i made the switch 5 years after i originally made the blog lol BUT if you scroll back far enough you’ll get some mad 2014 nostalgia posts

4. do you have a queue tag?

no, i’m on mobile most of the time and it’s just so much easier to press and tap without opening up the post to edit sorryyyyy

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

well originally i was just really into all those things i mentioned earlier but as far as changing it to blackthornfaery i just really liked how safe and cozy the whole cottagecore, gardencore, etc. aesthetics felt and even though i have always loved the stuff i post about now (like pride and prejudice and beatrix potter) i’d never really made them a part of my personality that i shared and i wanted to change that. then a few months after i changed the blog something really terrible and tragic happened to me and i needed a safe calm space even more than ever and seeing all these lovely little cottages and garden and picnic baskets is that for me

as for @vivaciouslady i just really really love old hollywood

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

because i love anne of green gables, especially megan follows as anne

on @vivaciouslady it’s a picture of julie andrews in her broadway days, need i say more? i love her

7. why did you choose your header

i see pretty countryside i click. also it matches the background of the anne picture

on @vivaciouslady it’s a gif of my favorite film… wait for it… Vivacious Lady (1938)

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

this moodboard for the name “heidi” that someone requested has nearly 6.5k notes which is a bit insane because i think it’s very pretty but it was one of the first ones i made and i think i have made some even better ones in the past few weeks

9. how many mutuals do you have?

oh god i have no idea, maybe like 100 or 200 across this blog and my old hollywood blog? possibly way more… i follow over 1000 people and i’m not exactly sure how to check lol

10. how many followers do you have?

on here i have 7,827, on @vivaciouslady i have 1,281

11. how many people do you follow

exactly 1,111 (and this is on number 11 as well? this is destined to be a sign)

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

no, i don’t think so

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

for at least an hour or so, except for when i took over a monthlong hiatus a bit ago

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

no, people in this community are pretty peaceful, and so am i

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

i absolutely do NOT! i have reposted so many “immunity” posts in my life that i never have to take those seriously again, even if i am superstitious

16. do you like tag games?

yes! i think they’re fun ways to get to know the people behind the blog

17. do you like ask games

yes i love them, especially the ones with niche, lovely questions

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

oh gosh i don’t know, i’m not really sure that term even pertains to anyone in the cottagecore and vintage communities because our blogs are often so specific that no matter how many followers someone has i don’t think they can be classed as “famous”, especially not the way tumblr fame used to be back in 2014 and stuff

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

sorry my loves i don’t know any of you that well lol

tagging: anyone who would like to do this!! (please tag me if you do, i’d love to see your answers)

[anakinthetrashking]

BnHA One-Shot Fic Recs (pt1)

Making some fic-rec posts has been on my to-do list for a while and I’m finally doing it, yay! Currently I have 6 word doc pages full of just BnHA recs. So I’m splitting them up by length and completion, so first up is (part one of) one-shots! Let’s go!!!

Lets start with some classic Izuku and DadMight!

Pictures, Posters and Tender Beauty by ProPinkist (tumblr: @dazais-guardian-angel ) Rating: G    Category: Gen   ~4,400 words Summary: Izuku has virtually every All Might-themed item out there, and prides himself on all of it, as Toshinori is well aware. However, somehow, the boy still decided that there was something vital missing. This is fluffy and very cute. No one truly appreciates All Might as much as Izuku does, but 1A comes close. All Might deserves all the love, and this fic truly provides!!!

Dear Mr. All Might by QuizzicalCrow (tumblr: @quizzicalcrow​ ) Rating: G   Category: Gen   ~5,000 words Summary: As the #1 hero for decades, All Might has collected a lot of fan mail over the years. Toshinori tracks down a series of letters that only now, years later, does he appreciate for their significance.  I always love the thought of All Might looking through his fan mail, even if he can’t get to all of it. This was a wonderful glimpse into that AND it was made to be so, so personal and sweet. Go have some heart-healing fluff.

Growing Pains by LordofLies (tumblr: @theangelofchildren ) Rating: G   Category: Gen    ~5,900 words Summary: Izuku finds himself changed by his encounter with the Hero Killer, but changes of a more physical kind are in store for him as he begins to truly accept One for All as his own. Once, he would have been thrilled to look more like All Might, but now those connections are as much a source of anxiety as they are of pride.Or, Izuku wakes up one morning and sees the world through different eyes. Izuku having anxiety and Toshi being there to help him through it and calm him down? Sign me UP. Its also a pretty cool take on how One for All is able to change things about it’s holder. Could this happen in cannon? Who knows.... Regardless, it was a great read!

