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ambrosiasaladofthebrain · 10 months ago

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Chapter 3 Have You Ever Touched Grass

He was in a forest, large trees loomed far above him, taller than any building Jake had ever seen, hiding the sky and slotting the sun like rays from a flashlight, letting clear beams break the green sky. The grass was soft under his bare feet and the wind rustling through branches seemed to whisper secrets it would never share.

Next to him, and what he had been leaning against when he lurched awake, was a smooth concrete wall that ran high into the trees, it ran in both left and right of him but a thick steel door sat some way to his right looking rusted and worn, with a giant crater that twisted its form like it had taken a hard blow.

He went to shake his hands when he noticed that his fist was closed around something round. Opening his hand revealed a lollipop covered in a yellow wrapper decorated with lemons. He wrinkled his nose, sticking his tongue out at the flavor before tossing the ‘sweet’ to the ground and shaking his hands properly this time.

“Ok, focus Jake,” he told himself, “You woke up from a dream, now yer ‘ere.” he paused, breathing in and looking into the deep forest once more. “I don’t dream though? That’s like, my whole thing,” he breathed out, pressing his hand against the cold concrete wall. “Well it certainly wasn’ The Library,” breath in, “Focus, where are we? Forest? Obviously. Where?” Breathe in.

His brain scanned through memories, looking for maps he’d thrown glances at or read for class.

Breath out.

There were no forests within D-20, not one of this magnitude.

Breath in.

Not one with trees this big.

Breath out.

Outside the enclosure they were surrounded by a forest but it wasn’t habitable, in fact, even getting too close to the dome’s edges could lead to serious health effects, that's why all the buildings near it had been abandoned for so long.

Breath out,no he just did that, his breath faltered as the pattern jittered. In, breathe in.

Panic started to set in and tears filled the corners of his eyes as he realized just how far the nearest habitable forest had to be from his district. Was it District 5 that had been known for their greenery? Yes, they had been known for assimilating nature and buildings, it was actually- no, that wasn’t what he should be focusing on. Where was his sister? Was she ok?

What if she woke up and he wasn’t there? What if she progressed to the next stage and he wasn’t there to help? The doctors would ask for the nearest of kin to make a decision and he would be gone, or worse yet, they’d get Dad’s decision. They would throw her out, they would give up, stop wasting resources, they- no they wouldn’t, right? A doctor’s job was to save lives. But if by wasting resources on a person who would not wake up they couldn’t provide for others with a higher chance of surviving shouldn’t they choose the one with the highest probability?

He scrubbed the tears out of his eyes and sniffed. He needed to get back to her immediately.

He threw a glance at the twisted brown gate breaking the concrete wall a little ways away from him. Was this an old gated community? Or was it a wall to a town? Was there any abandoned town or community near D-20? No, most destroyed towns inside the enclosure were under water or weren’t available for general public use after people had started raiding them and the homeless tried to live there. And anyway, none of those could be here as this one was in a forest.

Jake wobbled to the gate, using the wall for support as his knees shook for a reason he couldn’t define. He leaned into the walled off community, town, whatever it was.

Something was wrong. Each building was set equally apart, each square and concrete with bars on their cracked windows, many had fallen into themselves and nature had grown over them. A small cement road snaked down the middle of the area, scorch marks patched both the road and the buildings. Something whitish-yellow and round lay in the grass just far enough to not be defined.

A chill ran down Jake’s spine and crawled into his stomach, wrapped around it like a cold hand resting on chilled spaghetti noodles. As he looked longer the more abnormal the area became.

Some of the buildings had something dark black splattered like a bad paint job along their walls, some patterns looking like hand prints. There were large chunks of the ground dipping, like it had been carved into and left to let nature reclaim it. Jake should enter, find a communication device or computer but he didn’t think he’d find a real home here, nobody to help him, and anyway, entering an abandoned town was against the law. Jake couldn’t go breaking any more rules right now, not ever really. He rubbed his wrist as a phantom hand tightened around it and dug it’s claws into his flesh.

Unsure of what to do but wanting to get as far away from the gated area as possible Jake walked in a straight line, away from the place until he came to a waterfall ledge. With a clouded thought he realized this was his first time seeing one in person. It wasn’t as existing as his dad had made them sound.

Eyeing the woods around him, Jake started to notice how odd the forest itself was. The trees were the width of cars at minimum, mushrooms stood like chairs, clumped together and in the corners of his eyes he could see large animals run past and odd noises sung from around. He started to wander further into the forest. Optimizing the peace time to sight see, calling to his sister or anybody who might be close by.

After a while of wandering he stumbled upon a road, the paint was worn and fading and the edges from road to nature had blurred to almost no separation but roads were made for people and Jake was a people so he chose left and walked along its edge, listening for vehicles.

He’d been walking along it’s edge for some time when he found a car, flipped and in the grass. It had once been a black but the paint had started to chip long ago, the interior had been made into a nest for something that had claimed it long ago. The further he walked the more vehicles he found, all in a state of disrepair. All seemed to have been claimed by the forest years ago.

Coming upon a tree with the circumference of a bus, looking up in the giant branches he could see a very large and round bird who stared back down at him. It had a peach colored belly that faded to oranges and yellows, the talons that gripped the branch were midnight black and sharp. They were like the night sky had been turned into knives and attached to the heel. The size alone of the bird was awe inspiring as Jake realized that even with the distance of the bird high above, it looked to be the size of a car.

Jake was no expert on forests, only seeing them in old movies and books but he really felt that maybe this place was not normal.

He backed away from the bird and once far enough away called again, this time with more panic, “Zoey? Anybody?”

Nobody answered.

The tears were back now and he desperately tried to wipe them away.

Maybe it would have been better to stay at that gated area. Jake thought, then remembering the odd feeling it had given him, shook the thought away. The anxiety in his chest started to swell and choke his throat, air felt toxic and his chest started to hurt, his vision started to blur and a sudden urge to be anywhere other than where he was set in.

He started to run, in any direction he didn’t care, anywhere other than this tree, anywhere than the gated community, somewhere other than this forest. He saw a building with two floors to it, slanted to the side, buried in the ground, it looked gutted and hollow yet he ran inside, finding the stairs as soon as he entered and taking them two at a time. Finally there was one last door, exit sign cracked and stained, pointing Jake where he needed to go.

Shouldering it open it whined under his touch and fell off the hinges. Jake faltered, almost falling on the stained door but righted himself, stepping to the ledge of the roof, gripping the railing tight and leaning as far as he could over the side.

“Zoey!” he screeched, feeling his vocal cords strain under the pressure, “Hello! Anybody! Please! Help!”

Jake stopped, inhaling air like it was the answer to his problems, like it would fix this situation, if only he had more of it. His screams echoed into the odd noises of the forest and died. Nobody responded.

Suddenly the edge of the building crumbled under him and he fell down the side of the slanted building, tumbling and turning like a bag of potatoes thrown down a hill.

The world blurred into an ugly green brown, rocks slammed into his body like a small child in a mosh pit. His body collided with grass, his foot landing at an odd angle and causing him to yelp and tumble forwards again. Momentum carried him farther, throwing him into a tree then gravity pulled him into the ground, dragging him into a hole under the tree roots and finally letting him drop.

Jake let himself breath for a moment, not getting up, feeling the cool dirt under his hands and pressed against his cheek. The twinge in his ankle was starting to hurt more than he liked however so once he was sure he had enough breath and nothing was going to shove him back down he slowly, slowly, sat up.

It was a sprain, he could tell by the way it felt like the time he’d been pushed down the stairs and landed on his hand wrong, except this was in his ankle, not his wrist. To help a sprain one is supposed to rest, compress the ankle, ice it, and elevate. Jake did not have any way of doing any of this so instead of looking at his ankle he decided to ignore looking at that area all together and address his surroundings.

He’d fallen into a pit of sorts, a hole most likely created by the giant tree roots above his head at some point. Trying to stand proved hard as he tried to settle weight onto his ankle only for shooting pain to send him back to the dirt carpet. Finally standing with his ankle hovering above the ground he looked up.

The ledge of the pit was just above him, even with both working ankles he wouldn't be able to jump high enough to catch the ledge. Reaching for a low hanging root Jake tried to pull himself high enough to swing up but the root cracked under his weight, slamming him into the ground. His head hit with a hard thump as his ankle sent another sharp wave up his leg and the branch that had broken off hit his nose.

The tears were back but Jake ignored them, instead shoving the branch off his face and laying on the floor, trying to force himself to think straight.

He needed to properly take stock of the situation, running from one thought to the next was only going to harm him more at this rate. Last night nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. He hadn’t sustained any type of head wound to lead to a coma nor did he have any symptoms of Stardust. Was there another illness that could suddenly put him to sleep? Maybe something had happened to him when he slept. Maybe someone had broken in and harmed him? He should start with fully checking himself for injury or illness.

Shifting to sit against the pit wall Jake finlay cast his gaze on himself and scrunched his eyes in confusion.

He was wearing a matching set of what was once pastel pink sweatpants and a sweater but now it was stained brown and yellow and red, moth eaten and tattered.

The size was smaller than it should be for him as well, tightening across his chest and barely reaching his ankles.

Pressing lightly against his chest nothing seemed sore so he had to hope everything was running in order.

Taking note of his hands he had to wince. His right hand was littered with scars. Starting at his knucks in a continuous starburst like scar. Smaller scars ran up his wrist in small bursts, getting smaller the farther from his knuckles they went. Until they tapered out halfway up his forearm. It reminded Jake of a woman he met who had punched through a glass window. It always looks painless in tv shows but in real life the shards can be very damaging, even lethal.

His left hand held no scars but it had odd tan lines around it, the wrist and most of the hand being lighter in the shape of a wrist support or hand splint maybe. It could have also just been an odd fingerless glove.

Now came the part he wasn’t excited for, checking his ankle. It was his left foot, lucky the one he didn’t quite favor, it was red and swelling, if Jake had to guess it would leave a nasty bruising as well. There wasn’t much he could do for it however so making sure it was as properly placed as possible he moved on to his next foot sighing in relief when it seemed normal enough if not dirty and scraped.

Leaning forward had caused his hair to fall into his eyes again and it was while pushing it back that he even noticed how long it had gotten. It was now to his shoulder , at least the right side was, the left side was higher, resting behind his ear in a choppy comparison. He froze, admiring the longer side for a second. It was softer than he’d ever had it before. The curls healthy and bouncing as he moved his head back and forth

Someone had taken the time to entwine two braids into the front, connecting them in the back but with all his panic it seemed to have come loose. Zoey and mom had longer hair than this, maybe Dad would be ok with this length, probably not though.

Jake started to unweave the design. How long had it taken to grow his hair this long? A couple months? He’d noticed he’d grown taller, his skin had darkened to an almond brown now, almost as dark as his dad’s. Just how much time had he lost and how?

Even if he had somehow fallen into a random coma he shouldn’t be in the middle of nowhere. He had to be in an enclosure to be able to breathe, he hadn’t had a clear view of the sky yet but he had to assume above the trees there was a layer of glass and ventilation or else he’d surely be finding it difficult to breathe with the dust floating around him.

Maybe he had been left in the forest to recuperate, nature was supposed to help with Stardust so if he had really gotten sick without noticing they might have brought him out here in a last ditch attempt to clear his lungs.

But surely someone would have stayed near-by in case he really did wake up? And had they brought Zoey as well? Or maybe she had already woken up and was waiting at the hospital for his return. He couldn’t worry her like this. He needed to return quickly, too much stress might worsen her condition even if she was recovering.

Jake had gotten to the bun in his hair now and felt something stuck in the woven strands. Slowly detangling it from his hair he held it out to reveal an unused cigarette, he scrunched his nose, sticking out his tongue in disgust.

He raised his hand back to toss it before the realization that it wasn’t a normal paper like consistency but felt like metal. If it was metal then it couldn’t be a cigarette, maybe an e-cig? He paused. In all fairness he hadn’t really taken in the detailing of the object before his eyes had zeroes in on the orange white design and shape.

Pinching it between two fingers he squinted at the object. It was a matted metallic and upon closer look one could tell it was fashioned like a cigarette but quite fake. But why would he have a metal cigarette in his hair? Had someone been using it as an ashtray again? Jake shook his hair but no butts or half finished cigarettes fell to the ground. Holding it in a ray of sunlight he turned the object, quirking an eyebrow when he saw a hinge along the separating of colors. Pushing the top orange away Jake gasped when fire licked his finger. He quickly dropped the object and looked at the new burn reddening his fingertip.

He glared at the ofender on the ground, picking it back up, careful now to keep his finger from the opening. Pressing back the hinge a small flame sprung to life. Jake closed the lighter with a huf. He wobbled it between his fingers, trying to think of his next steps.

Before Jake could come up with any ideas however there was a commotion above him. First it was a yelp followed by the rumble of a crowd.

“Leave me alone!” Somebody shouted, answered by a chorus of shouts;

“Thief!”

“Stupid crow!”

“Get back here!” The voices stacked atop one another.

Jake made to stand when a gunshot rang out and he quickly dropped back to the floor, hoping his pit was hidden enough under the roots. Another gunshot rangout, this time closer. The thundering of feet grew louder, nearing Jake’s hiding spot and suddenly a shadow passed over him then stopped. Jake couldn’t see anything other than their silhouette as they looked from where they had come from, then back to the pit. They seemed to make a decision, hunching their shoulders before jumping down, landing at an odd angle they muffled a yelp and let their body hit the ground like a rag doll.

They lay there for a moment, not seeming to notice Jake who sat very still under the shadow of a root, hoping that if he pretended to not exist then the stranger wouldn’t acknowledge him.

Suddenly, the stranger sprang up into a sitting position, looking up in anxiety before looking to the bag strapped on the side of their thigh, quickly looking over to Jake, back to their bag, then they froze, body going stiff as they drew their gaze slowly back to Jake. The two stared at each other a moment, holding the others gaze in an anxiety induced staring contest.

The stranger looked to be male, maybe around 16, he was tall, even when sitting. His skin was toffee brown, littered with freckles like stars in the night, matching his dark chocolate hair. It looked as if once someone had tried to comb the hair into order but had given up and ran their finger through the waves instead as they fell into sapphire blue eyes that seemed to sparkle like jewels behind the silver circle frames of glasses that sat crookedly on the boy's face, somewhat covering the scars that ran symmetrically, one under each eye, almost tracing the cheekbone.

The stranger scrunched his eyebrows at Jake, he opened his mouth as if to say something before the sound of people running and shouting grew louder above.

“Where’d he go!” Someone shouted.

Somebody walked in front of the light, casting shadows into the pit.

“That brat!” Somebody else huffed, “Which way’d he go?”

Jake opened his mouth this time, he wasn’t really sure what he was going to say but these people could get him out of the pit, he knew where their thief was so maybe if he helped them they’d help him. Before he could speak however the stranger’s eyes widened, clearing the small distance between the two with a lunge and pressing a hand over his mouth.

“Shhhh,” he whispered harshly, “Please, please, please, be quiet.”

Jake glared at the thief whose hand smelled of cigarette smoke and lavender.

“If I see him again I’ll kill him,” Somebody above grumbled.

“I’ll help,” someone added as it was followed by other sounds of agreement.

“Over here!” someone called from further away and suddenly the group's footfalls started up and faded away.

The thief sighed, relaxing before yellping and shoving Jake into the wall, “Did you just bite me?” He looked at the red indent in his hand before shaking it violently, “Oh my ‘stroid! You bit me!” he whisper-yelled.

“Don’touch me,” Jake growled.

“Alright I won’t! Sorry!”

The boy continued to wave his hand for a moment, glancing between Jake and his wound, “I did not realize this was someone’s nest, sorry.”

“What?” Jake asked.

“Are, you not building a nest?” The boy questioned back, leaning against the opposite wall.

“No.”

“Oh.” He tilted his head slightly, “So. Why were you sitting in a hole?”

“I fell.”

“Oh.”

“Why were those people chasing you?”

“Ah, well, they kidnapped me so when I was leaving I took a bunch of their stuff.”

“They kidnapped you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Uh, ransom,” he scrunched his brows in concentration, Jake following suit in concern, “Ransom? Yeah, for the, money. They tried to sell me off as a servant, I mean I can see why. Not to brag but I am pretty sure you could get a few years of use out of me before I keeled.”

“A servant?”

“You know, fancy slave? Test subject? Uh, what else, butler, experiment, worker, body guard, uh, tessst- I already said that one. When someone buys you, you know?”

“I don’t.”

The boy looked at Jake like he was the odd one, “Huh. Well, I mean, everyone who did buy me actually returned me on like two days tops so they mostly just drug me around and yelled at me honestly.”

Jake took in a breath, studying the odd boy, his face held a sleepy smile and half lidded eyes as he seemed content to lean against the wall, digging through his backpack.

“Where are we?” Jake took a leap, hoping the boy’s open personality and willingness to answer so far meant he was ok with more questions.

“Uh, in a hole? Actually I think it's technically called a tree throw,” The boy said, stopping his bag search.

“No, like, where,” Jake took in a breath, thinking of how to word his question, “what district?”

The boy chuckled like Jake had told a funny joke, then realizing Jake wasn’t chuckling along, made a face of confusion, “That was a joke right?”

“No? Why would it be a joke?”

“Uh, have, you mean, like a dome? A uh, terrarium? The enclosure? The cage?”

“I mean the enclosure, y’know the things that filters our air n’ let’s us breathe?”

“Those, are actually called trees and plants. Yeah, they uh, eat CO2, detox the bad stuff from the asteroids.”

“Yeah, but the enclosures do that too, on a bigger scale.”

The boy looked at him for a moment, before going back to digging through his backpack, throwing Jake a nonchalant; “Ok.”

After a moment of silence Jake breathed in again, “So, where are we?”

“Oh, uh, we’re not in a cage,” the boy said without looking up.

Jake inhaled then realizing he’d done so exhaled violently, pulling his sweater to his nose and mouth. When the boy made no move to follow Jake lunged forward, pulling his turtleneck over his face for him.

“Woah,” The boy mumbled, “What are you doing?”

“Are y’stupid?” Jake hissed, “Y’can’t breathe ‘ere! If we’re outside then we ‘ave,” Jake stopped, trying to remember how long someone could survive on unfiltered air, and swearing under his breath, how long had he been out here?

“Uh,” the boy chuckled nervously, moving Jake’s hand from his turtleneck and pressing him back so he wasn’t leaning over him but sitting back down, “You’re going to be fine.”

Jake glared at the boy, scrunching his nose. He’d met people like this, far and few inbetween. They were weird conspiracy theorists who said the government was lying to them about the outside. Said the air was just fine and the president wanted to control everyone. These were the same people who talked of tracking chips and monsters and superpowers.

They talked about beings of light and aliens controlling the president like a puppet, things with no eyes watching from shadows. They talked about chemicals in the air to spread in the ventilators to brainwash people. They always talked a big game of going outside but then they’d come back, running for the hospital or never even making it back, if they ever even got the guts to leave or even just stand near the edge of the cracking glass wall.

If this boy wanted to fill his lungs with alien debris that was his own life, Jake couldn’t do anything to save the idiot.

“If it makes you feel better, I have a cloth face mask you can use,” the boy said, pulling a black medical mask from his bag and handing it to Jake. Jake, in turn squinted his eyes, taking the mask and sniffing it. It didn’t smell of any chemicals but that didn’t mean there was nothing on it.

“I didn’t drug it, here look,” the boy took the mask back from Jake, putting it to his nose and mouth, deeply inhaling, “See?”

Jake squinted his eyes again but took the mask. He’d never liked the scratch of medical masks on his face but the cloth was nice, with an inside that was soft against his cheeks, it was ok, he supposed.

“We need’ta get out of ‘ere,” Jake said, looking up again as the sunlight started to dim.

“I hate to say it, but it might be best to stay overnight,” the boy said, clicking his tongue and following Jake’s gaze.

“What? No! I don’t know ‘ow long you’ve been out’ere but,” Jake stopped, trying to remember what Joy had said the set times of toxic air consumption was before a person’s lungs were infected, “It can take up to a day for a person’s lungs to be infect,” his brain supplied, “but, it can’appen in under 30 minted as well, 30 minutes t’two days, that's the span o’time, but symptoms can take up to a year or two to show so it’s best jus’toaget out as soon as possible.”

“Well, I have been out here for two months or so now and I feel completely fine,” the boy shrugged.

“Like I said,” Jake grit his teeth, “It can take years fer symptoms t’show, yer most definitely infected already, ya need’ta get to a hospital right away.”

The boy shrugged again, looking sleepy and bored, “I’ve been here years now, think if I was sick I’d know.”

Jake eyed the scars under the boy's eyes, “How many Suprazgoma veins do you have?”

“Uh,” the boy made a face of confusion, “the what?”

“Suprazgoma veins.”

The boy stared at him blankly, “I. Have veins. Yes.”

“The ones under your eyes,” Jake huffed, “Y’know where yer boomerang scars are,” Jake held a finger to where the veins would lay on his own face if he had had the mutation.

“Bo-boomerang scars?” the boy pushed his glasses back and pressed his fingers on one of the scars, “boomerang scars,” he whispered in what sounded to be disbelief.

Jake hit himself mentally, maybe it wasn’t polite to have said that, was it rude to point out a scar like that? Usually you didn’t point out scars, it was rude, but this time it related to what they were talking about so it should be fine, right?

Or maybe it was just the fact he had called them boomerangs, maybe that had been taken as a jab or a tease, but it was accurate to their shape, as they had followed the vein under them with precision. Maybe they were some kind of surgery scar since they aligned so well. Maybe that was why he shouldn’t have said something about them. But what kind of surgery would relate to them?

“I-I’m, that was rude,” Jake quickly began to apologize.

“No,” the boy smiled sincerely, “You’re good,” he chuckled, “Nobody has ever called them that before is all, usually people avoid the topic.”

“I- should I have avoided the topic? I’m sorry if they bring up sore memories. I should have said-”

“Naw, your good, I mean, they do bring up sore memories but people are so awkward around the subject that it’s actually a little suffocating, I made a joke about them once and I just got the weirdest stares, like I was somehow offending everyone and making them sad for joking about my trauma.”

Oh! This was something Jake understood! He could relate to the boy to show he understood and cared about his story!

“I understand, people don’like when I joke ‘bout my family life.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, it makes ‘em uncomfortable I think.”

“Hm, same, but uh, I have two veins, I didn’t know they’re medical names. That’s what the supegoma-”

“Suprazygoma.”

“Yeah, the, supergyoza veins, that is what you meant right?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I have two.”

“See! That’s another reason you probably haven’t displayed symptoms. It takes forever fer a double veined person to become infected. I, however, ‘ave zero so I’m at a very high risk, ‘specially with all the secon-an smokin’ I’ve received over my lifetime.”

“I’m serious, you're not going to get sick out here. You seem like the smart type so I’m assuming you know that nature helps detoxify the air, yeah?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever been in a forest before?”

“No.”

“Well, the trees are really good at their jobs here ok? There's so much greenery that the place has been clean for years now. In fact, the dust is actually the reason everything is so big or mutated here.”

“How?”

The boy shrugged, “Animals and plants experience different reactions to the dust, plants got weirder, animals got weirder, if you lived in a cage then the animals probably didn’t get enough gross air to mutate rapidly but I’m sure your animals are a little strange too.”

Jake thought about the progressively smarter rats and the birds that had started to mimic human noises. Maybe that part was true.

“Is there a hospital around here?” Jake continued with his earlier questions.

“Uh,” the boy made a face of concentration, “Well, there's a tavern that helps you out if you need. There's a lady that does medical services around here somewhere but we weren't on good terms last we talked so I don’t know where she is anymore. The town has a lot of places but we’re pretty far away. I could maybe- wait, why?” he flicked his eyes over Jake, eyes catching on his nose and cheeks then the scrapes on his arms and legs then his ankle then back to his face, “Oh my stars I’m so sorry I didn’t even realize you were so beat up! Are you ok? Did you just escape? Are you by yourself? Are there others?”

“I-i’m by myself?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The stranger sombered.

“I, what? No, I, I didn’t escape from anywhere?”

“Didn’t you?”

“Do I look like I escaped prison or somethin?”

“Well, some kids call it prison.”

“Call what prison?”

The boy tilted his head, left eye squinting, “The, uh, places. The testing sites.”

“Testin sites?”

“Uh, training grounds?”

“The last thing I remember was being in the hospital with my sister, I don’t know about any other place.”

“Oh, sorry, I just saw the uniform and it reminded me of my old one. Many kids just sorta wear them until they get picked up or find something better, I just sort of assumed. Sorry.”

Jake stared at the boy for a second trying to connect the odd puzzle pieces strewn about but it was like he was staring at pieces for a different puzzle than the picture in front of him suggested.

“So, do you need help getting all patched up?” The boy asked, pulling a medical kit from his backpack.

“I can do it, if you wouldn’ mind sharin, I don’ have a way of payin you back.”

“No, you're good, I got it to be used, might as well use it right?” The boy opened the box and slid it over to Jake, scooting closer to most likely help.

“I don’ need yer help,” Jake said, trying to scoot away without moving his ankle but failing and wincing at the shooting pain.

“Oh, uh, ok, are you sure? I can at least get the cuts on your face since you wouldn’t be able to see them. Or maybe help with your ankle, it can be hard dealing with that kind of injury by yourself.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Jake hissed as he carefully stuck the cigarette lighter he was still clutching behind his ear before pouring antibiotics on his arm.

“Ok, let me know if you need anything I guess,” The boy smiled, leaning against the wall but not scooting back to where he had been.

Jake started to wipe the dirt from the wounds, hissing, “Have you seen a 15 year-old girl ‘round here? She’s got dark brown hair, tan skin, ‘nd eyes like mine.”

“No sorry, were you guys traveling together?”

“No, listen, she has stardust, stage 4, she was in the hospital last night, and I was with her, I fell asleep right next to ‘er. N’then I woke up ‘ere n’ I don’t know ‘ow I got ‘ere, n; I don’know where I am,” his breath started to shake as he pressed a bandaid over a scrape, “N’ I don’t know where she is, n’ I don’know h’w long it’s been,” he poured more hydrogen over a different wound, “N’I don’know if I’m ok, but I jus’ need t’know were my sister is.”

“Ok, yeah, let's start from the beginning then, yeah? What hospital were you at?”

“D-20 Hope Hospital for the Helpless.”

“That's a horrible name.”

“I didn’ choose it. “

“Yeah, whoever did though, they are not good at naming things.”

“It was Charles Hope, some rich guy who bought the ‘ospital ‘is sister worked at to prove that she was ‘elpless without ‘im.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Then he went ‘n lived in The Center n’ pretend he never lived in the outskirts until he was murdered.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Ok, so, this hospital was in D-20?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, well, my watam’s dead but if it wasn’t I would look them up for you.”

Jake made a noise of compliance, pretending he knew what a watam was while psyching himself up enough to deal with his ankle.

“I can do your ankle for you,” the boy said.

Jake thinned his eyes at him, nothing in his voice had seemed disingenuous, but it hadn’t really seemed thoughtful or pitying. Come to think of it, his voice, though tinged in a sleepy syrup, was quite monotone and devoid of emotion. Jake scrunched his nose at him, the boy raised an eyebrow in confusion as response.

“I got it,” Jake mumbled, scrunching his brows and inhaling as he leaned forward, trying to dig up the memory of caring for his wrist.

Zoey hadn’t been there at the time, she had been in school, this was when he was only allowed to go to school every other day. Instead he had picked himself up from the sidewalk as the door behind him slammed shut and inspected his wrist, it had begun to swell and turn an angry red.

His ankle was in a similar fashion, throbbing and swelling around the joint as it started to turn color.

He had applied pressure to his wrist first and looked up what to do at the library. It had informed him to rest, it had said not to use his wrist for at least 48 hours.

He’d try to baby his ankle but there was no way he was going to sit here for 48 hours.

The second step was ice to stop the swelling.

He didn’t have that so he’d just have to deal with it.

The third step was to compress the wound.

Jake grabbed the role of compression bandaging and started to stretch it across his ankle like the people he’d seen in the hospital. He’d helped some people with sprains before but they had never used actual ace wrap, they had used ripped cloth instead. The fabric quickly became bulky and chunky around his foot looking like a small tan beehive had eaten it. He frowned, unwrapping his ankle and trying again.

“I’ve wrapped ankles before,” the boy suggested with a small smile.

“I got it,” Jake grumbled, frown deepening as he focused on evenly applying the wrap.

This time it seemed too tight, he held the end in place, watching his toes change color for a moment before exhaling violently and letting the fabric unravel again.

“Ok, so you were at this hospital in D-20, then what happened?” The boy continued, seemingly dropping his offers of help, yet Jake noticed his eyes watching the process with an analytical gaze, twitching whenever Jake seemed to mess something up, fingers moving like they were imagining the correct movements.

“That’s it, I fell asleep there, then woke up ‘ere,” Jake said, starting his next attempt.

“Nothing else?”

“Well,” Jake stopped for a moment, thinking, “I mean there was one thing out’a the ordinary.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I ‘ad a nightmare. I think.”

“You think?”

“I think, most people, would call it a nightmare, yeah.”

“What made this nightmare different from anything else?”

Jake looked at the boy a moment, he didn’t make eye contact, just sort of, stared at his face; “I don’t dream.”

“You’ve never dreamt before?”

“Nope,” Jake popped the p, going back to his ankle.

“Man, I wish I didn’t dream,” the boy huffed as Jake looked up at him again. After a moment of silence the boy gave a small quizzical smile, “What? Why are you staring at me? Did, did I say something weird?”

Jake shook his head just slightly, frowning a bit; “Yer weird.”

He went back to trying to wrap his foot, but the boy guffawed;

“Wh-eh, I. I am not the weird one here. I am perfectly normal.”

“So I’m the odd one?”

“I mean, you're weirder than me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Explain?”

“Uh, well, I mean, you, have, an, odd fashion sense.”

“I didn’ choose my outfit today, we established, I woke up ‘ere against my will.”

“I, then, you, were sitting in a hole by yourself.”

“You jumped in ‘ere to sit by yerself, I fell in, also against my will.”

The boy tilted his head, left eye squinting slightly, maybe Jake wasn’t being polite, actually no, he wasn’t, you weren’t supposed to call people weird, even if it was true. He usually wasn’t so loose lipped with his opinions, maybe he was being a bit weird today.

“What makes me the weird one then,” the boy asked.

Well, if he was going to be given permission to speak his mind he wasn’t going to turn it down. “You jumped in ‘ere like a ragdoll hittin’ the floor, I thought you broke somethin’ fer sure. Then you casually mentioned bein’ kidnapped for two months like it was nothin’. Ya dress weird.”

“I’m wearing a very lovely turtleneck tucked into loose cuffed jeans, and brown boots.”

“Yeah, I ‘ave eyes, but,” he clicked his tongue, “That’s rich people clothin’, not ta mention, yer bag looks very nice-”

“Thank you.”

“Wasn’t really a compliment. You also speak funny.”

“I do not.”

“You ‘ave an accent.”

“You have an accent.”

“You sound like one’a those uppity people from like, D-2, maybe even D-1.”

“I do not, those people are annoying.”

“Yeah but you speak like ‘em, all prim‘n proper, not’a mention you are very monotone, like, do you have emotions?”

“I have emotions.”

Jake gave him a look like he was waiting for an example, but the boy just gave a small pout and a ‘hm’.

“I guess you have, like, borderline emotions,” Jake conceded with a shrug, going back to his ankle.

“What does that even mean?” The boy.

“I use’ta read a lot’a books ‘n stuff ‘bout faces ‘n body language. Even people who are tryin’ to mask their emotions are readable. You can see the way they put on fake emotions to cover their real ones. You can watch how someone breathes, or flicks their eyes, or taps their toes n’ figure out a person like a puzzle.”

“Ok?”

“Yer like, the box of a very plain puzzle, maybe a four piece puzzle.”

“Well, that means I have something to figure out.”

“It means there nothing to figure out. It’s just,” Jake waved a hand, gesturing at the boy in general, “Very bland.”

“Ow.”

“You also have fangs an’ yer eyes sparkle, like, shiny jewels I guess.”

“Oh! I have answers for those! See I have fangs because, genetics, probably.”

“Probably?”

“Mh, and my eyes sparkle because, um, yeah.”

“That’s not an answer, r’there other people with sparkly eyes in this forest?”

“Actually, yeah, there's a few, so maybe that's also a genetic thing,” the boy snapped his finger, pointing to Jake like he solved something.

Jake blinked, then nodded, “Ok.”, he went back to his ankle.

“Whatever. So, you had a nightmare then woke up, in, this, hole? No you fell in.”

“Yes, I woke up near this town or, uh, this weird place, then I walked ‘round ‘til I fell off a roof n’ ended up in ‘ere.”

“How did you go from an entire roof to under a tree and not die?”

“I rolled.”

“Rolled?”

“The buildin’ was slanted, I rolled down it’s side then into the hole.”

“Oh.”

There was silence for a moment as Jake finished wrapping his ankle with a smug smile.

“You wrapped that wrong,” the boy said, leaning forward like he wanted to grab at the bandaging himself.

“What? No, it’s compressin’ my ankle, like it’s suppos’ta.”

“Sure, but you're gonna lose feeling in your toes soon, also just because it’s applying pressure doesn’t mean it’s doing it correctly, you need to make sure it's evenly applying pressure.”

“It’s fine,” Jake snapped.