I’ll Carry You Home by Renesvetta Rating: G   Category: Gen   ~2,700 words Summary: While training with All Might, it wasn’t uncommon for Izuku to be so exhausted at the end of the day that he unwittingly fell asleep without regard for where he was. It consequently became part of All Might’s routine to help his young protégé home. During that time, Izuku may have let loose more than one sleepy confession towards his mentor.  Yes, it is as adorable as it sounds. Its tagged with “self indulgent Dad Might fluff” which is both accurate and appreciated. In other words: Superb you funky little writer!

Simple Gifts by QuizzicalCrow Rating: G    Category: Gen   ~6,700 words Summary: One year ago, Izuku received the greatest gift he could ever imagine. Now he’s determined to return the favor for the one responsible for it all with a gift of his own.  First off, I love the idea of Izuku and Toshi quietly celebrating the anniversary of passing on OfA from All Might to Izuku. Even just taking the day to hang out with each other. It’s a really precious idea. But there’s not just fluff! Izuku finds himself in a fight, again. (cool villain quirk, too!) I love all of the small details that are in this fic (and in Crow’s other works, too!) anyway its exciting AND very heartwarming, so go read it!!!

Affectionate by Sevi007 (tumblr: @sevi007 ) Rating: G   Category: Gen   ~2,600 words Summary: Toshinori starts to show affection very easily around his students. The  reactions he gets for that are not quite the ones he had anticipated - well, not all of them, at least.  Toshi is LOVED, APPRECIATED, and 1A feels like HOME. how many times can i say “cute” and “heartwarming” on this post?? bc these are some amazing writers, whom I adore, and their writing makes my heart WARM. AND. FUZZY. i mean, even just the first few paragraphs of this one just, really sets the scene of what i like to believe the 1A dorm is (on a good day, lol). its a really nice read, so go treat yo’ self by reading it.

paint me in trust by dinomight Rating: G   Category: Gen   ~6,400 words Summary: The first mark Izuku gets is a slight brush of green across his temple. It’s the soft touch of a mother holding her son for the first time. Inko has one to match, the same shade of green staining the tips of her fingers. Hers is more noticeable; Izuku’s tends to blend into his hairline. He loves it anyways. He has to. It’s the only soulmate mark he has. (Or: how Izuku goes from just green to a rainbow, UA-style.)  Ok, so this fic sort of plays off the idea of soulmates, and does not fit in with soulmates in the usual form of the trope. First off its completely platonic. Its categorized as Gen and sticks to that. Also it doesn’t seem to be as obligatory and permanent as you would think it would be. It seems to be more of the universe telling you who has the possibility of being important in your life. I really really loved this, it was so adorable and gives you that sweet, sweet Izuku angst, before healing your heart with the power of friendship and found family!!!

The Die Has Been Cast by ChiwiTheKiwi (tumblr: @chiwithekiwi​ ) Rating: G   Category: Gen   ~5,400 words Summary: “There’s something about that kid you aren’t telling me, isn’t there?”When no answer meets him, Shouta tries again.“You know something about Midoriya’s quirk that you haven’t shared with me. Is that right?”(Or: A canon "What If" surrounding the latest manga events and focusing on Aizawa finally making a connection.) First off, this fic has spoilers for the manga, so dont read unless you’re past chp212! I loooooooove OfA reveal fics, especially when it’s Aizawa that finds out. He deserves to know!!! its kind of important!!!! This fic chooses a great moment to work off of, and does a great job with Aizawa’s character. I really enjoyed it and couldn’t keep myself from going back and reading it just now LOL

These last two are actually two-shots, but it makes it an even 10! also Izuku and dadmight, so we can continue the theme here...

Some Unspoken Thing by LittleKy Rating: G   Category: Gen   ~7,900 words (2chps) Green, Toshinori has always thought, is the color of life anew.(Or: It's time for Yagi Toshinori to finally accept that he has a son, now, in all but blood. It's time for Midoriya Hisashi to accept that as well.) YES ALL MIGHT! ADMIT THAT IZUKU IS YOUR SON! great portrayal of the characters and really hits the nail on the head for DadMight. and Izuku in this story is just the smallest green floof that you wish to give a hug. NEVER MIND ALL MIGHT, YOU TOOK TOO LONG SO IZUKU IS MY SON NOW AND IM NOT GIVING HIM BACK ( no but seriously i want to hug this fic its so cute TTuTT )

LAST BUT NOT LEAST! I See You by BirdAntlers (tumblr: @aarymk )