The boy closed his outstretched hands swiftly, leaning back, and oh, this was it, this was the point where Jake had passed the line. He’d been testing his luck with his runny mouth but to snap at someone who was putting on an air of ‘just wanting to help’ was too much. This was when the boy would suddenly switch up, a haughty righteous anger in his voice as he said something about Jake’s arrogance or pride.

This was when the boy would snap back, saying Jake probably deserved the injury, that he hoped it was broken. Maybe he’d even throw something, no, Jake’d crossed the first line but he hadn’t passed that level yet he didn’t think.

Maybe he’d glare and climb out the hole, leave Jake to figure it out for himself since obviously he didn’t want any help right?

“Sorry,” Jake murmured, gluing his eyes to the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the boy lean further into the wall and shrug with a tight lipped smile. “Nah, I kept pushing that’s on me.”

Jake scrunched his brows at the answer but didn’t move.

“Ok,” the boy said, holding the back of his hand up lazily, Jake tensed, maybe he had pushed it past that line. Maybe this guy was more prone to acts of violence than others. “So you fell asleep at a hospital in D-20,” the boy dropped a finger and Jake released his tension just slightly, “Then you had a weird dream,” he dropped another finger, “Woke up near a, what did you call it?”

“Weird place.”

“A weird place, then you walked around the forest until you fell in here. That’s all?” He pointed his still up thumb at Jake.

“That’s all”

“Ok, uh, so what do you wanna do next?”

“Get back.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where my sister will be.”

“And you know that how?”

“Well, she,” Jake cleared his throat, “they ‘ave no reason to move ‘er.”

“Someone moved you.”

“But I’m not sick

“Does the hospital make a habit of moving non-sick people?”

“Well, no-”

“So why would they move you?”

“I don’know, maybe it was an accident.”

“They accidentally moved you from a hospital bedroom, to outside of the terrarium, to the middle of the forest?”

“Well, somethin must’ve ‘appened, I’ll just have to find my way back and find out.”

The boy hummed, “I don’t know, that’s gonna be pretty hard.”

Jake snorted tapping his foot that was slowly going numb; “Please, people are constantly runnin’ in’n’out o’ the enclosures all the time. Last week some dude ran out ‘cause he said he was gonna prove that aliens existed n’ad taken over the rest of the planted but he literally returned n’hour later with a broken leg, cryin because the wasteland was too much for ‘im.”

“People haven’t been able to leave the terrariums without permission for a while though? They shut down the borders years ago.”

“What, no, that was a just a rumor, nothins been set in stone yet.” Jake started to loosen the wrap.

“No?” The boy began slowly, tilting his head, “That was, ages ago. They closed to borders and secured the perimeter like, eons, ago.”

“No,” Jake squinted at the stranger, “That guy literally crossed the glass wall last week. Not’a mention I’m pretty sure my friends crossed the borders between districts not too long ago.”

“No, they shut down the borders eons ago, back in uh, 31, 50… 8, I wanna say.”

Jake felt something cold slitter through his veins and grip his lungs; “Yeah,” he began slowly, the idea of what might be happening starting to thaw out, “And, it is, 3158,”

The stranger tilted his head, left eye squinting a bit as he made a look of concern and confusion.

“No,” he began slowly, and somewhat gently as if talking to a small child, which, in reality, Jake was, right? “It's 3169.”

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 4

⭐️Hello hello, introducing a new character, who could they be? Jake just can't seem to catch a break, if it's not waking up vomiting, it's finding out your in the wrong year. 🌙

#original character #original story #oc #story #dystopian story #Jake Lunes #Oc #Oc story #original characters #new character #oooh #who could it be #dystopian #mystery #mysteries #this guy just can't catch a break #:(#poor guy

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solarpunkpolliwog · 11 days ago

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My hispanic community members are already being harassed IN PUBLIC just by your average Joe, and that's before policies kick in. The Dominican women I live next to are getting verbally assaulted, made fun of that Trump won, called heinous slurs, told them to "go back where they came from" in the middle of living their lives with no changes to the policies that protect us and in a blue state. It's super important and serious to ensure that we are doing what we can to protect more vulnerable populations in the face of massive suffering that will occur.

I think it's important for everyone, but especially for white people to force yourself outside of your baked-in community. Segregation still exists in our country, and very real policies and government actions made it possible for a lot of white people to live in almost literal bubbles away from bipoc people.

Find a nonprofit like a makerspace or a community that services the unhoused. Meet regularly with them (At least once a month, preferably more) for volunteer work or community meetings. Make sure you find a group that has more varieties of people in it. Are there less than 20% people that are bipoc? You need to find another group that represents more than white people.

Go to every regular meeting that they have. Ask questions about people's lives, overhear that someone needs something you have and offer it to them- build relationships with folks! It makes it possible for you to learn more about your community, how they are impacted differently than you, and make moves to protect them. It's also possible to have multiple intersected communities!

(I THINK that this is already well known, but just in case, I would also highly recommend combining that with only asking hard questions on the internet unless you do a check-in with someone very close about if those types of conversations are okay. If there are questions digging into bipoc people's experience that are potentially an invasion of their bodies, mind, or culture, ask the internet instead of them. Bipoc folks who are willing to examine those questions have already done the emotional labor to share their thoughts and you won't be forcing them to experience pain for your education without their consent.)

Intentional community building is not something we're trained to do. We're primarily trained to have neighbors, academic peers, and co-workers for friends. For me at least, it has sometimes been uncomfortable and terrifying, and I wanted to quit a couple of times, but it has made such a difference in how fulfilled I am by the connections I have. I get to ask myself questions about who I let into the varied spheres of my life, and I get to feel so much richer in how many people I get to interact and love in different ways.

All this to say, bipoc people and other vulnerable populations are in danger, and yes... Us lighter skinned queer folk who aren't in immediate hostile danger have a higher chance of being okay. I honestly am still grappling with not knowing exactly how bad the path our country is on, and not knowing if it could veer extremely badly or if we can band together enough to protect each other and make positive change. But for now, if we already have privileges, we need to unlearn how we've been trained to socialize, and be there for the people who need it most. I want to go beyond this, but if the only thing I do is hug my friend as she cries in my arms about how scared she is to survive even greater abuses from the world around her as an older Dominican immigrant, it will be worth it.

still a lot of "we'll survive, we did before" and not enough "here's how to prepare for the promised mass deportations and fight for people who may be facing racist policies come the new year" and "here is what we can do about how the climate may get worse in the coming years"

Like. Cool that you have confirmed that you as a white queer will probably be kind of okay. I need to see more about what we're going to be doing for people of color both in this country and outside of this country that are at risk of state brutalization, increasingly dangerous natural disasters, wars......

Too much placating. Not enough discussing plans of action.

Idk about y'all but I AM really afraid of the deportations that have been threatened, especially when the racism that pairs with it goes even beyond targeting illegal immigrants (which to be clear is still awful) but legal immigrants as well, and even people that white Americans think LOOK like they might be immigrants.

Get your shit together and start talking about what people of color need because right now we DESPERATELY need the help of white people, you are the ones who are safer in the face of the cops and ICE, you are the ones that the other racist white people will actually listen to when you cover for us. Please. If you've genuinely decided that you will be okay, then start getting out there for the people that definitely won't be.

#also as a note #if anyone has questions on this topic #I am happy to share my experiences what ive learned!#good community building #lgbtq community #bipoc #intersectionality

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askagamedev · 2 years ago

Note

Game Design challenge: analyze the popular monopoly homebrew rule of people who land on free parking get a pot of money. Is it a good or bad idea, why is it not included in the rules, why is it so often added by players, and if you were forced to implement such a rule how would you improve it?

Here's the thing - most people who play Monopoly don't understand how to win at Monopoly. Most players play not to lose, which results in the most standard result - a game that goes on way too long and players get bored. It helps to look at Monopoly as a collection of systems focused around looking at the management of resources.

Let's consider the way a player loses at Monopoly - they completely run out of money and resources and go bankrupt. Think about where the money enters the system, and where the money leaves the system. New money enters the system only through a handful of methods - the money you start with, the $200 you get from passing Go, and the occasional chance or community chest card. Money leaves the system when players buy properties and improve properties by building houses or hotels. Occasionally, there will also be money leaving the system through chance and community chest cards, or paying to get out of jail. Money doesn't enter or leave the system when a player pays another player - it only circulates.

Removing money from the system forces players closer to bankruptcy overall. Adding money to the system makes it easier for players to survive overall. What happens if you have a pot of money on Free Parking? Well, it depends on the source of the money. If the pot comes from the bank, it introduces new money into the system and makes the game last longer. If the pot comes from other players, it keeps money within the system for longer. Neither helps end the game quicker, which should be one of the design goals.

I think that the main issue is that Free Parking isn't compelling to land on for gameplay purposes. Landing there feels bad, so making it a money pot makes it feel better. If our goal is to make it more interesting, I would suggest something that would either be more neutral, or even remove money from the system. I think that Monopoly would do better if there were more ways for players to interact with each other. Instead of calling it Free Parking, I might rename it as the Court House, where a player landing there can pay some fee (e.g. $25) to the bank to sue another player and compel the defendant to hand over some amount of money, e.g. $100, or a higher fee ($100) to take another player’s property. This way we remove a little money from the system whenever players land on it, as well as encourage interaction between players. The two important goals are to incentivize players landing on it and remove money from circulation to push all of the players to the endgame.

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#system design #critical analysis #game design theory

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tumbleassbitch · 2 years ago

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another lost soul (letting my instinct take control) | The Quarry | TravisxLaura

Characters: Laura Kearney, Travis Hackett, The Hackett family Summary: Max dies in the cellar. This changes everything.

Chapter 7/? | Chapter 6

The days pass by in a jumble of late nights and early mornings, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Travis stops locking her cell.

He never mentions it, and it’s almost funny how the subject feels better left unsaid.

It’s not like she has full reign of the building, though. One night, she tries the door that bridges the gap between the holding cells and the rest of the precinct, only to find the lock still firmly in place.

Disappointing, but not surprising.

Still, she has free access to the showers whenever she wants. Laura takes full advantage of this, thank you very much, and a clean and neatly folded towel replaces her used one every morning like clockwork.

She’s not sure what to make of it. Their carefully-held routine is starting to shift, and though their conversations strictly revolve around the research and her notes, it still feels too normal.

But this is what she wanted, right? Some show of trust, a break in the arguing and tension between each interaction. She even finds herself fighting back a smile at times, distracted from the fucking bizarre circumstances they’re in.

(“Oh, that one?” he asks one morning, wrinkling his nose at the case file in her hand. “That couple was weird.”

“Weird how?”

“They, uh. Called themselves ‘furries?’”)

Laura hates the way her body starts to ease in his presence, knowing that as comfortable as she might start to feel, nothing about this is normal. A significant few pieces of the puzzle are still missing, and there's only one reason that could be.

A wildfire released Silas, but how did it start? Did someone do it intentionally, or was it just cosmic bad luck? And were there any survivors of the rest of the show?

And speaking of that, where the fuck did Harum Scarum come from, anyways? There’s barely anything in the official records for the victims. The ones who were able to be identified didn’t have much in the way of birth records or family name.

It’s like they only existed for the circus, and the moment that went up in flames, everything about their lives vanished, too.

“You have to tell me about the fire,” Laura says with finality on Sunday.

They’re back in his office, and Travis sits on the edge of his desk, one knee higher than the other. It’s hotter than usual today, and he’s broken uniform by rolling up his sleeves and popping a button on his collar.

“It destroyed our community,” Travis replies frankly, taking a drink from the beer clutched loosely between calloused fingers. “It killed dozens. Silas managed to survive.”

“But how?”

“Hay fire. It spread so fast that not many had a chance to escape.” His eyes gain a distant look. “It killed my predecessor, scalped our first responder unit. Set our town back by decades.”

“Is that why…?” Laura waves a hand at the general disarray of the place.

“This?” he asks with a tint of bewilderment. “No, this is a sheriff’s station. It used to be a police department, but that was relocated to a newer building.” He huffs a silent laugh. “Wasn’t necessary in the end, turns out.”

Something still itches in the back of her mind. “There has to be more to this. How could all of this come from something as- as random as a wildfire?”

“Sometimes…” Travis says hesitantly, “life just turns out that way for people like us.”

People like us. Laura scowls. “I don’t buy it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, effectively shutting the conversation down.

“Um, yes, it does,” she says incredulously. “Travis, we don’t know where these people came from or where they were heading next, only that they died here and let loose a freaking werewolf. Every detail matters!”

“We know where they came from,” he says abruptly. “I’ve got records of the last towns they visited before ours. I don’t know where they were heading, no, but… if you think that’s gotta be relevant, then let’s look at them again.”

“Really?”

He leans forward, and his beer lightly taps against his shoe. “Yeah.”

Kaylee stops by on Sunday, too, which strikes her a bit odd because girls their age should honestly have something better to do on the weekend.

She doesn’t mean to judge, and the girl is a total sweetheart, but there’s no way Laura would spend all of her apparent free time with her gloomy uncle.

If she were back home right now, Laura would be trying to soak up as much summer sun as possible. It’s not like they had the money to travel, but if Hackett’s Quarry hadn’t come up as a summer job opportunity, then maybe they would’ve gone on a staycation?

Max’s parents never cleared out her old room, anyways, and they were due for their 25th wedding anniversary trip in August. There would’ve been plenty of room to make the house their own for the week.

But that’s beside the point.

Laura takes one look at Kaylee happily joining them on the main floor, setting up camp at a dusty table, and thinks, Why are you here? Especially on a day like this, where a late afternoon dip in the lake sounds practically divine.

Not to mention she doesn’t have any of her fucking clothes, and it’s only getting hotter! All she’s got are t-shirts and baggy sweatpants that are way too thick for any airflow, and she has to sinch them tight and cuff them at the ankle.

It would raise way too many questions if she outright asks for a pair of shorts in front of his niece, so she just leaves the mop to the side and camps out in front of the dingy little fan set up in the main floor.

“Are there any fun events in the summer for North Kill?” Laura asks when given a window of opportunity. Travis isn’t hovering nearby, and Kaylee’s more than happy to make small talk.

“Fun events? Like, music festivals?”

“Um… like, carnivals, that sort of thing.”

Kaylee blanches. “We haven’t had carnivals in a few years. Sorry, Jess.”

She buries her nose in her painting, and when Travis comes back from the fastest piss on record, Kaylee quietly excuses herself to the restroom and doesn’t return until much later.

It occurs to her when they’re eating dinner one night. She’s zoning off in thought, restless and exhausted at once, when Travis snaps under her unintentional stare.

“You got something you want to share with the class?” he asks with a sneer.

“She needs friends,” Laura blurts without meaning to.

First confusion, then understanding clicks behind his eyes, and his frown sags even deeper. “That’s something you don’t need to worry about.”

“I’m not, like, losing sleep over it,” she says irritatedly.

“No- You, look.” His mouth twists as if he just swallowed something bitter. “Kaylee is… she’s had a rough go of it. And the older she gets, the more of her friends move out of town while she’s stuck behind.”

“Y’know, she could leave town when it isn't the full moon…” Laura starts, but Travis just leans back, resting his head against the wall.

“If she leaves, she’s never coming back.”

“Why?”

He pierces her with brooding eyes under dark lashes. “Would you?”

It’s a fair point, and she can’t necessarily deny it. “Kaylee seems like a smart girl. She knows the risk she’d pose without being contained on a full moon.”

“Smart’s got nothin’ to do with it,” he says tiredly. “I just don’t want her to get her hopes up only for this to be some ploy of yours.”

“I’m not that heartless.” He cocks a brow, and she scoffs. “As if you know anything about me. It’s a good strategy, I’ll give you that. But I won’t. She’s just likable.”

“Yeah, I know. And that’s the problem.”

July 13th, 2022

Travis has her cataloging old parking tickets that are past due, which has Laura lamenting on the honest-to-god devastating gap in automated systems for North Kill. She’s found a steady rhythm, unfortunate for all the unlucky bastards who haven’t paid up yet, when Travis’ radio jolts to life.

“Code eight off of Badinger Road and Crest Hill. Requesting assistance, over.”

Travis tilts his head back, looking at the pockmarked ceiling as if it can answer the call for him. When the caller repeats his message, he meets her stare.

His mouth quirks, and he shrugs ever so minutely as if to say, Well, here it is. “This is Sheriff Hackett. I copy.”

Holy shit. He’s actually leaving.

“Does it sound dangerous?” Kaylee asks, concern lacing her tone.

“Nope,” he says easily, rapping his knuckles against the table as he stands.

“Can I come with?”

“Nope.” He hesitates oh-so briefly, then smirks. “I need you to keep an eye on my intern.”

“Totally!” Kaylee agrees easily. “We’ll stick around, keep ourselves out of trouble…”

Laura bites back a scowl, smiling sunnily up at him. “What about my on-the-job hours?”

He raises his brows, gesturing lazily to the cleaning supplies left on the table, and leaves without a word. Bastard.