Rating: G   Category: Gen   ~15,400 words (2chps) Midoriya Izuku is a quirkless child, blind from birth. Yagi Toshinori is the most powerful man in the world, loved by millions. They could not be more different, and yet their loneliness is the same.   (From a pair of AU posts on Tumblr that got way out of hand; I wanted to put it here because it turned into more of a fic than a "what-if." Basically a vessel for me to vomit as much Dadmight as I can.) Hey, you! Yeah! You! Do you want to cry? Do you want to start sobbing in a public space?? Do you just want to be destroyed with words and be left there kneeling at the feet of a writer who has torn out your heart and stomped on it before they gently wipe the tears from your face? Yeah?? y oU Wan NA D IE??? READ THIS AND GET REKT.  you’ll thank me later

(under the cut is just me rambling, i kept all the important stuff up here, ur welcome)

Now that the actual recs are over I can rant here- look i really tried to slim my recs down, but i have almost 300 bnha fics bookmarked,some of them are “to read” or theyre in progress, etc but i managed to get this list sorta slimmed down? a little?(to only 58!!!) but as i was gathering this post together it felt like i dont have very many Dadmight recs on that list??? but i havent rechecked all the other fics i was just going through the oneshots. i... kinda read a lot more fics with AIzawa in it instead. it be that way. DadMight content is SO GOOD. but my fav is aizawa im sorryyyyy anyway i have another SEVENteeN oneshots to put in rec posts and that does NOT include the mulitchapter and friikin series and stuff... and like i said this is aaaaaaallllllllllllllll BnHA. batfam fic posts will come after, and then star wars, and then maybe star trek? we’ll see. i have a very specific taste in ST fics and that is Tarsus IV whump. which. i have not read in a while. when they say “that trope came from ST” for sooooooo many tropes, you WISH other fandoms had tarsus as a trope, holy crap it is TOP TIER angst fodder. if you love to write/read whump, angst, and h/c i would HIGHLY recommend that you take a bit of time and explore the content and stories there. heck maybe i will make a ficrec post for just tarsus angst. ok.

my INTENTION is to edit these posts later with little links to the other fic rec lists so that itll be easier to find. but., its me, so itll either happen in painful detail or not at all

asdjkdgh its 2:30am and i need to sleep and not be rambling incoherently again I WILL SAVE THIS AS A DRAFT. 

[getyourselfaunicorn]

Idk why I only did this now @tara-stofse sorryyyyy hahahahahah. And thank you so much for the tag!!!

1) Why did you choose your URL?

All my knowledge of tumblr came from weird posts on Pinterest 😂 I thought it would be adequate to have a weird and slightly random username hahahaha

2) Any side blogs?

Nop, never made any 😂 I can barely manage this one as it is

3) How long have you had tumblr?

I legit have no idea. I didn’t really post for a very long time because I wasn’t sure how this whole thing worked 😂 My best estimation is November 2017

4) Do you have a queue tag?

Nop

5) Why did you want to start your blog in the first place?

I joined the fandom world in late 2015 through Pinterest and like 70% of the posts I saved were screenshots from tumblr. So after almost 2 years of seeing that I succumbed to my curiosity and made an account 😂 I think the thing that made me do it at the time was some fanart I saw and I wanted to follow the author here

6) Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

I loved this template and tried to make a semi accurate version of myself

7) Why did you choose your header?

Like a year ago I put everything in orange because why not. And then never changed it because I’m lazy as fuck

8) What’s your post with the most notes?

Uuughh I don’t know 😂 Probably the first Prodigal Son video

*checks it*

Yeah it is, 318 WHAT. How did I never notice that. I love this fandom so much 😭 I’m still not over the fact they canceled it. The one after is the Good Omens one

9) How many mutuals do you have?

Absolutely no idea. Some 😂

10) How many followers do you have?

128!! One hundred and twenty eight people looked at the disaster that’s my blog and thought “Yeah, I like this”. And I love every single one

11) How many people do you follow?

266

12) Have you ever made a shitpost?

Not yet! 😂

13) How often do you use tumblr a day?

Normally, several times 😂 Lately I started reading a lot again so I’ve been here less time

14) Did you ever have a fight/argument with another blog?

Not that I remember

15) How do you feel about the “you need to reblog” posts?

Weeeeeeeell. I am technically a content creator with a very small amount of followers so I have to say that I completely understand. If people don’t reblog my posts then I know they simply won’t reach other people who might like them. The way it’s worded IS very important tho. I think they should be more informative than trying to guilt people into doing things. But overall, agree.

16) Do you like tag games?

Love them!!! If I don’t do them right away I tend to forget about them but I love them

17) Do you like ask games?

I never did any so I can’t really say 😂 I feel like it wouldn’t be much use for they wouldn’t really reach a lot of people.

18) Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

I have a couple that definitely have a lot of followers, I have no idea if they’re tumblr famous 😂 I think Carrie has a ton of followers so I’m naming you my famous friend @spider-starry

19) Do you have a crush on a mutual?