“Well, dangit,” Kaylee mutters, grabbing a metal tool to scrape at her canvas. “That radio blurp made me mess up.”

He’s probably going to lock the building doors from the outside, fire risk be damned.

“So… How d’ya like working for my uncle?”

“Huh?” she asks, turning back to Kaylee. The girl has a funny look on her face.

“For years, my uncle’s worked alone. And now you’re here, which means there’s all sorts of dirt you must have on him. Or not, which makes this a bit more fun. Well, from my position, at least.”

“...Dirt?” Laura repeats dumbly. What are they talking about right now?

“Oh, c’mon! Lighten up a bit,” Kaylee says with a crooked grin. “I know how intimidating he can be, being the sheriff and all. But he honestly just cares a lot. My dad’s always said that he wanted to be a cop for as long as he can remember. They’re practically a decade apart, y’know? So, imagine being the much-older brother of two snot-nosed brats.”

She snorts. “Like, y’all would probably get used to reinforcing the rules long before getting out of high school.”

A different image than the strapping young and uniformed Travis comes to mind: a scrawny pre-teen, voice cracking in indignation over being put in charge of two toddlers.

“That… actually makes a lot of sense,” Laura says thoughtfully.

Kaylee nods sagely. “If my dad is half as dumb as he was as a kid, then I can’t imagine what being the eldest would be like. Especially with… well, anyways,” she trails off.

She wants to press, but doesn’t know how appropriate it might be. Curiosity wins over. “Especially with what?” Laura gently inquires.

Kaylee’s mouth twists as if she took a bite out of something sour. “Family stuff. Not really worth sharing, you know?”

“I get it,” she says, accepting the unspoken rejection for what it is.

“How about you?” Kaylee steers the conversation back effortlessly. “What’s your family like?”

Dead, she almost blurts, so accustomed to shutting down the topic before it even starts. But then, Kaylee has no idea who she is, and she’s truly been super kind to her. Being rude would feel like kicking a puppy.

“Honestly…? Pretty fucking awful.”

“Oh!” Kaylee frowns. “Um, sorry to hear. Family can be… kinda hard, huh?”

When Kaylee leaves the silence hanging, Laura chews her lip. “You could say that again.”

“Is that why you left for college?” she asks quietly. Her eyes are fixated on the assortment of paints in her tray.

“Maybe,” Laura says with a small smile. “But I always wanted to work with animals for as long as I can remember.”

“They’re easier than people,” Kaylee agrees.

Laura grins softly. “Totally. The fact that my university was a few hours away just happened to be a huge bonus. And one day, I’m gonna move to the west coast. Get out of New York, and never look back.”

“Wow,” is all she says. Chewed down fingernails fumble around a paintbrush. Finally, “I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

Yes, you can, is almost on the tip of her tongue, but then she remembers, no, she can’t.

There’s a reason Travis’ niece can’t go to college, or leave far from town. Hell, they’re both at this awkward age between high school and college, so who knows when the last time was that she got to hang out with friends who haven’t moved away?

If you aren’t able to at least sort of travel, or stick around in a solid job with coworkers, or go to school, then…

You become lonely.

And now, looking back at the eager way Kaylee has greeted her despite knowing nothing about her, the overt friendliness and blatant inability to recognize red flags… all of it’s starting to make sense.

This curse does more than turn people into demons; it makes them face their own.

“Maybe one day,” Laura says softly, and though the smile she gets back is sad, at least it isn't downright hopeless.

They talk about other things— the latest movies, their favorite artists, trivial pieces that can make up a whole person. That’s how Laura finds out that Kaylee is obsessed with Mean Girls and Coldplay— their old albums, not the new stuff— and that before they moved, her dad took them to a country band concert in Charlotte that inspired her to learn how to paint light.

Travis comes back a little past seven o’clock, flushed and slightly out of breath from no doubt taking the stairs two steps at a time. Upon seeing her in the exact same place that he left her, naked surprise dawns on his face.

“Before you get upset," Kaylee starts, "I made Jess sit and chat with me, for once, instead of polishing your cabinets. Plus, it’s Sunday! She’s basically here all the time.”

Travis lifts an appeasing hand, the earlier shock wrapping up into easy amusement. For all the times he's flopped in keeping a straight face, this an effortless fusion. “Didn’t know you were appointed to be her attorney tonight.”

Kaylee shrugs. “Civil duties and all that.” She gathers her things, leaving the canvas behind to dry. “It was really great hanging out with you again, Jess.” Kaylee smiles gently. “We should exchange numbers!”

“Yes,” Laura agrees instantly.

“No,” Travis says.

Kaylee shifts her eyes between the two, her smile fading into a look of confusion. "What? C'mon, T, it's not like you own her."

Travis’ mouth thins into a grim line. "I can't mix family with work. You know that."

Apparently, she does. Kaylee flushes a mottled red, rage and humiliation twisting her soft features into something that looks a little too sharp.

Feral.

Laura almost takes a step back. But then the storm subsides, and the aftermath is just a hurt, embarrassed girl.

“Right,” Kaylee mutters wetly.

Without another word, she ducks her head and leaves.

July 14th, 2022

“I need you to stay away from my niece,” Travis announces.

Laura snorts, pinning another tack on the map that swamps the back wall of a corner office.

They’ve made good progress since he brought up the apparent endless data on Harum Scarum’s last recorded towns, and the past several evenings have seen a slow march of pins gradually overtake the greater north of New York.

Harum Scarum didn’t have any sort of internet presence on their own, and local newspapers only got them so far. The real treasure trove of information was social media, and Travis definitely kept record.

It looks like a paper bomb went off in the tiny office. Search results from hashtags, groups, and community pages from the last decade are carefully organized by year, then month, spanning the desk, floor and walls. The amount of paper is almost laughable, if it wasn’t so damn much.

Laura gingerly steps between the papers on the floor, keeping an eye out for the next one in the sequence. There it is. Colton, she mouths. Travis steps in her way when she moves to place it.

“I’m serious,” he says.

“When are you not?” she deadpans.

“I’m trying to be reasonable here.”

“Stop talking.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks, and the thin composure he’s been holding since yesterday finally begins to crack. "This is my family you're messing with."

"And this is my life!" she screams over him.

So deal with it, Travis, is what she tries to say next, except her breath comes out in a heave, and her eyes embarrassingly begin to sting. Laura looks away, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.

She hopes he'll move on from it, that this will be another one of those things he never mentions again and they can keep up this back and forth dance that straddles the line between begrudging partners and mortal enemies.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the message.

“I didn’t mean for this to get so… complicated.”

Colton is somewhat north of here and along Raquette River. Can werewolves cross rivers, or do those count as clear water?

“This isn’t— I don’t make a habit of grabbing folks and putting their lives on hold.”

She can’t help it, “You’ve done this before?”

“Absolutely not,” he says earnestly, stepping even closer. “It’s not like I’ve ever had the chance.”

Absently, Laura feels a sense of horror.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says bluntly, obviously reading where her mind has gone. “If I can’t ward them off first, and they manage to stumble head on into this shit like you did and survive, my family always manages to deal with them their own way.”

“Cool,” she says.

He gives her a cold look. “Believe it or not, I’m tired of bloodshed. I did what was best at the time, and these are the consequences.” This is the price for your life.

“But I’ve shown you I can be trusted,” she says fiercely. “Don’t act like I’m just this, this fucking loud-mouth idiot who’s going to run for the hills the moment I get a text.”

“When the fuck have I said that?'' he replies exasperatedly. “This isn’t about you, this is my niece! Kaylee hasn’t had a goddamn normal year since she was sixteen!”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.”

“You don’t get it. Who do you think spent the day with her when prom fell on a full moon? Or when she had to drop out of the marching band ‘cause she missed too many games?”

“I do get it,” she says heatedly. “Woe is you, woe your family, woe your fucking life! But obviously things aren’t working out, so maybe it’s time to try something new!”

“So that’s it, huh?” he asks, face morphing into an ugly sneer. “You’re that shiny knight that’s gonna save my niece? Is that how you see yourself?”

You slimy mother-fucker. Her fury catches a second wind. It’s had all night and day to fester, especially since Kaylee didn’t show up today. The girl’s life is a fucking live-action tragedy, and she’ll be damned if she lets it go down that path any further.

“Kaylee is drowning,” she says with a hiss, “and all she’s got to show for it is a fucking nightmare of a social life, apparently.”

Laura steps right into Travis’ face, forcing him to feel her words.

“Any day now, she’s going to wake up and realize that mauling some rando in a nature reserve is better than staying here another second, wasting away!”

They’re practically chest to chest. He looms over her.

“This conversation is over,” he says quietly. Deadly.

“You know it isn’t. Not till Silas is dead,” she says, voice flat and bone-weary. “Maybe even after.”

They stand there in heavy silence, too much left to say and not enough room for it. All of it is too much to bear— the stacking bodies, the ticking clock on Kaylee’s sanity.

Hell, her own sanity. Sometimes, she wakes up at night with the strong sensation of being watched, only to find no one there. Shadows flutter at the edges of her periphery during the day. And rarely, though she’ll never admit it, Laura can swear her mind doesn’t feel like her own.

It’s like the voice in her head has taken on a serrated edge to it, not unlike the tone that her father used to have before he actually took the plunge.

It terrifies her. She’s been fighting the world’s preconception of her for so fucking long, crawling on hands and knees to appease them. And this? It’s like finding out that maybe they were right.

Maybe she is doomed to turn out like a murderer.

“I can be a friend,” she says, mentally squirming from the road her thoughts went down. Something unreadable flashes across his face. “I want to be Kaylee’s friend. Family can’t be everything.”

He doesn’t respond, and she powers through. "We need other people to fill those spots in our lives. When’s the last time you hung out with friends you weren’t related to?”

Travis blinks, and the walls come back up. Dark, cool eyes appraise her calculatingly, sweeping across her face and dipping below. The already negligible distance between them waxes and wanes with each breath, and she feels the heave of his chest against her own.

Suddenly, the room feels claustrophobic.

“Look up the town of Wildwood,” he says, voice low. His breath tickles the wisps of hair that escaped her ponytail. “The page should be somewhere from 2015.”

“...Huh?”

He rolls his eyes, and the moment breaks. He exits their orbit first, digging through the stacks himself.

She can see the moment he finds it; the line in his back straightens, a perfect portrait of unassuming confidence. He assesses the map with calculative intensity, then makes a beeline for another stack, apparently finding the same thing.

“What is it?”

“I used to visit the old cemetery with my friends back in highschool,” he says, conversationally insane.

Apparently, she’s not the only one with a screw loose. “That’s… not what I asked.”

“It is,” he says simply, “but that’s not the point. The point is, according to this, I wasn’t the only one. Harum Scarum set their circus up next to the cemetery in several of these towns, and I’d bet you these weren’t the only ones.”

“Maybe they liked the spooky vibes?”

He’s pacing now. “‘Spooky vibes,’” he says with agitated finger quotes, “don’t pay the bills like good foot traffic, and these four town cemeteries sure as hell aren’t situated in an ideal spot. Look at the map.”

She does, studying the dots till she finds the little town names that span multiple state forests. But unlike the other dots, these ones are along thin and loping roads, which, for a nomadic freak show, doesn’t seem like the right move. Isn’t the whole point of traveling to get as many towns in as possible?

“So you’re saying they were… hunting down the cemeteries?” she asks. “Looking for what?”

“Well, what do you expect to find in a graveyard?”

“It could also just be the best location for a big group,” she points out with a look, but he shakes his head.

“I’ve been to Parishville and Willisville, too, and both of their cemeteries are situated in the back-end part of town with barely a sliver of field to use.”

“And they set up near North Kill’s cemetery, too?”

Travis nods. “I thought it was a bit bizarre at the time.”

“Plus, it’s in the middle of the woods,” she says absently, remembering the chill of the air that night.

He eyes her with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“The town cemetery,” she says, trailing off at the look on his face. He truly has no idea what she’s saying, and now their progress was being derailed by something else entirely.

“I need you to start from the beginning,” he says, painstakingly calm.

“The first night we got here, when we crashed. I thought I saw something in the woods and…. I saw the leftovers of Silas’ cage.”

Without warning, he grips her shoulders tightly. His fingers curl in her skin, hot and firm like brands.

“That’s not where Harum Scarum burned down.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

He abruptly releases her, stepping back as if scalded. Travis sweeps out of the room, and it’s all she can do to keep up with his long stride and frenetic energy.

He descends the stairs two steps at a time, surprisingly spry for a man his age, and busts through his office doors without breaking stride.

Travis unlocks the cabinet and draws out a shotgun, quickly pocketing several handfuls of bullets before grabbing several gamecams, too.

“What are you going to do?”

“What does it look like?” he asks bluntly, shouldering past her in the doorway.

“You’re going alone?” she calls after him, catching up to his side with a jog. God, the man can move.

“I’ll be back before dawn,” he says evenly. “You don’t need to be a part of this.”

“Travis,” she says with a growl, grabbing him by the sleeve. He jerks to a stop.

“What if you need help subduing him?” she asks slowly, letting the words sink in. “It’s not the full moon, yet. The poem made it clear. He has to be a werewolf to end this.”

Dark eyes bore into her own. Piece by piece, his wariness crumbles away until blatant curiosity and, dare she call it, admiration stands clear as day. Like calls to like, and it’s obvious that this is the moment he sees her for what she truly is.

Dangerous.

“I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “I hope you’re ready for a long night, Ms. Kearney.”

#another lost soul #laura kearney #the quarry #travis hackett #the quarry fanfic #the quarry fanfiction #laura kearneyxtravis hackett

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its-tea-time-darling · 8 months ago

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totally agree with you that wicked's ONLY plan being to find a cure was the dumbest fucking thing ever like it's soooooo dumb i can't even. FULLY agreed that they should - if not focus all of their resources on then at least a SIGNIFICANT amount on building communities of immunes exactly as you sketch out.

i think the problem in this situation is that wicked is run by non-immune adults: their interests at the end of the day are not the interests of humanity at large; instead they are skewed to value their own stakes as non-immunes higher than the survival of the human race.

i think this makes even more sense in the books where i feel like it was implied that basically a lot of the adults working for wicked had been infected for a long, long time, and that basically being infected made them more prone to making truly terrible big picture decisions.

but even if they're not flare infected i think their complete failure to have a backup plan to the cure is due to them not wanting to imagine a world where they themselves might not make it.

all of this said in my personal interpretation of it all i tend to disentangle wicked's failures and teresa's decisions as two different things.

it's true that teresa could have realized getting immunes to a safe place would be just as crucial to humanity's survival as finding a cure (although if we stay in movieverse it doesn't seem as though there were enough immunes around to ensure a genetically stable and diverse group of people to basically repopulate the earth if all the infected die out (actually... cranks can't reproduce, right? anyway side thought lmao)) (to which one could say that trying to find more immunes could help there ofc), BUT we have to remember that

1) she has grown up with the mindset that the cure is the only way, and without being an expert i'd call her growing up with wicked cult like, and i think it makes sense that thinking outside the box might be very difficult under these circumstances. thomas and the others do it, but - and here we disagree i think - i do think that the amount of trauma teresa suffered at a young age (different ones for books and movies but both severely traumatic) would have lead to developmental differences between her and thomas / the other gladers (depending on their backstory).

2) even if a part of her realizes that getting immunes to safety at this point would be good, it is not in teresa's power in any way whatsoever to change the course of what wicked tries to do. so her possible courses of action are only either go to safe haven w the right arm OR betray the others to wicked.

like. there is no meaningful alternative. she could have gone to wicked on her own, that's a different decision on an individual level. but if we're talking abt the MORAL choice options she has, it's only 2. which horse do you want to bet on: the cure, or the safe haven repopulation plan?

and she choses the cure. like, at this point of the plot it was an either or choice. and even if she would have agreed that repopulation via immune communities would have been a very good different course of action when it all started, she's been close enough to the science of it all (once she gets her memories back and was possibly updated on the science progress after the maze) to make a call of judgement that at this point in time, the chances are high enough for a cure she thinks it makes sense to go for the last push.

and actually, she is right! the cure has been produced during the maze trials!

ofc as you say the distribution problem of how thomas' blood would actually be turned into a cure is still there. idk enough abt biology to have any idea of how it might work.

but having a cure is sure as hell giving humanity a much better shot at surviving - and be it only to solve the problem of genetic diversity for repopulation!

eg if the immunes fled to safe haven but they're not enough people to ensure genetic diversity in offspring then offering the cure to anyone they can reach will add more people to this pool.

teresa didn't know wicked had a "by the rich for the rich" scheme going on - as evident by her surprise and disgust when janson launches his speech.

(also let me just add that the repopulation thing would morally be tricky work too, like would there be pressure on all people with uteruses to produce babies? the more people you can get on a secluded place for repopulation the higher the chance that a society like that wouldn't resort to forcing people to get pregnant. (also bc imagine that the sanitary and medicinal conditions to savely give birth would probably be hard to come by in this setting.)

anyway! this got really long but

1) i 100% agree with you abt the horrible grade wicked is getting in trying to ensure the survival of the human race, but

2) disagree on the conclusion that teresa was stupid for doing what she did because of point 1.

it was interesting to read your thoughts, and i also rly enjoyed to lay out my thoughts extensively like this, so i hope you don't mind the addition!!!

~ tea

thomas vs teresa

i will never EVER understand why people side with teresa. "but her mom died-" yeah and like everyone else on earth during that time. every single person during the flare lost someone so idk why people feel bad for her (also before people say anything about her before wicked and her true story and stuff, i read all the books including fever code and kill order so i know everything about her story, thanks.) yeah okay her story is sad but that doesn't mean she's necessarily good. i understand that she's trying to do the "right" thing, and i respect that, but she's literally stupid. wicked's operation is stupid. anyone with more than two brain cells can understand that. instead of spending like a billion dollars on trying to find a cure, wicked should focus on protecting the immune kids instead of torturing and killing them. firstly, wicked found a cure like 15 years too late. basically everyone was dead by then. but let's say that wicked found a cure in the few months of the flare. how would it be transmitted? the flare was artificially made, transmitted by bullets. there would not be enough of the cure for all of the infected. the cure cannot be artificially created (this is stated in scorch trials book and movie) thomas is the only person who can make the cure, but his body cannot produce blood fast enough for everyone on the planet. by this time, wicked should've already realized that finding a cure was a lost cause and should try to save as many immune people as possible. instead of building a multi-million dollar death maze, they should've started creating a safe haven (like the one in the end of death cure.) fortunately, ava paige and jansen aren't complete boneheads, but they built the last city in a very very bad location. you could assume that with the modern technology that wicked has (considering the fact that they literally created teleportation) they would be able to start a new civilization on mars or something. but let's say they couldn't. instead of having the location of the last city public, it should've been built on an island, in the middle of absolutely nowhere. (to prevent angry raiders that aren't immune or newly infected to raiding it or something. kinda like in death cure how they infiltrated the city and everything went to crap.) this would be a temporary location. wicked could send out an army to clear out, for example, iceland or another small country and slowly build their way up to bigger countries. they could build more and more bases and soon enough people would reproduce. the stronger wicked gets, the more cranks they'll be able to clear out with bigger armies. within 10 to 15 years, the world would be mostly clean and wicked would be able to slowly rebuild humanity. there you go. i just solved all of wicked's problems (your welcome ava and jansen, you could repay me with newt's number iykwim.) anyways, this is why i think wicked is stupid and why i don't support teresa (because she supports wicked and also she's the reason why a bunch of people died in the right arm and got newt killed so...) people are allowed to support and like whatever character but in MY opinion, teresa is really stupid or really selfish to sacrifice an entire group of people AND betray her friends to create a cure that will do absolutely nothing.

#tmr #long post

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early20sfailingplenty · 3 years ago

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I want some good days // Bo x Lily // PERSONALISED fic ~ 💖

For @imbleedin-out (lots of these forehead kisses for you because Bo loves you lots and that’s that!!!!🥺🥺🥺💞💞💞)

Summary: Nick shoots Bo, and you run to your Sinclair like your life depends on it. Bo’s most certainly does. You fought like hell to be with him, to stay with him, and you’d be damned in more than one way if someone dared to take your Bo away from you. You do everything you can to help him, to be there for him, and in this way do you only strengthen the life bond between you. Bo was shot, like a wounded animal was he, but you were there to ground him, to keep him safe, to love him. You wouldn’t stand for anything else, and Bo wouldn’t expect anything less.

TW; Lily is morally grey as FUCK in this (sorry honey, you gotta be to survive in Ambrose!), Bo is injured (CANON TYPICAL VIOLENCE WITH A CROSSBOW, BLOOD, DEPICTIONS OF SEVERE PAIN), swearing, graphic descriptions of the aforementioned triggers, LOTS of swearing (Lily, Bo). If you couldn’t stomach that scene then I’d skip this entire piece, really. THERE IS FLUFF I 100% PROMISE!!! THIS IS A FIX IT FIC!!!💞💞💞💞💞

PLEASE NOTE: Vincent doesn’t verbally communicate, so his dialogue is ASL, indicated with italics to distinguish it from others’ speech.

Word count: 3, 966.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This entire night had gone so wrong in so many ways that even thinking about where it had all started was making you dizzy. Was it when Lester had set his sights on a larger group of people than normal? Was it when he had only sabotaged one fan-belt so there was a higher chance of the tourists being able to get out of the situation they had found themselves in? Was it when Bo had antagonised the group so that they were already on edge and wary of strangers even before they had arrived in Ambrose? Was it when Bo and Vincent’s communication wasn’t as clear cut as it usually was, so they were split up and apart from one another without realising the danger they were placing themselves in? Was it when Bo had underestimated the tourists and vice versa? Maybe the twins had had an off day and it had impacted their entire performance? Maybe you were the one at fault...?

You never stayed around when the twins were killing people. You loved them, you did, and you had found your forever home with the Sinclairs, but that didn’t mean that you weren’t going to hide away when their fun and games began. You didn’t fear them, the very idea was ridiculous to you; so deeply did you love them. Especially Bo. But even so, you didn’t like being on the hunting grounds. You knew what happened. You knew. You were no stranger to Vincent’s tracking, to his cruelty or to Bo’s brutality. Having seen them up close and personal when they worked, you much preferred to wait in the house, keeping yourself busy with the general upkeep of the house and performing your various other responsibilities and duties. You made things easier on the brothers by keeping yourself safe and out of the way, which gave them less to worry about. Especially Bo; protective almost to the point of possessiveness was he. It was a trait he shared with Vincent, among many others.

They were more alike than they liked to admit to, most especially in the ways which defined who they were as people. They were wild, untamed, as enigmatic as the ocean and just as deep in their complexity. When one thought they knew a Sinclair, something was said or done to completely flip that idea on its head; impossible was it to fully know someone. Most humans barely knew their own selves and spent their lives filling up quiet moments with distractions so that they didn’t have to face their own realities, but the Sinclairs reveled in who they were. They knew who they were, they knew what they were about, and they dedicated their lives to their mother’s vision. It was more than simply paying respect; it was finishing what she started, continuing her legacy in the only way they knew how. And, oh, what fun they had while they did it.

It was already getting dark, the streets quickly becoming more ominous and foreboding. The neon lights which kept the streets alive in the twins’ illusion of a quaint but welcoming town made you wince, so bright were they and so sensitive were your eyes. It seemed as though those wide lanes were closing in on you. You began to feel constricted, anxiety and panic building within you rapidly as your steady paces began to speed up until you were running, your feet pounding the pavement.

Something was wrong.

Something was really, really wrong.

This wasn’t your usual level of anxiety and worry. This was bone deep chills, a sense that you had to get to the cinema now because something awful was happening. In one hand was held your phone, Bo’s mobile number already dialled. If this feeling persisted, you would phone him. You had to know that he was all right, that he was safe... that he was alive. Oh, but that was it, wasn’t it? Bo was your everything. He had, in the time you had known him, become your ultimate comfort. He was your safe space, your home, the love of your life. He was so much more than even you knew how to articulate, especially to yourself, and you didn’t know what you would do if you lost him. If something or someone took him away from you, there wouldn’t be anything left to hold you here. You needed him, you wanted him... you loved him.

The urge to cry out for Bo was almost overwhelming, but you didn’t want to make any more sound than you already were. It would advertise your whereabouts even more than your footsteps did, and it wasn’t something you could risk doing. You knew not where Bo was, but something in you, something truly primal, was telling you to go to the cinema and you willed your legs to get you there faster. Your lungs and legs burned alike, oxygen deprivation making your body burn, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. The burn in your body right now was nothing compared to the physical and emotional agony you would feel later on if something terrible happened to Bo.

Your Bo.

Yeah... he was your Bo. The grip you had on your phone tightened as you tried to clench your fists, and the sudden mental grounding which came from realising that you were holding onto something helped you to somehow push your legs faster, further. You rounded the corner and sped towards the cinema, getting there just as a sickening thwack followed by a pained noise and the sound of a body hitting the carpeted floor greeted your ears. Your every nerve was on fire, your senses overwhelmed and your emotions in overdrive. You were overstimulated and you needed a minute to breathe, a moment to gather your senses, but reality would grant you no such favour.

You knew before you were fully inside the cinema that Bo was the one who was injured, and you wasted no time in running to his side. You whimpered as if his injuries were your own to see that he had one arrow digging into his arm and one in his chest. His injuries were severe, the pain beyond measure, the need for you stronger than it had been in all the time the two of you had known each other, loved each other. A sob ripped from your throat to see him like this, and you dropped to your knees beside him. Tears poured hot and fast down your face and ran down your chin, falling onto his prone form like rain. Oh, but it hurt to see him as he was. Groans and grunts of pain were all that you could get from him, until his head suddenly lolled to the side and Bo moved no more.

Your heart was in your throat obstructing your every breath as you dialled Vincent’s number with hands that trembled so badly it took you five attempts to get his number right. He picked up on the second ring, a question, no, a demand in his silence. “V-Vincent. B-bo’s... hurt and I don’t know if he’s alive and I - “ A pained whimper came from the other side of the phone and you heard everything that the younger twin was saying. He didn’t interrupt you again, so you just said, “Cinema. Please, Vincent, I - I don’t - Bo!” You broke down into full bodied sobs, almost screaming into the phone. It was too much. It was all too much. The fear, the pain, the uncertainty, the love... Over the roaring of blood in your head could you hear Vincent’s rough rumbling voice; it sounded like he was trying to shush you, mimicking the ‘tch-tch-tch’ noise which Bo always made whenever he was comforting you. How Vincent knew that sound and what it meant to you, you had little idea, but in the grand scheme of things did it work as you then heard the roaring of an engine.

Vincent was on his way.

Things would be okay.

Right.

Right?

It was fifty-fifty, stood were you three at a crossroads.

There were no second chances this night. There was only the here and the now, the do or the die.

You felt sick to your stomach, but you and Vincent stayed on the line with one another; giving and receiving comfort in the other’s presence in equal measures, until a yellow pickup truck came screaming around the corner and screeched to a halt. Vincent was out of the truck in seconds, running over to you and to Bo. You had the presence of mind to end the call while Vincent’s hands fluttered over his brother’s body, fingers wiggling as he tried to determine the extent of his twin’s injuries.

You both knew this was bad.

Your body dropped, slumping forward and down until your forehead was resting against Bo’s stomach. You inhaled deeply, one of your hands coming to squeeze Bo’s own. A hand landed gently on the back of your head as Vincent stroked along your hair in solid, slow movements. He was comforting himself and you at the same time, showing you as best as he could that he was there with you while his critical eye examined his brother. No touching until he had made a diagnosis; he couldn’t - wouldn’t - risk further injuring his brother. You weren’t alone. None of you were. You all had each other. Of the three of you, Vincent was the one with the medical knowledge. He was the one who had always patched Bo up in the past, and this situation would be no different. Between Vincent’s clinical approach to injuries and your own quick thinking, Bo would pull through.

He had to.

You and Vincent wouldn’t allow anything else.

The fingers in your dark hair tapped against your scalp, and you shifted your head just enough to be able to look at Vincent. Once he saw that he had your full attention, he raised his hands and began to sign slowly and clearly. There could be no room for mistakes or miscommunications; not when Bo was so badly injured and the stakes were so damn high.

He’s not dead, Lily. Unconscious. Pain too much.

As if to contradict his brother, such was his character, Bo moved his head and groaned lowly. You and Vincent froze and then sprung into action. You stood up, moving away from Bo so that Vincent could wrap his arms around his brother and bring him home, holding Bo tightly to his chest. Bo moaned at being jolted despite how slow and tenderly Vincent was touching him, and Vincent let out a pained noise of his own.

“It’s gonna be all right, Vincent,”

One blue eye looked at you with intent, Vincent’s every nerve fixed on you. Were you anyone else, he would have immediately dismissed your words. But you were Lily. You were Bo’s Lily, and as such, Vincent gave you the honour of being listened to. He needed you just as much as you needed him, just as much as Bo needed the both of you. Who would he be to ignore you in a time of great need and impending doom?

He’d be no one, just as he would be without his twin.

“We’ve got him now. He’s safe with us.” Your eyes were rimmed red, the surrounding flesh puffy. You looked so pretty in your pain, matched ounce for ounce was it by Vincent. He wore it better than you did, if only because he internalised everything and did very little to give his distress away. It was only the slight tremor in his hands, the speed of his movements and the reverence with which he touched Bo that told of his true feelings. Vincent was as torn up as you were; the both of you felt Bo’s injuries like they were your own. It was just how you three worked; you shared so much of yourselves, and what happened to one was felt by all.

No Sinclair was ever left behind or alone.

Not anymore.

A decisive nod by way of thanks (for what? You were unsure, but the time for thinking was over. There was only actions. Everything else could wait when the situation was time critical) and then Vincent was gone, rushing towards the truck. He laid Bo across the backseat just as soon as you joined him to wrench the door open, throwing yourself gracelessly over the back of the passenger seat so that you could get there quicker. Vincent was moving just as quickly as you, and he took the roads he knew to be the smoothest until the three of you arrived back at the house. The journey was silent, your nerves alight just as Vincent’s were. The only sounds you could hear were Bo’s strained whimpers and quiet groans, which only made Vincent white-knuckle the steering wheel and caused tears to continually fall down your face. You didn’t think you had cried this much in a long time, and, oh, how a conscious Bo would have hated to be the one to make you cry when the meaning behind it was a negative one.

In what seemed like forever and yet simultaneously was it no time at all did you and Vincent have Bo laid out on the pool table in the living room, the balls thrown carelessly onto the sofa. It was the nearest surface and it would have to do. Bo was time critical and you were both painfully aware of that.

Vincent gestured for your attention and then signed, bathroom, cupboard next to toilet. First aid kit. Hurry.

You were gone, rushing to get the necessary supplies; you moved quicker than you thought possible and you were back beside Vincent so fast with the first aid kit in hand that you felt physically dizzy as your mind struggled to keep up with your feet. You swiped a hand impatiently over your face and held the same hand which you had clutched on the dirty cinema floor while Vincent injected Bo with a local anaesthesia before pushing the arrow in Bo’s arm all the way through, the feathers sticking to the wood as Vincent made a clean hole. Arrows tore more flesh and caused more damage if they were pulled out the way they entered the body, this Vincent knew, so to push it through to make a clean hole was more pain, yes, but it was less damage and easier healing. He had to be brutal, quick and sure in his movements. He had to be strong for his twin and stronger still for you, who was doing everything she could.

Vincent took strength from you as much as he gave it, and when it came time to surgically remove the arrow in Bo’s chest did the injured man begin to scream. You choked on a sob, panic rising in your chest, your hands shaking and your body aching. Vincent, too, was struggling, but you could see even with the mask on his face that his jaw set, his shoulders straightened and he looked like the last thing most tourists to the town saw as he made his incision and dug the arrowhead out of Bo’s flesh. Bo was screaming, even with the anaesthetic (which hadn’t been given enough time to settle into his bloodstream), and begging. He spoke your name over and over like a prayer, your name Bo’s only grip on reality as Vincent was brutal, clinical. Finally, when the three of you couldn’t take it anymore and desperation, panic and fear was becoming a deadly concoction capable of causing fatal mistakes to one already so severely injured, it was done, and Vincent slammed the knife down and threw his hands up, as if to say, done, it’s done.

Bo was sobbing and you matched him in every aspect of it as you cupped his face in your shaking, trembling hands. Your thumbs dashed away the tears on his cheeks and you bent down to press a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - “ Who was Bo apologising to? For what? Neither you nor Vincent knew (though there were suspicions, even he couldn’t say for sure), but you assumed your places at either side of Bo’s head. You pressed kisses all over his forehead and cheek, one hand tightly gripping one of Bo’s and the other one in his hair, sticky and matted with sweat and other oils, and Vincent had a hand on his brother’s lower arm, stroking up and down in smoothing motions and making quiet noises to placate the older twin. He still had to bandage the chest wound, but Bo’s comfort and safety was slightly more important to your thinking, and indeed Vincent’s, too.

Vincent got your attention again with a hand gesture and thrust the bandages at you before he signed, take care of Bo. Got some work to do. There won’t be anything left of them. His hands shook with barely suppressed rage and bloodthirstiness and you shuddered to think of what the bodies would look like. Vincent would catch up to them, and the teenagers would rue the moment they stepped into Lester’s pickup truck. Before Vincent left, he signed once more, please take care of Bo. Very special to us. Trust you.

You smiled, the gesture watery and shaky at every possible stage. “I trust you too, Vincent. Please be careful! I’m scared for you - for all of us.” Tears dripped from your beautiful eyes and your voice trembled just like your body as you admitted to arguably the scariest Sinclair just how affected you were. Any of you could still die tonight and you were feeling more fear than you had ever felt in your two decades of life.