Nop 😂 I do have a lot of very good friends and I love that

20) Tags!

I’m leaving this to anyone who wants to do it!

[justmywriting1313]

I Passed (I think) And I Am Back!!! (For some time) (Fic schedule and just some FYI’s)

Heyyoooo loves!!! I hope you guys are having an amazing week besides quarantine and whatnot and are safe, happy and healthy!!!😊😊

Okay so I am posting this for a couple reasons... The first is to say I am SOOOOOO SORRYYYYY I haven’t been responding to asks, messages, and requests!!!!! If any of you take psychology or have studied it you guys know its very very very difficult. Despite enjoying it i am so close to having a mental breakdown every-time i see my book. Besides taking a stupid hard course i take 7 courses in total 😖😖... Yes I am well aware that I am very dumb for torturing myself like that haha but anyway I also have a side job of selling art (Paintings/ Portraits) so I can make some extra cash to support myself. You guys can imagine how busy that had made me!! But for the next two weeks I have no courses so I promise to reply on time (that includes the ones i am yet to reply to 😅😅) and post One fic every two three days!

The second thing I want to say is a HUGE GINORMOUS MASSIVE THANK YOU! 🥺🥺🥺 I expressed on the top of my last fic that some people had been mean to me about fic writing because I take so long (separate notes: if you put ‘You are Worth it’ together its 11 fricking thousand words...omg!!) However, the amount of people who sent in submissions and messages telling me how much they love my fics and that its okay for me to take time honestly made me tear up. I get stressed super easily so when i read them they literally made me so happy and excited to write more fics. On top of that i don’t often stand up to people cause i think why bother especially on the internet and so for the first time i did and SOO MANY OF YOU SUPPORTED MEEEEEE!!!! YYAYAYAY!!! I am so grateful and reply to each one of you but still wanted to say a collective thankyou!! 💖💖💖

Okay Third thing, So if any of you have read my bio you know I have ADHD. For those of you who dont know it roughly means organisation, attention and just focusing does not come naturally to me. Why i am telling you this is because it explains why I have a hard time texting back cause i usually put it in the back of my head and then forget about it. I cant promise ill fix it right away but ill promise to do my best that I can!!!!!

Okay Last thing which is Fic related and so you guys might notice/care about more 😂😂😂 Okay soooo I had started this blog a long time back however I didnt think I was any good at the time so I didn't continue posting stuff. Then I put the ‘You are Worth It’ fic for Lucifer and honestly the reaction I got to that was so heartwarming!!! (Ps if you ever ever ever feel that way I am right here... believe me when I say I know how it feels. I am a curvy Indian writer/ painter! You guys have no idea how much I have stood out and have felt the way the m/c in that fic did so I will always be open to listen without any judgement whatsoever if you ever feel the need to talk to someone!!!!)  So I continued writing and put out the other parts to that fic as well as a Beel fic and despite that not doing as well I am still so happy to see you guys liked it. Earlier I was going to stop putting up anymore out but i’ve decided I will continue the blog and hopefully give you guys writing you love just as much 🥰🥰🥰 However I wont lie it gets a bit overwhelming so I thought best to put a few rules up (and also tell you all the fandoms i write for).

RULES: 

Some of these Fics are very clearly 18+ so pretty please if you are below 18 don’t read them. I am trusting you guys enough (I have a feeling I will regret this) so if you are not 18 then don’t read them!!!!! I will make plenty of all-user-friendly ones so yeah! 

Second I refuse to write anything even remotely Racist and sexist. Also if I am not comfortable with a certain kink/ type of fic I WILL NOT WRITE IT. I am happy to write whatever you request but if I am not comfortable with it I will let you know so please understand and respect my boundaries. 

If the characters in the fandom are related I am sorry it’s not happening. If they are sharing an experience with M/C? Sure! For example Beel x M/C x Belphie? Perfect! However Beel x Belphie is NOT happening. 

Lastly Do not Harass me about a certain request. If you have requested something be patient and if you still want to now the status of it just drop me a polite message and i’ll be more than happy to tell you. (this also helps me remember just incase i forget) 

FIC SCHEDULE:

Okay now for the fic schedule of what to expect in the next month. I am not giving dates for all of them cause honestly i am scared of what you guys will do so this is just rough. Also for those who sent the ask ill tag you guys and for the anonymous ones... yeah idk hehehe 🥰 A- Angst/ F- Fluff / S- Smut. Also firstly crossed out fic titles mean i’ve already put them up and they are finished secondly once this list ends i’ll put out another fic schedule with the next fic’s that are in progress just being edited!

Also I’ll try to sprinkle in some HC’s in between so i keep giving some kind of writing!