We’ll keep you safe. Please keep Bo safe, too.

“What about you, Vin?” You were almost pleading with him to stay, but Vincent’s mind was made up. His blue eye, soft when he looked at you, hardened into ice, and he signed,

I can take care of me. They won’t see me coming. Won’t be anything left for the animals when I’m done with them.

A cold shiver ran up your back and you nodded at Vincent, accepting him at his word. He was so much like Bo, especially when he was pissed off or insulted somehow. This was the worst slight for the man; he feared nothing more than having Bo taken away from him and he would not say such things unless he meant them. “Give ‘em hell for us, Vin!” The nod Vincent gave you before he turned and left made you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. You knew that the tourists would get what was coming to them. You felt a bit sad that you wouldn’t get to see it, but that was okay; you could just ask Vincent later, or even get Lester to show you the bodies if you really wanted to see what the younger twin had done.

You were ripped out of your silent reverie as you worked on bandaging up his chest by Bo coughing and then groaning low in his throat, his hand weakly patting at your hip. You turned and gave him the full extent of your attention, and Bo smiled. “Ya’ look like an angel w’the light behind ya’ like that.”

Confusion met his words until you realised that the harsh white light overhead made it look like you had a halo. With a shaky smile did you say, “The halo is held up by my invisible horns.”

“Invisible? Don’t’cha mean - “ Bo chuckled but then winced and your hands fluttered over his body much like Vincent’s had earlier that night as you sought to comfort him. Bo’s hands came up and caught your own and he interlaced his fingers with yours, holding them as tight as he could. His grip was strong despite the overwhelming amount of pain he was in, and you took that as a good sign that he was going to be fine. It would be a rocky road to a full recovery, though. “Where’s Vincent?”

“Gone on a well deserved murder spree.”

Bo whistled as best as he could, “That bad, huh?”

“Yes.” Your voice was hard, your jaw aching, your body trembling, your eyes sore, your heart pained, and Bo’s gaze sharpened. His eyes were hazy with pain and with the anaesthetic that was now beginning to absorb into his bloodstream, but he still had it in him to squeeze your hands, tugging you closer to him, and closer still until you felt compelled to climb up on the pool table with him. You were physically uncomfortable but you dared not move around too much, not wanting to jostle Bo even though you were on his uninjured side. You cuddled into him lightly and Bo made a noise of discontent. You heard him, so attuned to him were you, and you allowed your head to rest fully on his broad shoulder, your hair spilling over him like a dark halo.

You melted into Bo and he allowed it to happen without making any sarcastic comment. He needed the comfort, the touch, the reassurance just as much as you did, and you peppered his face with kisses, leaning over slightly so that you could better reach all of Bo’s face. There was no side of him you didn’t love, no part of him you didn’t know intimately literally and metaphorically, and there was nothing he could say or do which would ever change the way you felt about him. Bo welcomed every touch, every kiss, every sigh of relief, everything you offered him. His good arm wrapped around you and he pulled you down, down, so that you could nuzzle your face in his neck, where again did you bestow hungry kisses to every inch you could find. You wished you could climb atop him, your thighs straddling his hips and your upper body looming over him so that you were all he could see, feel, touch, taste, but with his injuries as they were, you could only do half of what you wanted to. It was better than nothing, for this night could have taken a much worse turn, but it was enough.

It had to be.

Alive, alive, alive, my Bo’s alive. A mantra did you repeat in your mind, trying to come to terms with the night’s trauma, and Bo soaked up your affections, needing them just as much as you did. Every time you pulled away, he would only pull you back, wanting you there with him. He matched you grip for grip, kiss for kiss, as best as he could. The adrenaline crash soon got the better of the both of you, though, and you together drifted into uneasy naps right there on the pool table in each other’s arms, where a blood-soaked Vincent would discover you hours after he had left the house, trusting you to look after his brother. Though he knew his trust in you was never misplaced, he couldn’t help the overwhelming relief to know that you had done as you had promised, Bo’s face creased in pain but very much alive. He would leave you both there, only throwing a blanket over your bodies. It was just too risky to move Bo, and you were exhausted. Vincent crashed on the couch, staying with his family, with Jonesy atop Vincent so that she could get her cuddles. She had missed her human.

Come hell or high water, the Sinclairs stuck together so fiercely that even Death bowed out of the way.

#bo sinclair #bo's muse #lily sinclair

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micer2012 · 3 years ago

Text

no cure is coming, you know (LLSMP Fic)

A few months into Last Life, Skizz and Tango are some of the only members to still hold onto their humanity. With Tango the only member on dark green and Skizz on yellow, Skizz is cursed as the Boogeyman at the beginning of their session. He knows that without hesitation, without question Tango will give one of lives to him… and that’s exactly the problem. [3k words] [crossposted on ao3]

just trust in me, my dear… no cure is coming near.

“Skizz! Countdown time!”

Skizz heard Tango’s voice coming from one of the top layers of their castle, their home. He put down the axe he had been using and ran inside the castle, shutting the door behind him.

“Boogey time?” Skizz called. “Boogey time, my brother!” Tango responded, barreling down the stairs to meet Skizz.

And right on cue, as the moon hit the highest point in the sky, the countdown began in their heads. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

Silence filled their home.

“Nothing. You good?” “Yeah! Yeah, ob-viously. What, were you worried?”

Tango laughed. “I- I mean a little. I gotta be worried a little. There’s what.. 5 non-reds left?”

“And MY teammate is the only one who’s still on dark green.” Skizz boasted, hand on his chest.

Tango punched him playfully, snickering. “Don’t get so high and mighty! I went from.. What, 11 lives? Down to a measly 4.” “That’s only because you were such a good sport about it, Tango Tops. You coulda kept those for yourself, y’know. Been the schamaze of all time.”

“Ha!. Suppose it would have been. But- but I bet we’d have FAR more enemies. It would not have been a good idea to be on that many people’s bad sides that early…” “I coulda took em.”

Tango laughed again. “Y’think? Etho and Bdubs? Cleo?” “I coulda took em. If they were trying to hurt my best friend.”

Tango smiled sadly at him, before looking down. “I wouldn’t want you to lose any more of your own lives because of My theoretical jerk move.” Skizz just looked at his friend, before sitting down on the floor, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Well, Theoretically, I wouldn’t lose any lives then! I’d just do a super good job, and kill them down to 0.” Tango let out another laugh. “Says the guy who lost his life to a mob!”

Skizz pointed his finger accusatory at Tango, still criss-cross applesauce on the ground. “Hey, it wasn’t a ’’’mob’’’ it was a BABY ZOMBIE. You KNOW how much I hate those Lil’ annoying kids! Those- Those are more dangerous than most of the people on this server. THEY are the ones with the bloodlust, I’m tellin you.”

Tango laughed again. “Heh, suppose you’re right. At least it wasn’t an enderman, right?” Skizz narrowed his eyes. Yellow, but the sclera were still tinted purple from the… events of the previous season. “Tango Tops, if I had lost my first life to an enderman AGAIN, I think I would have just quit the server.” Tango snickered. “True that! True that. Alright, I’m gonna go back to my scouting.” Skizz pushed himself up from the floor. “Of course! I’ll be.. I think I might go caving.” Tango turned back to meet his eyes. “W… Will you be far from the base?”

Skizz paused, and then shook his head, hands up. “No, no! Just like, tunneling nearby. I won’t.. I’m not leaving our base, I’m not leaving you here with the.. With those Swarms.”

Tango nodded. “Of course, of course just.. Just checking. Are.. Are you sure you want to go out alone? The boogeyman just got chosen and- and you’re… one of the 4 victi-”

“Hey, don’t you talk like that. You’re a much higher target than me, and you Know I can take care of myself, right?” Tango looked to him, then looked away. “I’m just.. On- on second thought, you’re sure you don’t want me to come? We can go mining together, better- better to have eachother’s backs.” “Then the castle will be unprotected.” “I don’t care. Better it get raided than us.” “No, this- this is our Last bastion. We CAN’T let this fall, then.. Then we’d have nothin’, Tops!”

Tango’s eyes were soft when he looked back up at Skizz. “If I lose you, then I’ll have nothing.”

Skizz was taken aback. He froze for a few moments, before walking over and putting his black-stained hands onto Tango’s shoulders. “Hey, d-don’t talk like that. I’m not going anywhere! F-FIRST sign of danger, I’m calling you and running back home. Okay, buddy?” Tango nodded. “Yeah.. Yeah. Okay. Be-be careful.” Skizz patted his shoulders, before walking out to leave the base. “Of course, Tops! Nothing bad’s ever gonna happen to your buddy Skizz.”

❤❤❤

You are the boogeyman. You must by any means necessary kill a green or yellow name by direct action to be cured of the curse. If you fail, next session you will become a red name. All loyalties and friendships are removed when you are the boogeyman.

Skizz looked down at the message sent to him on his communicator, hands shaking so much it was hard to read the screen.

But he didn’t need to read the screen, he had heard the message beamed loud and clear into his own head. He- He had lied and Tango had believed it. Tango would believe anything he said. He knew that- He- He knew the second he told Tango he was the boogeyman, his friend would immediately let him take one of his lives and free Skizz from the curse. He probably wouldn’t even be mad that Skizz had lied to him earlier.

Skizz had dug himself a hole in the wall of one of the mountains near their base, 10 deep and covered up. He paced the 3x2 room he had made now, this tomb, ranting to himself. He needed to get his thoughts out SOME way.

“Ok. So.So I-I’ve gotta get SOMEONE. A green or y.. Oh, this WHOLE time too I thought killing one of the reds would be fine- THAT would be too easy huh?? We’ve got HOARDS and hoards of hostile reds trying to hunt us down every moment, targeting us like mobs- but NOO. Nooo, it’s gotta be one of the people who’ve still got humanity, huh? Cruel. CRUEL trick to play on Skizz.”

Hand on his head, he scrolled through the list of names on the communicator. He and Cleo were on yellow, BigB and Lizzie were on green… Tango was on dark green. He scrolled back down, cutting off Tango’s name. No. No, that was off the table.

“T..Tango Tops has got the best chance of winning right now out of all of us. Even- not just Life wise, but he’s sharp. Tango’s a sharp cookie. Right now, he’s got the best shot of winning.”

He kept looking at his communicator, before shoving it back into his pocket and groaning, hand on his face. “GAAAGHH, WHY DOES IT GOTTA BE A GREEN OR YELLOW?? L--Lizzie and BigB and Cleo, they’re still up this long because they’re Set up. They’ve Got an alliance, they- they’re untouchable to the reds. I surely won’t be able to be touching them!! ‘Specially without Tango’s help!!” He gripped his face, growling again, before punching the cobblestone wall to the side of him. “And-And I CAN’T tell Tango this. I’m not bringing him into some.. Into some yellow and green fistfight. He’s gotta stay safe, he’s the biggest target on the server.” Skizz was breathing heavily, adrenaline that had been building up leaving as his hand stood in place in the small crater he had made in the wall. “He..He’s gotta stay safe. He’s got the biggest chance of surviving out of everyone. I..” Skizz withdrew his fist, balling it up and rubbing it with his other hand. It hurt. “I can’t do that to him. I’m not gonna be the one who hinders my buddy’s chance.”

The adrenaline gone, Skizz just stood in his little 2x3 box, the chill of what he had to do running up his spine. He kept running his hand over his other hand. “I...I can’t do that to him.”

❤❤❤

He had memories of being reckless and running into battle. Of- Of the loyalty to his friends and the stab of betrayal overcoming his senses, along.. Along with the drive to kill. The drive to dig his sword through Impulse’s heart, through Grian’s, through Tango’s, it.. It was the worst feeling he had ever felt in his life, and it had completely enveloped him.

He remembered Ren crying out, asking him what he was doing. He had convinced himself he was doing it for their benefit, right? Skizz had screamed, as he ran towards the castle, he was doing it for the Red Army. For the only people who defended him. For the only people who gave him a chance. And that chance he had immediately squandered, leaving the Red Army with 1 man less the coming week and.. And leading to Skizz having to watch his friends run into a battle that all of them knew they weren’t going to be coming out of. Skizz had known that when he surged the Crastle too. This was a death game, only one person could make it out alive, and they were all resigned that they were not gonna be that lucky winner.

Skizz ran his hand over the scars around his mouth. Vertical slits where his face had torn itself open, enderman hostility Not mixing well with his human anatomy. His arms were stained black too, not that he had noticed, taken how often they had been stained with blood.

A voice that sounded like his own was talking in the back of his head, reminding him that He was the boogeyman, and reminding him of what he needed to do. Like he could forget.

❤❤❤

Tango was holding his hand, and the two of them were bolting. A swarm of reds, what used to be the southlanders, was chasing them, and their base was already compromised. There were only a few minutes left of this session, if- if the two of them could just get to safety-

“HERE! TANGO, FOLLOW ME!” Skizz let go of Tango’s hand and started digging into the wall, into the cobblestone he had used to patch up his Vent Hole from earlier today. Tango followed after him, panting, as they dug their way into the wall and closed the opening behind them.

“Th...D’ya think we’re safe here?” Tango managed between breaths. Skizz was breathing heavily too, holding his chest. It sounded like the man was about to pass out, whole body leaning onto the cave wall. “Skizz.. Woah, Skizz buddy, take some breaths. The sessions almost over I- I think we’re good.”

When Tango went to go put his hand onto Skizz’s shoulders, he jolted back, chest still heaving.

“Th.. The sessions almost over?” The words sounded incredibly pained.

“Y-Yeah. Few minutes til midnight.” “Few minutes til midnight…” Skizz stuck on the words, and then slumped down against the wall, falling into a sitting position. He was still holding his chest.

“I don’t think anyone’s been killed by the boogeyman yet, right? All the deaths have been red.”

Skizz, still slumped over, did not react to this news.

“...This’ll be the first week where the killer fails, if something doesn’t happen in the next minute..”

A pained sob was expelled from Skizz, shaking his entire body.

“S-Woah, Skizz? Are you- did you get hit? I have regen potions, are- what’s wrong?”

Skizz was shaking now, trying to not make noise as the tears ran down his face. He was failing.

“Talk to me man, use your words. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.” Tango was kneeling next to him, also on the floor now.

The tears hurt Skizz as they surged down his face.. A kind of singing burn, like his cheeks were being branded. It had been happening ever since 3rd Life ended, a side effect of the whole enderman thing. It was excruciatingly painful when he was crying big, painful, tears like now, but not as painful as his mind was. Not as painful as knowing what he had to do was.

He could hear the countdown in his own mind. Second by second it ticked by, and the letters filled his brain and his vision with large red text. It was screaming at him. He was screaming back at it, desperately trying to get it to shut up. There were other voices in his mind too, screaming and crying and tugging at him. He can’t do this, He has to do this, Why won’t he get it over with and do it already? He’s learned nothing from last season, keeping this in is just gonna make this more painful for both of them, he deserves all this pain for what he put Tango through.

He was gripping himself with both his arms now, shaking. All of his senses were screaming that he had T-60 seconds left to kill a green or yellow name.

“I.. I-” Skizz managed, voice cracking. “Yes?” “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Oh!” Tango moved away from his best friend slightly. “Uh, Here, I have a bucket. Let me pour out the water.. Here. Here you go, buddy.”

Skizz was holding the bucket now. His darkstained hands were holding on so tight, it looked like the steel might crack. Not just his hands now, it looked.. It looked like his entire arms were turning black in a veinlike pattern. Tango couldn’t see his face.

Skizz kept hold on the bucket. T-50 seconds left. He had to get on with it.

Skizz slowly moved his hands to the buckles of his chestplate, and started undoing them.

“Wh- What are you doing? Are you hot?”

Skizz pulled the chestplate over his head, and set it aside. “I-I uh Drats I just. Poured out the water. Um, I’ve got.. potio-”

“Tango. Look at me.”

Tango turned back and focused his eyes on his friend. The tears were still running down his face leaving burnmarks on his cheeks, his eyes were still covered, his.. His chestplate was off. The blackness in his veins ran across all the space his skin was visible and.. and he was shaking like an egg about to crack.

T-40. “You- you remember what you said about the boogeyman not killing yet, right?” His voice was shaky, like the words hurt to get out.

Tango’s face was frozen, and then dropped.

“Skizz.. No. NO.”

Skizz’s grip on the bucket got tighter. T-35.

“Skizz I- Skizz, you KNOW if you had just told me I would help you get a kill ri- Ok.Ok, No I’m not mad. There’s no time to get mad, I’m not mad at you, I’m just.. Skizz, you know this isn’t going to break our alliance, right? I’ve told you countless times, I trust you.”

Skizz convulsed like he was trying to hold in another sob, eyes still not meeting Tango’s.

“I’m… I’m not mad. I’ve got 4 lives left, I in no way think less of you. This was inevitable.”

T-25. “Here.” Tango took Skizz’s hands, cold and limp in his grip, and placed his Netherite Sword into his hands. They had only had enough to make a sword for Tango- of course, Skizz had found the Netherite first, but insisted it was used on his buddy.

“Do what needs to be done. I won’t think any less of you.”

Tango spread his arms out now, crouched in front of Skizz.

15.

Do what needs to be done. Skizz..Skizz needs to do what needs to be done, alright. It didn’t make it hurt any less, knowing this was what he had to do. It didn’t make him any less scared.

10.

This was the worst case scenario. Tango had the greatest chance out of all of them of living.

Skizz certainly had no chance. And he didn’t want to drag his only friend, his brother down with him. Like he had dragged the Red Army with his own selfishness.

Tango had the best chance of winning out of all of them.

His hands were shaky as he moved the sword into the correct position, inches from his heart.

Skizz was scared.

“DO IT ALREADY!” Tango yelled, arms thrown out and eyes squeezed shut.

Skizz drove the blade through his chest, piercing his heart.

Piercing his heart.

“Wh-” Tango opened his eyes, and screamed. That scream was the last thing Skizz heard before his vision went black.

“N-NO WHAT- WH NO.NONO” Tango was holding his body. “NO, N- I’VE GOT HEALING ITEMS. I’VE GOT POTIONS, OKAY? ST-STAY IN THERE BUDDY-”

Tango was frantically shifting through his inventory, holding Skizz’s corpse in his other hand.

The second his hands found his way upon an apple, lightning was heard outside the cave.

It pierced through everyone’s hearts, a shot in the air heard serverwide.

When Tango looked back to the body it was gone, the only sign left of his brother being a pile of still items.

“No. N-No. No, I- I was at gr.. No, No h..this. This has to be a dream, th- this has to be a nightmare I- I can’t.. I, I can’t……………” Tango’s voice trailed off into incomprehensible quiet sobbing. He was curled up in a pile around the items, holding close the only remainder of his friend. The only thing that he had left period, since the castle had been taken… But he would have took a thousand structures falling to keep his friend. He… He would have done anything to keep his friend. Both Skizz and him knew that.

❤❤❤

Skizz had respawned in the spruce forest. He was leaning against a tree, still weak on his feet. There was a hole in the middle of his chest, and it hadn’t stopped bleeding.

The reds weren’t gonna hurt him now, he had become one of them. A murderer, just like them.

The curse needed a green or a yellow’s life taken to be broken, and he sure had a spare yellow life.

He wasn’t gonna let his own incompetence, his own selfishness doom the fate of his friend again. Tango had the best chance of winning, and he needed to keep all 4 of those lives.

As-as a red he could help too, right? Pick off any other reds that make claims on his friend. Of.. Of course, he couldn’t speak to his friend anymore. He couldn’t see him. He couldn’t even get his stuff.

It was better this way. Tango had the greatest chance of winning, and he was only going to hinder that chance.

He took his communicator out of his pocket, hands still shaking. They were covered in red now, and the communicator’s screen was splattered with red as well.

Skizzleman was killed by Skizzleman using [YOU BET YOUR LIFE]

LDShadowLady> …

Grian> WHAT

SolidarityGaming> ?????

Skizz looked down at the screen.

Tango hadn’t typed anything.

He put the communicator back into his pocket.

This session was ending now. And the next session might be his last. But he didn’t care, his own life didn’t matter, as long as he used his corpse to lift his brother to the win.

He had learned from season 1, hadn’t he?

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tearlessrain · 4 years ago

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Giant Masterlist of Cathar Facts (that I completely made up but nonetheless rigidly adhere to)

I am an unstoppable force and disney should have killed me when they had the chance (that chance was splash mountain when I was seven and as you can see I survived).

Under a break because it is way too long and covers really quite a lot, much of which I will probably never even need. But researching and writing this kind of thing is what I consider a fun afternoon so here we are.

General basic stuff

Cathar are basically felids evolved to fill a similar evolutionary niche to humans in the absence of any viable apelike species on their native planet, in the same way hyenas evolved to fill a niche normally occupied by canids.

They are pursuit predators but not terribly efficient ones outside their home planet. In terms of both speed and strength they can outperform humans on average in the short term, but have noticeably less stamina especially when it comes to running or walking long distances. They greatly outmatch any quadrupedal felids for stamina, however. (Mandalorians are an invasive species)

They run hotter than humans, around 100-102F.

Though height varies quite a bit, cathar are taller on average than humans and build muscle easily, making them extremely formiddable opponents in hand-to-hand combat.

The average face/skull shape of cathar is largely based on assumptions that they evolved under weirdly similar conditions to humans evolving from early hominids, aka shortening of the face, larger cranium, smaller mouth, etc.

While they are obligate carnivores and do have elongated canines, their teeth are more even in size than wild felids, and while they do still have barbed tongues, the barbs are relatively small/soft and more similar to a housecat than anything of comparable size (aka they won’t literally take your skin off if they lick you). They also have somewhat thinner skin than wild cats, though they are still more damage resistant than humans.

They do not have retractable claws because that’s not how fingers work, but they do have narrow, naturally pointed claws rather than humanlike fingernails. Many cathar choose to either dull them or file them down for convenience, but losing/damaging them, as per that one ambient dialogue on Dromund Kaas that I can never find when I need it, is extremely traumatic for them.

They have tails because I want them to, used for both balance and communication. Cathar tails are approximately lion-like, thin with a coarse tuft at the end regardless of markings (ie. a cathar with stripes won’t have a tiger tail), with the tip the same shade or a few shades darker than the darkest part of their coats. occasionally those from colder regions will have longer fur over the whole tail, or look like they don’t have a tuft due to longer fur overall.

Variation and a lot of bullshitting about genetics

Wookiepedia describes Cathar as “a planet of savannas and rough uplands” but I refuse to believe that all these habitable worlds are all one consistent climate/temperature across the whole globe. The weirdly ubiquitous infrastructure/cultural info I can kind of forgive since 90% of them were wiped out by Mandalorians and the rest left, and I’m charitably assuming there were a lot less than 7 billion cathar to begin with, so a lot of smaller or more isolated cultures across the planet were lost entirely.

They have less sexual dimorphism than SWTOR implies, though females are a little smaller on average and tend to have shorter/finer manes that are closer to their base color. In terms of relative strength/mass the difference is minor and female cathar are still very capable of fucking you up (the conventional assumption in the Empire that females are weak/docile and males are too uncontrollable to enslave is not remotely true in either direction).

Variation in fur/metabolism/ear and nose shape depends on which region/s of Cathar they come from (or their ancestors come from), but they don’t recognize different “races” the way humans do, particularly in the wake of the Battle of Cathar.

On average, cathar originating closer to the equator have shorter, finer fur, larger and more tapered ears, a tendency toward slender, lanky builds, and coloration that leans more toward golds/reds and higher pigment density. whereas those closer to the poles are much stockier and can be extremely fluffy, sometimes with an undercoat, with paler colors and less vivid/extensive markings. None of the above is universally true and cathar didn’t necessarily always stay in the region where their ancestors come from (and thus sometimes you get people like Riska, who is all limbs but has fairly northern features and entirely too much fur)

Cathar mostly left their planet in groups, so in some parts of the galaxy you’ll run into whole colonies that originate mostly from one part of the planet and have distinct appearances/cultural idiosyncrasies from other colonies.

They mainly follow the same general rules that apply to most felids in terms of coloration/pattern.

Markings can be stripes, spots, or less commonly rosettes (definitely some version of Taqpep variants) and mostly lie along Blaschko’s Lines, though it’s more obvious on some individuals than others and it isn’t always perfectly precise. Even spotted individuals usually display some striping on the tail and around the eyes, though not always.

“Default” coloration is black-based, with dark markings on a greyish or brownish base.

Countershading falls pretty much along patterns you’d expect and usually lightens the chest/stomach, lower face, palms/soles, and inner thighs. Specific distribution and patterns vary quite a bit, and sometimes express in odd ways (hence whatever is going on with Khatte). Darkest points tend to be the tail tip, nose bridge, and mane.

Genetically solid cathar are incredibly uncommon; much more common are genes that affect the appearance/distribution of markings, sometimes rendering them almost invisible. Even ones who appear mostly solid (aka Khatte) usually still have some faint striping around the face and/or tail.

Khatte is basically some loose equivalent of ticked tabby, which mostly just looks like weird countershading but leaves some faint striping on his face and tail.

Jial-ro’s coloration is the result of a gene that suppresses all eumelanin production, and a sepia-like form of partial albinism.

Riska has something similar, along with something that reduces the size/spread of spots.

Food

They’re mainly carnivorous and have different nutritional requirements from humans (similar but not identical to those of a cat), which can be a problem in places like the military where standardized rations are the norm. In the Republic a cathar can usually put in a request for rations designed to accommodate carnivores (or supplements, failing that), though they might have some trouble on more isolated or undersupplied planets. The rare cathar in the Imperial military have to procure supplements out of pocket, though it’s technically possible to get reimbursed for it if they’re willing to wade through the bureaucracy.

Cathar are perfectly capable of eating raw meat with few to no ill effects, and have a subgenre of cuisine centered around it (and while they didn’t invent sushi, they have enthusiastically embraced the concept). They also have plenty of ways of cooking meat and readily adopt any new ones they come across.

Their “natural” diet apart from meat mainly consists of fruit, root vegetables, and eggs, though the closer to the poles you get the less likely you are to encounter fruit in a dish. Cathar never cultivated grain and it holds no meaningful nutritional value for them, so bread, rice, and similar products simply do not appear in traditional cuisine. This does not stop some of them from eating grain products in small amounts, as they can still enjoy the taste, but it isn’t any healthier than processed sugar is to humans and they have a high rate of gluten intolerance as a species.

All cathar have a heightened and refined ability to detect savory/umami type flavors, but around 30-40% of cathar, and the vast majority of those from colder regions, have no taste receptors for sweetness at all. This has resulted in the cathar equivalent of the Cilantro Debate centering around desserts, even though they’re all perfectly aware that it’s genetic, and some who can’t taste sweetness still enjoy some desserts for the other flavors present. Those who do have sweet taste receptors are about as sensitive to it as humans, but it tends not to have the same addictive quality for them and a lot of them don’t like processed sugars in anything but small doses. They would appreciate a lightly sweet creme brulee but most of them would find soda absolutely disgusting.

Citrus is right out.

They suffer no more ill effects than humans from drinking alcohol, and due to generally having a fair amount of mass they can usually drink a lot of it.

Social minutiae

They use a fair amount of feline body language, particularly with others of their own species. While facial expressions play a part and they do smile, scowl, and generally express broad emotions, they have a reduced range of facial mobility compared to more humanoid species and no eyebrows to speak of, which leads to a lot of them having what humans perceive as resting bitchface. It also results in humans underestimating the range and depth of their emotions, and can be a problem in the medical field with human medics/doctors who haven’t been trained to work with less humanoid aliens and won’t necessarily recognize severe pain or distress.

Their ears are less articulated than a cat’s but still have some degree of mobility that serves more of a social function than a practical one. They also express a lot of emotion through their tails, to the point that it can be a detriment in some situations if they haven’t practiced consciously keeping control of it.

Bumping foreheads is a common way to express platonic/familial affection, or can be the equivalent of a chaste kiss between partners. They also squint and slow blink, though it doesn’t always translate clearly to other species.

They have a wider range of vocalization than humans; while their voices are often humanlike and they’re just as capable of articulate speech, they can also growl, purr, and make sounds outside human hearing range. Those raised among humans or near-humans tend to do this less, if at all, while cathar raised in more insular communities of their own kind can come off as very taciturn due to heavier reliance on nonverbal communication.

Sense of smell is much stronger and more refined than a human’s and plays a more significant role in how they perceive and navigate the galaxy. They can occasionally be mistaken for Force-sensitive by humans due to their knack for picking up on emotional distress or the presence of particular species/people by scent. This is more true with people they’re familiar with; they won’t pick out distinct members of the other species by default but will eventually be fairly reliable in identifying the scent of a friend or anyone else they spend a lot of time around.

The exception to the above is other cathar, who they can easily tell apart on an individual basis. They have scent glands around the jaw/neck that come into play for identification, conveying broad emotional states, in some situations can aid medical diagnoses, among other things. They also play a part in building connection and familiarity between friends, family, or romantic partners.

The ~horny section~

Cathar don’t really kiss the way humans do by default, but they can, and usually do so unless they’ve somehow had no contact with any near-human species at all. Their equivalent is gentle biting around the neck and jaw, which is another situations where the scent glands are relevant, and when aroused that whole area becomes an erogenous zone for the vast majority of cathar.

Plenty of humans (particularly if they don’t encounter a lot of aliens day to day) will avoid kissing cathar anyway because they have sandpaper tongues and dry mouths and fangs, and it feels fucking weird if you aren’t prepared for that.

They tend to be very bitey in general unless specifically asked not to. It only becomes a problem if the cathar in question is inexperienced with humanoids and hasn’t figured out how much bite force is acceptable for a species with thinner, more sensitive skin.

Their dicks are fairly humanoid in size and shape, though somewhat more conical at the head, but they do have a sheath rather than a foreskin. after maturity they don’t actually retract into the sheath more than about two inches when flaccid, and tend to be slightly less sensitive than the average human (same keritinization factor that affects circumcised humans). It also makes them more vulnerable to damage, but since it’s customary to wear pants on most civilized planets, that never really becomes a problem in the course of a normal day. The base of the shaft that’s usually covered has noticeably higher sensitivity. There are probably individual exceptions to most of the above.

Conventional understanding is that cathar don’t have barbs, which is true the vast majority of the time, though about 60% of them have some amount of vestigial non-keratinous bumps over their head that have no noticeable affect on anything aside from occasional increased sensitivity in that area. Rarely an individual might develop a few actual barbs at the onset of puberty, but they have no practical function and pose a risk of discomfort and injury, and can easily be removed via a fast and mostly painless medical procedure, so the number of adults who have them is close to zero.

Females do have (mild, easy to suppress if desired, and mainly not at all disruptive) heat cycles. Other cathar can generally tell by scent, but not to a distracting degree, and it’s considered rude and inappropriate to point it out with anyone but a close friend or partner. It should go without saying that males don’t have heat cycles, but I’ve gotten enough weird DMs about this to know that I need to say it. Unless said male is trans, and not on any sort of HRT, that’s not how that works.

They kind of have breasts but unless actively nursing they’re barely noticeable if at all, especially under clothing. Cathar have much fewer hangups about going topless regardless of gender than certain human cultures do.

#cathar #swtor #long post

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bakugouisabitch · 3 years ago

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Ziggy i work two jobs now and the second job is retail where i'm on my feet all day.

If you feel up to it, tell me how yb and malik would help each other relax after a hard day.

Omg this is so fucking cute of you 🥺 i sure can!!

((i’m so sorry to hear that that sounds so exhausting :(( i used to work in retail too and my sister still does work in retail where she’s on her feet all day and she always tells me how tiring it can get.. i can imagine what you’re going through might be even harder... i’m so sorry 🥺))

okay hc time:

hmm let me think 🤔

I can actually see Malik working in retail in a classy clothing store. But only as a “last option.” As the pretentious little bitch that he is, he’d actually be the type to aim in what is generally seen as a “higher option” in the working environment. I can see him wanting to do a job where he gets to feel important, like an office job for example. Whether it’s just as a secretary or an accountant, i can see him working in more “conservative” places, where he can put on a neat suit and walk around feeling classy and bossy, or feel a sense of accomplishment by communicating with customers in polite ways and telling them what to do 💆‍♀️ But if his choices are narrowed down i can picture him working in a clothing store as well. But that’s like the only retail he’d work in, otherwise he’d feel far too “above it all”. It’s like his last option because, pretentious as he is, he wouldn’t enjoy a job where he has to “serve” people in any way - and that also includes packing their clothes in a bag behind a cash register.

Bakura, on the other hand, is much more laid back with that like,,,,, he doesn’t give a fuck as long as he gets money sgsjhs If it was up to him he wouldn’t be working at all. He’d survive by just stealing what’s necessary to live (but ofc that would be impossible - unfortunately for him). Like, less communication with people and more manual labour is what he’d pick. I can even see him working in really “easy jobs” (also because it’s easier for him to adapt as a human in society after having been a spirit for so long) like for a fast food chain or delivering the mail or even just as a dishwasher. You know... working in places where he might even get the chance to steal something >.> (i might draw him in working clothes one day 🤔 the idea really amuses me)

Now, coming to your post-work relaxing HCs:

When Malik comes home after a hard day’s work I can totally picture him complaining. And like, a lot. He wants Bakura’s full attention and he wants him to listen so he can talk and talk and complain and lament how everyone is wrong and he is right. Yk at the end of the day, he is no boss or CEO in the office or whatever working place he chooses (unless he really builds his way up but that would take a lot of time) and that in itself frustrates him. No matter how much he can keep up the illusion of being the one who orders his colleagues around, as a matter of fact he isn’t. He also has superiors to listen to and he has to collaborate with others and, because of all of his complexities and issues he had growing up, he'd low-key feel humiliated by something so mediocre. So, as soon as he gets home he has to let it all out and complain about everyone. He mostly overdoes it in his stories tho’ and is quite the drama queen for even just minor things that didn’t go as he planned at work...