Two can Play at that Game... (Mammon x M/C) Multiple parts and very smutty. 18+                                                                                    (Hopefully in the coming week) A/F/S

 I am Here... I’ll always be here (Diavolo x M/C) Multiple parts A/F

The Italian Way of Life (Beel x M/C) Don’t know how many parts F

Compliments (Beel x M/C) (This is the ‘You are Worth it!!’ but with Beel instead) Multiple parts A/F/S

Smile For me! (Demon bros x M/C) Multiple parts A/F

Stay (Lucifer x M/C) Two different endings A/F/S

My Own Slice of Heaven (Diavolo x M/C) Multiple Parts F/S 

Thats it for now but ill probably add more later after replying to everyones submissions and messages to see the new requests. For now lets see if i can even do all of these. 

OTHER FANDOMS I WRITE FOR:

MARVEL 

BATBOYS (technically dc i guess) 

STAR TREK 

PEAKY BLINDERS 

LOTR AND THE HOBBIT

Okay honestly I have so many i cant even remember so as and when i remember ill add 😂😂

Okieeeee I think thats a wrap sorry thats so long but anyway please drop in more requests and asks and don’t forget to reblog!!!! Love you guysssss and byeee  

[latent-thoughts]

The Pursuit of a Simple Life (Chapter 1 - PAC & Co.)

[Co-Authored with @emeraldrosequartz​]

Rating : 18+ (there be lots of citrus here).

Warning: None

Pairing: Loki/Original Female Character

Summary: Three years after returning to Earth with the other Asgardians following Ragnarok, Loki finds himself working for SHIELD, truly just trying to fight the boredom. While on an undercover mission, he unexpectedly begins to fall for his co-worker, Gemma, and she seems to feel the same way…about Dave, his alter ego while in disguise. Can Loki continue a relationship with her while keeping his true identity a secret? How many lies can the ‘God of lies’ spin to keep his pursuit of a simple life? 

[Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017); THOR IS A GOOD BRO AND TOTALLY NOT HOW HE WAS IN RAGNAROK, THNX; Infinity War Doesn’t Exist; Everyone lives]

_________________________________

IMPORTANT NOTES: Bold Text = Loki’s POV Normal Text = Gemma’s POV

_________________________________

Loki sat at his desk, going through a list of mundane tasks that he had to perform today. Most of them were meetings.

Those just bored him enough to make him contemplate another take-over of Midgard.

At least it would be an exciting endeavour!

But… Loki wasn’t the same as he was during the campaign of 2012. He had recovered and dealt with his demons, as the Midgardians would say. It also helped to not have a constant psychotic influence on his mind.

He still suffered from the consequences of his actions, though, in certain ways. But over all, he was faring well, if he’d say so.

After landing on Midgard, post destroying Asgard, Loki had tried to settle down with other Asgardians in New Asgard (still counted as part of Norway). But, that hadn’t really worked out for him.

Thor was their king now, and Loki just couldn’t stand being relegated to his brother’s shadow while he ruled. He had himself ruled Asgard for more than three years, and now, the demotion just rankled.

The issue was, Loki wanted to carve out a niche for himself, a space where he belonged, where he could not be held down by the stuffy Asgardian values.

Hence, one day, just weeks after landing on Midgard, he had shown up at Nicholas Fury’s office. The man had nearly ruptured a vein in his head upon seeing Loki there. That was fun.

But it had worked out in Loki’s favour in the end, for he had offered his services to SHIELD off his own volition, explaining - in great detail - how he felt responsible for the safety of Midgard.

Surprisingly, Thor had supported him in this endeavour when Fury had contacted him, entreating Fury to give Loki a chance, since he had recently rescued all of the Asgardians and been on ‘good behaviour’ ever since. He had a sneaking suspicion that Thor just wanted him off his back, since he wouldn’t stop nagging him about his kingly priorities and unwise administrative decisions.

For some reason, Fury hadn’t put up a lot of resistance, agreeing to take Loki in as an aid to SHIELD.

Hence, here he was… trying his best to do his job.

Well, not quite.

He was undercover, investigating PAC & Co., the company he was pretending to work for. This was, by far, his most boring assignment in the last three years of his association with SHIELD.

The only bright point seemed to be the pretty young woman who sat a few desks away, in just the right location for them to be able to look at each other from time to time.

Her name was Gemma…… he forgot her last name, for it was something of a tongue-twister. Ah, Spitznaegel.

She was easy on the eyes, and she wore those pretty short skirts to office, something an Asgardian lady would never do. Those lovely legs were a sight for sore eyes, a great distraction for a wandering mind.

“Dave, man, you got a meeting upstairs. The boss is already there,” someone called from behind him as he admired the woman, pulling him out of his reverie.

Ugh, he hated his undercover name.

“Yeah, going man.” He stood up and rushed off to the elevator, making sure to give Gemma a smooth smile as he went by her desk.

Gemma immediately slammed her hand over the doodle she had been working on when she realized that Dave might see it. She smiled back, hoping the blush she felt rising to her cheeks wasn’t too apparent. She was trying to be cute and flirty…but honestly she just hoped to God she didn’t come off as manic or overly excited or…anything that might make Dave think she was weird.

The doodle said “G+D”. It was really stupid and immature and something that a middle schooler would do…but this job was SO BORING. Any kind of creative outlet helped her get through her day. And daydreaming about the hunky new sales rep - with a British accent…. uuunnngggghhhh–seemed to be taking up more and more of her time.

After Dave passed by, she leaned back so she could look at his little cubicle - it was even smaller than hers, but he kept it impeccably tidy - everything had a home and it stayed there until he needed to use it, then it was immediately returned to its place. He wasn’t there often - as one of the Outside Sales Representatives, he was usually on the road, meeting with existing or potential clients who may have a need to buy any of the wide variety of cardboard packaging and janitorial supplies made by PAC & Co…

God, this job, this company, her life couldn’t be any more dull…

The one bright spot was this awkward, budding infatuation with her hot co-worker.

Suddenly, a little fire ignited in her gut. If I don’t like it, I have to do something about it… she thought. Before she could talk herself out of it, she ripped a clean sheet of paper off her notepad and wrote: “Drinks later? Call me - 231.555.6743. 💗 Gemma”

Then she immediately crumpled it up, threw it in the trash, and got another piece.

“Hey cutie, how about—”

Crumpled. In the trash. New sheet.

“Dave - would you like to get drinks with me sometime? Circle Yes or No.”

Gemma groaned and threw that one away too, then put her head down on her arms over her desk. What was the point? She’d just blow it anyway.

With a sigh, she went back to running the sales analytics.

An hour later, Loki came down to his floor, feeling quite stabby towards his so-called boss, Oliver. The man was an absolute twit, with no manners to speak of. He had literally wasted his last work hour in that stupid, meaningless meeting.

He’d never have spoken to him so high-handedly had he known Loki’s true identity.

And that was the rub–he had to keep his true identity completely hidden. Pretending to be someone else entirely.

He had done so in the past, and he knew he was quite good at it. But Norns, he had not done so for this long (well, except when he was playing Odin). It had already been more than three months in this stupid disguise of short golden hair, ocean blue eyes, and appropriately priced Midgardian clothes.

As he passed by Gemma’s desk, he saw her trying to furiously write something on her notepad. She was so preoccupied with it that she didn’t even look up.

Oh well…

Setting his office folder on the desk, he set about completing the rest of the tasks he had before calling it a day.

Once that was done, he remembered that he had to take out some prints for his sales meetings the next day. So he gave the printer the appropriate commands and then went off to fetch the prints from the corner cubicle dedicated to the enormous machine.

Most of the office was empty now, and it suited him just fine. He could use some solitude in this mad place.

At the end of the day, most people had already gone home. But…her program had crashed several times that day. IT didn’t respond to any of her calls or emails, and now she had to complete the analytics by hand before she could leave.

F. M. L….

Not to mention…she hadn’t really given up on writing that note to Dave. She was on her 32nd attempt when he walked by, leaving his meeting, and she hunched over trying desperately to look busy so he wouldn’t ask what she was doing…

Oh, you know, just trying to craft the perfectly written 10-word letter to see if you want to get drinks with me sometime. Please don’t talk to me, or I may vomit on your shoes from the nervous breakdown I’m about to have over it. Thank yooooou…

Her pencil tip snapped off. Of. Fucking. Course.

Gemma stood up and headed to the cubicle where the printer, the pencil sharpener, and all the other “shared” office supplies were. And she was pleasantly surprised/utterly horrified to see Dave waiting at the printer.

Don’t blow it don’t blow it don’t blow it…

She walked up and stuck her pencil in the sharpener without saying anything, and it loudly started grinding away at her pencil. Dave immediately jumped and looked at her, shocked by the sudden noise. Gemma just…smiled, feeling her face turn beet red.

“Uh-hum….sorryyyyy….”

Oh God, kill me now…

Loki was pleasantly surprised to see that the disturbance in the supply-cum-printer cubicle was being caused by none other than his lovely colleague, Gemma.

She sweetly apologized to him for the noise, turning a pretty shade of red as he kept looking at her. Really, she was quite a fair maiden, and also, seemed to possess all the qualities of a lady of good breeding.

“It’s not your fault,” he replied, leaning against the printer as it churned out the prints for him. “These contraptions are far too noisy for their good, no?”

Oh God oh God oh God… Gemma’s stomach was in knots as she tried not to look like she might pass out. Come on…it’s just a person…HE’s just a person…you talk to people all the time, just open your mouth and SAY SOMETHING.

“Yea…yup…they sure are…”

GOD DAMNIT FUCK SHIT FUCKITY FUCK FUCK WHY?????

“So…um…whatcha printing?”

If he hadn’t been looking right at her, she would have facepalmed. Ugh…smooth, Gemma…

He smiled at her question, adding a bit of flirtation to his tone as he replied.

“I think you know what I’m printing, Gemma.” He licked his lips and watched her keenly as she turned redder still.

This was infinitely amusing. The girl was indeed attracted to him. Well… to his persona.

He licked his lips…HE LICKED HIS LIPS!!! Does that mean something? Is he flirting with me? Or are his lips just dry? Does he need chapstick? Should I offer him chapstick? Shit, it’s in my purse…should I offer to GET him chapstick?! WHAT THE HELL, GEMMA, HE DOESN’T NEED CHAPSTICK! STOP BEING WEIRD!

“Um…reports, I would assume?” Gemma kept her cool as best as she could. The pencil sharpener kept grinding away noisily as the printer churned out page after page. She tried to turn her attention to…well, anything other than his clear, blue eyes or that gorgeous stubble on his chin or his chiseled pecks she couldn’t help but notice through his button-up shirt with sleeves rolled up over his forearms that looked like they’d been crafted by Hephaestus himself…

She ended up staring at a worn bit of the carpet on the floor, but she couldn’t help looking up at him every few seconds.

He was quite disappointed that she pried her eyes from him. Mayhap she needed more… encouragement to talk?

“Smart girl,” he praised, crossing his arms as she fidgeted with the edge of her blouse. “I have a meeting tomorrow, so these are for that. Pitches and estimates, mostly. So tell me, what are you up to?”

Her heart pounded in her throat and her chest tightened.

Don’t say writing you letters…don’t say writing you letters...

“Writing…my mom…letters…?”

Suddenly, her fingertips touched the front of the pencil sharpener, and with a jolt she pulled her writing utensil from the device –it had been reduced to nothing more than a short, sharp stub.

“Oh…geez…” She looked at him, embarrassed, and the sudden silence without the grinding noise made her discomfort even more palpable.

“I’m…sorry. I’m finishing up some analytics - my computer crashed and I lost all my work and it needs to get done before I can leave, so I’m trying to do it by hand but now…” She held up the little nub of pencil. “I should probably be using a mechanical one anyway…”

Just then, a familiar and disturbing sound came from the printer…paper jam.

They both looked at the malfunctioning machine, and Gemma sprang into action.

“Oh! I can fix that. Happens all the time. I’m usually the one that has to deal with it so I’ll just—“

She unlatched the panel to the paper feed, but as soon as she opened it, a huge cloud of black toner shot out and covered her brand new blue blouse.

She froze, embarrassment taking over, and she looked up at him with terrified brown eyes, split between laughing at herself and crying in shame, but really waiting to see how he reacted before she did ANYTHING else…

Loki nearly burst into laughter upon seeing her present condition.

“Oh dear,” he said, biting his lip as he pulled the girl away from the printer. “I think you ought to rush to the washroom to try and clean that up. Do you need help?”

He deliberately added that last question to see her reaction. He was enjoying this far too much, even though the printer had malfunctioned and his work was stalled.

She almost sighed when he touched her. Oh, that contact was already more than she’d ever hoped for…even though she had to get attacked by office equipment for it to happen.

And the way he said “washroom” instead of “bathroom”… so charming! She almost swooned.

Then she remembered…he asked if she needed help…

“Uh….ah, no. Shit, I MEAN…um. It’s ok. I have my workout shirt in my gym bag…I’ll just go…put that on…”

With another nervous giggle and an apologetic smile, she excused herself from him, racing back to her desk, pulling her (thankfully clean) gym shirt out of her bag, and then power-walking down the hallway to the ladies room while calling back to Dave, “Be right back!”

He waved at her as she disappeared down the hallway, smirking to himself.

The girl was so nervous around him, it was endearing.

While she was gone, he fixed the printer himself–without any mishaps–and headed for his desk to give the print command again.

On his way, though, he stopped at Gemma’s desk and observed the chaos spread across it. The girl was quite disorganised, but then again, most Midgardians were.

He also took notice of her near overflowing trashcan, which was full of crumpled papers. He was going to simply roll his eyes and move on, but something caught his attention there.

On one of the unfurling crumpled paper, he saw his persona’s name, written in her messy scrawl.

That piqued his interest, and hence, he pulled the paper out of the can and read its contents.

And then he smiled mischievously.

Poor little Gemma wanted to get drinks with him… hmmm…

This could get interesting…

Pocketing that piece of paper, he left her desk and went about completing his prints.

Gemma came back soon after, looking rather awkward in that gym shirt of hers. It had the Avengers logo on it, at which Loki couldn’t help but groan.

Damn those annoying, self righteous imbeciles. At least Fury was honest about his less than savoury methods.

“So,” he said as he approached her at her desk, carrying his sheaf of prints, “are you done with your task? I was thinking we could have dinner together before heading home. What do you say?”

She almost - almost - lost it. Dave. THE Dave. Was asking her. If SHE. Wanted to get dinner.

She was fairly certain she wasn’t able to contain just a bit of surprised and half-elated laugh she instinctively made, but she caught just enough of it not to embarrass herself further. Her gym shirt embarrassed her plenty, with the faded Avengers logo emblazoned across her chest. She was outing herself as a huge nerd…

“I-ah…that would be great, but…well, I need to finish those analytics, and I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion anymore…”

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! He just asked YOU out! It’s not a date…it’s just co-workers getting dinner, that’s it. Casual. Cool. Nothing to freak out about…SAY YES!

“You know what? That sounds great. Yes, yea, let’s get dinner, Dave.”

She thought she might die. Dinner with Dave. Dave dinner. Dinner dinner dinner…with Dave.

“Um…where were you thinking? Hopefully not the Ritz…” She laughed too hard. And snorted.

He chuckled at her attempt at jesting.

“Perhaps one day, when I’m not weighed down by the burdens of my present situation… we’d go to the Ritz,” he replied, speaking plain truth cloaked in disguise. “But for today, I was thinking about this new pizza place, opened only a few blocks away. Do you like pizza, Gemma?”

He let his voice drop lower, making it sound as though he was asking about some dark secret, not pizza.

“I looove…pizza…” she said, finding herself lost in his eyes and realizing far too late that she wasn’t talking about pizza either.

She couldn’t move or talk or think or do anything except watch him…now that he was so close to her…

Oh. My. God. He IS flirting with me!!!

She swallowed hard, feeling her palms getting sweaty. She played with the hem of her shirt and fidgeted just a little bit, really unsure about what to do now…

“Then let’s go,” he said, offering her his hand.

In the back of his mind, he scolded himself for leading the poor girl on. He was, after all, a temporary presence in her life. He shouldn’t be making any personal connections on his missions.

He had been so strict about following that rule till date. He shouldn’t falter now.

Well, it’d just be this one-off dinner. Nothing else.

Soon, he’d expose the company he was employed in for its true crimes, and then he’d be on his way… soon to be put on another mission.

Gemma would just be a distant memory. And hopefully for Gemma, he’d be the memory of a pleasant distraction.

________________________________

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[illwynd]

That post just hits the nail on the head doesn't it. Feminist Thor stans who find him more relatable and fun and a lesbian icon after ragnarok but found him underdeveloped and boring and fratboyish pre ragnarok. Lol what is irony?

Hey anon sorryyyyy this has been sitting in my inbox for a few days, life’s been weird and crazy (for everyone else, the post being referenced is the one about Thor 1 being a chick flick) 

It is the most baffling thing, the way some folks interpret both those films these days, and I have no idea why it has caught on since that interpretation is… pretty obviously flawed, if you think about it for even two seconds. Are folks just repeating the opinions of people who didn’t understand Thor to begin with and assuming it’s right because the previous movies weren’t such a financial success? Are they dismissing everything that isn’t their shiny new fave because clearly there can be only one good piece of content ever? Is it just trendy to bash the previous movies? I really don’t know, and it makes me sad, because, goddammit, Thor was always awesome, long before Ragnarok (and in fact Ragnarok eroded many of his best traits). Thor was and is awesome in ways that those same folks should appreciate, yet they don’t seem to want to bother.

I mean ok, i’m not gonna tell anyone how to do fandom, and different strokes and all that, and if Ragnarok Thor is your fave, well, you do you. But you might want to give the rest of canon another chance if you had been just dismissing it out of hand, because there is a reason the fandom has been here the whole time.

(Also I was thinking today of doing a feminist analysis of all three Thor movies and I am still tempted because there are so many aspects that aren’t generally acknowledged and I think it makes for quite a different picture of all of them but I don’t have the brain or time to get into it right now. still, definitely thinking about it.)

(Also, I am just really baffled by the people who think they’re better Thor fans because they only like him in one movie where the characterization is, undeniably, radically divergent from all other characterizations. I mean. wut.)