Bakura kind of sees through all of this, ofc, but he’s totally here for Malik in these moments. He gives him his full attention and nods and agrees to whatever Malik says, even if he knows he’s being a tiny bit extra with his tales. But he knows Malik needs his attention and a lot of praise and reminders of how good he is. Most of all in these moments. So he complies ofc to please his distressed boyfriend.

(kinda angsty HCs:) When his working day goes really bad, there are even moments where Malik would take out his whole anger on Bakura and start accusing him of being the problem (shameless self-promo: kind of like in the beginning of my fic here) . And it’s in these moments where Bakura stops with all the sympathetic demeanour and actually fights back. Because enough is enough, and Malik has a tendency to go too far with his words and his insults at times. But even if they end up arguing it’s a coping mechanism for Malik as well to let out some of that pent up rage he’s been feeling all day. And with Bakura actually fighting back instead of just caving in, Malik gets a low-key unhealthy sense of high/satisfaction too: One, because he has Bakura’s full attention that way, and two, because he longs for that kind of conflict. He’d even go as far as provoking Bakura on purpose to rile him up and get him to direct his whole anger back at him. And Bakura never fails to put him back in his place so Malik gets exactly what he wants at the end of the day. Yes this would also lead to a lot of steamy fucking but i‘m trying to keep these HCs sfw and it’s really hard with these two sdfghjkIn Whatever their way, they make up for it at the end of the day anyway and it’s like nothing happened once the stress leaves them so, no worries.

When Bakura comes home after a hard day‘s work he hates everything. But more in a grumpy/don‘t-talk-to-me kind of way. Unlike Malik, he won‘t be complaining about his job because he doesn‘t want to waste another second thinking about it now that it‘s his free time. He won’t be mentioning the “W” from work unless it’s totally necessary. As soon as he’s done working, he wants to pretend it doesn‘t even exist and like, use every second out of work for his own personal benefit. Being a thief/cheater of rules in life, he always makes sure to do as little duty as possible and he would even be the type to falsely call in sick and do stuff like that to not work. ANYWAY (sorry for digressing) once he leaves work he wants to make the best of his time and as soon as he enters home he‘d throw himself on the sofa and take his favourite drink (beer) and make sure he‘s as relaxed as possible. He‘s also particularly needy to have Malik on his lap in these moments and would love for him to just stay close to him and cuddle and caress and touch him. Ideally he’d want Malik to be his perfect nice malewife in such moments and when Malik is in the right mood he even complies - he’d do anything to hear more praise from Bakura over how good and perfect he is and would even prepare him a nice non-vegetarian meal just to please his boyfriend.

Unlike Malik, Bakura would love to have less conflict possible in his post-work moments and craves to touch and just have Makik all to himself in his arms. But if Malik happens to be in the wrong mood as well and kind of neglects Bakura in these moments, Bakura could become petty enough to scowl and brood away for eternity. He’d be low-key/indirectly demanding that Malik makes up for it later on. And this would lead to nsfw hcs as well sfjhdj sorry Malik would be like “hey what’s up?” and Bakura would just grumble with his arms crossed and looking away. Malik would have to tip-toe his way slowly in to not let him be moody and disappointed for the rest of the day, calling him “Habibi” or “Bakura-sama” (since he adressea himself with ore-sama so gladly) to soften him up, until Bakura can’t help but let a smile form on his lips and they would end up cuddling and fucking ofc and everything is fine once again.

Idk i just really like them exactly because they seem to clash for being so different but they always find a way (sappy as it sounds) to be perfect for each other at the end <33

((I hope these were the kind of HCs you asked for 🥺 sorry if they got far too long or psychological sgksjak I wish you good good luck and i hope in future you may find something that is less stressful for you 💙💜))

#sorry am on mobile #bakumali #yami bakura #malik ishtar #bakura #marik ishtar #malik #marik #thiefshipping #bakumali hc #yugioh #ygo #icouldbesus #ask #*#ziggy talks

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thesculptedflower · 4 years ago

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A Firecracker

May I request a Riddler x reader, where they meet during a heist, and after taking hostages and what not, the Riddler nabs the reader as a prize too.

@craftyjellyfishcat

Note: I have to push the S1 Ed fic to tomorrow, I’m so sorry! Things came up at home, but it’ll be posted asap! Love you guys!

A Firecracker

’’Number 357!’’ The banker shouted, the queue moving painstakingly slowly. You glanced down at the number on your paper. 401. You sighed, prepping yourself for the next few hours you’d have to spend at the Gotham City Bank. You had fought your way up the cruel path of being a small business owner in Gotham, where basically anyone was a rival to you. People only look after their own gain, rarely wanting to see the neighboring business succeeding. You had faced many threats from businesses that were run by big and important families, but you didn’t lower your head. You fought back, even when they tried to burn down your place. It was a sloppy job, and they were quickly caught and brought to justice. Which was exactly why you were now queueing at the bank, the court had granted you a small fund to help you re-build. It felt good to be aided, but it also painted a huge target to your back.

It didn’t make you scared or paranoid, but it sure made you even more courageous to push back those who tried to bring you down. You knew you had it in you.

You had lost the track of time, when a small explosion pulled you from your thoughts. People were screaming and running all over the place, but nobody saw anything or anyone. The heavy safety doors sealed all the exits and people were starting to panic more and more. Suddenly all the lights went out, except for one. The light shined above the staircase to the second floor, and under it was a tall man in a green suit. The Riddler.

You tried to find a way out of the room, but the darkness around you made it impossible.

’’Fear not, dear citizens of Gotham!’’ Riddler announced extravagantly. ’’I’d like to play a game.’’

Some of the people screamed, causing even more fear in the others. ’’SILENCE!’’ Riddler shouted, clearly agitated that his speech was disturbed. His deep voice quickly filled the whole space. ’’If any of you try to run, I’ll press this trigger, that will let out a toxic smoke. If you get all three questions right, I’ll let you live.’’He explained, showcasing the trigger inside his jacket. You stayed as low as you could, trying to slowly make your way closer to him. You weren’t the strongest, but you thought you could distract him long enough for the police to arrive.

’’None of you shall be harmed, but only if you answer correctly to these three simple questions.’’ He was smiling like a maniac, walking down the stairs step by step, holding a gun in his hand. If you only could get that gun. ’’Let’s begin!’’ He shouted, the people below him shaking from the pressure. ’’I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?’’

There was a short silence, before people started whispering to each other, trying to come up with the correct answer. You were quick with your thinking, but you didn’t want him to notice you were getting closer to him. ’’An echo.’’ You whispered to a person next to you and kept walking.

’’An echo!’’ The person shouted, lowering his head afterwards to avoid being seen properly.

’’Excellent!’’ Riddler exclaimed joyously. ’’You see a boat filled with people. It has not sunk, but when you look again, you don’t see a single person on the boat. Why?’’

Whispering began once again, accompanied with a few desperate cries. This one was harder, but you came up with the answer in time, once again whispering it to the person nearest to you. ’’They’re all married!’’ They answered.

’’Correct once again. Maybe I chose the wrong bank.’’ His smile wasn’t faltering, he was so sure of himself, so confident.

You were almost at the base of the stairs, ready to jump for his gun any point now. You knew he had the higher ground, but you had to take the chance.

’’I have keys, but no locks and space, and no rooms. You can enter, but you-.’’ He started, but was interrupted by your sudden attack. You jumped out of the crowd aiming for his gun, but unfortunately for you, he had seen it coming miles away. He was surprisingly quick with his moves, ceasing you by the arm before you could even lay your hands on him. Now that you were forced to face him, you noticed how dark and dangerous his features were. The black bowler hat casted a sinister shadow on his face, making the already dark brown eyes seem even darker. The strong glasses framed his face perfectly, highlighting the strong jaw and high cheekbones. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were taken aback by how good he looked. And he was so intelligent, he saw right through you.

’’Like what you see?’’ He teased, a cocky grin playing on his lips. You could feel a blush rising to your cheeks, but thanks to the poor lightning, it wasn’t too obvious.

’’A little firecracker I see, daring to interrupt me in the middle of the last riddle, tsk tsk.’’

He was menacing, but you weren’t scared yet. You knew he loved his riddles, and he wanted to know if this poor audience could get away from him.

’’Now if you please, let’s rise our bets a little, shall we.’’

He made you stand perfectly still on one of the steps and aimed the gun at your head. It made few people shriek, but you tried to motion them to be calm with your hands. The Riddler watched you silently communicating with them and let out a quick laughter. ’’Now would you look at that, what a heroine we have in our midst.’’ He said moving to stand behind you, and you swore you could feel his eyes on you.

’’I’ll ask this one final riddle, and if you get it right, you’ll all get to go home.’’ He continued. ’’But, if you get it wrong.. Bang.’’ He pretended to shoot you in the back of the head. ’’She goes first.’’

People were crying and getting more panicked, but you remained calm.

’’Only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain, doing no harm and feeling no pain. What am I?’’ He almost whispered, him being so close to your ear send goosebumps down your arms. You concentrated, forcing yourself to think of an answer.

’’Is this too hard for our savior?’’ The Riddler teased, moving to speak to the other side of your head. ’’Time’s running out, and I’m right here, shadowing you.’’

That’s it.

’’A shadow.’’ You said almost too quickly.

You could feel the grin he had on his lips. ’’Well done, but unfortunately I can’t leave with empty hands.’’

You didn’t have time to comprehend his words before you were muffled with a cloth that smelled like, chloroform.

* * * * * * *

When you woke up, you felt like you were hit by a truck. The room was small and dimly lit, and you sure as hell didn’t recognize it. You panicked a little and tried to sprung up from the bed, only to realize that you were tied down, only one hand free.

’’Easy there, we don’t want you breaking anything.’’ A familiar, though more soft, voice said from somewhere in the room. Your eyes darted around, trying to find the source. A tall figure stood next to a kitchen counter, pouring two cups of coffee. He was wearing an ordinary flannel, and didn’t seem threatening at all. You had your guesses, which were proven right as he turned around. For some reason, you didn’t feel scared anymore.

’’Coffee?’’ He asked, setting the cup on the night stand next to the bed. You followed his every move with your eyes as he sat down to the end of the bed, carefully sipping his own coffee. Neither of you said a word for a while.

’’You told me the answer.’’ You said first. Riddler lifted his brown eyes to yours, smiling genuinely this time. ’’That I did.’’

’’Why?’’

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head a little.

’’You were telling the right answers to the others, trying to distract me from following you in the crowd. I wanted you to survive. You’re, different.’’ He explained, stirring his coffee with a spoon. The smell was delicious, and it was harder to protest the growing need for the coffee.

’’It’s my own blend, a little chocolatey and not too dark.’’ He said suddenly, reading you like an open book. You could feel yourself blushing again as you carefully reached for the cup. The aroma was heavenly, and so was the taste. In a different situation, you would have loved to spend time with a guy like him. ’’It tastes amazing.’’ You whispered, hesitant to compliment him. He smiled in return before standing up slowly, careful not to frighten you. He pulled out a key from his pocket and freed your other hand. Your eyes were looking for an answer, even if your mouth didn’t ask.

’’You trusted me enough to drink the coffee, I’ll trust you enough to let you go.’’

Almost immediately you jumped out of the bed, but the effects of the chloroform were still pretty heavy on you, causing you to almost fall to the floor. You weren’t sure if you were lucky or not, but you were caught by the arms of your capturer. He held you so gently, it really felt like he didn’t want to harm you at all. You stared up at his brown eyes, trying to find a reason why you felt this way. Why were you so okay with being in his arms, this close to him. You could smell his cologne, and you liked it. You knew it was wrong, so why did it feel so right.

He helped you back to the bed, where you took the coffee cup to your hands again. It was still warm. ’’Why are you being like this?’’ You asked carefully. He sat down next to you, now closer than before, but you didn’t move away.

’’I don’t really know, having you here brings out parts in me that I thought I had lost.’’ He answered quietly, showing a more vulnerable side of him. You turned to look at him and for a moment you could see a totally different person looking back at you.

’’But I do understand if you want to leave.’’ He continued, turning to look down at his cup.

’’I think I’ll stay, for a while at least.’’

You were totally out of your comfort zone, but you weren’t afraid of it. Maybe all those fights and struggles were preparing you for this moment. This moment you shared with one of the most dangerous man in Gotham. And you were okay with it. He wasn’t dangerous, not to you anymore.

#edward nygma #edward nygma x reader #edward nygma x you #edward nygma x y/n #The Riddler #the riddler x reader #the riddler x y/n #the riddler x you #Cory Michael Smith #gotham series #Gotham #gotham fanfic #gotham imagine

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scripttorture · 4 years ago

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I have a character who was a slave but was rescued and freed after about 2 years in slavery and eventually goes on to rescue other people in slavery. While in slavery, he was punished often with denial of food as well as being whipped and beaten when he refused to work. He also had his tongue partially cut out as a punishment. I already have a good idea about the psychological effects he is going to have, but I’m struggling with the physical effects and how long it would take to recover

Part of the answer here depends on this character’s age because while adults can generally make a good recovery from periods of starvation the effects on children (especially young children) are a lot more long lasting.

The best places to start for the effects of starvation on adults are probably the Minnesota Starvation Experiment and the World Health Organisation (WHO, general link here, 1999 pamphlet on malnutrition in all ages here).

Recovery is generally pretty quick unless someone’s at the point where they’re near death.

Refeeding syndrome can be an issue in some cases (especially famine or forced labour camps) but it doesn’t have to be one here. If the character is eating normally (as opposed to being fed by IV for instance) then refeeding syndrome is less likely. My understanding is that this is because the body suppresses appetite during starvation so that it only takes in what it can manage (appetite recovers quickly as the patient regains weight.)

There’s a detailed NHS guide to refeeding in adult here. It should give you an idea of how at risk your character is and how much food he’ll be able to handle in his first few days of recovery.

A physical recovery period of around 1-3 months depending on the degree of starvation is reasonable. In this case by ‘recovery’ I mean being able to do normal physical activity, a return to previous healthy weight, or higher weight, return to normal appetite and nutrient levels.

Recovery can be delayed by additional illness: it’s easier for starving people to contract diseases or infections and it takes longer for them to fight them off.

There’s also a difference depending on whether you’re talking about a character who is consistently under fed and forced to work versus a character who is usually provided with enough food but sometimes denied food completely/on very reduced rations for periods of a few days. Consistent starvation and malnutrition is much more usual in slavery and… much more likely to be fatal.

A character that has short periods where food is denied them (no more then two days) and is then allowed to eat as much as they want is probably not going to need hospital supervision/treatment for starvation. If that doesn’t sound like your character then the procedure is usually just to let the person eat as much as they want of whatever they want. The difficulty for people at this sort of stage is more about organising giving out food then it is about keeping doctors on hand to monitor them.

Now I know less about this but I think there is some evidence that this sort of pattern of intermittent starvation (ie periods where the character is starved, then allowed to eat and this is repeated) can cause some pretty serious health effects. It can also make disordered eating behaviour more likely.

On a cosmetic level it’s also linked to weight gain.

Which ever option you’re picturing the following effects are all likely:

loss of muscle mass

lack of coordination

weaker bones

higher chance of hypothermia or heat exhaustion

fainting

poor circulation

higher chances of disease and infections

longer recovery time and more difficult recovery from disease and infections

A survivor can get to a point where they’re no longer at immediate risk before they’re back to full health. It takes time to recover bone and muscle mass. It takes time for the internal organs to get back to normal. It takes time for enough fat to build up so a person’s body can regulate heat properly.

There’s also a difference between someone being at peak physical fitness and getting back to average. My understanding is that if someone’s survived significant periods of starvation they’re… unlikely to reach peak physical fitness. If this character was an athlete or a super hero or otherwise had a physically demanding profession, they’re likely to notice a difference even when they’re ‘better’.

They could improve with time and practice but they may never get back to their prior ability level.

There’s evidence of epigenetic effects; the children of people who recover from starvation are likely to be shorter then the children of people who have never starved.

The Minnesota Starvation experiment theorised that after a successful recovery there were few long term effects of starvation. There’s some evidence now that this was an optimistic conclusion but it’s difficult to get a clear picture because of the ethics around studying starvation.

For young children starvation results in an adult who is:

physically weaker

less intelligent

more prone to illness

less able to fight off illness

has a shorter life expectancy

is physically smaller

Starvation of children represents a blunting of potential: they will never reach their full strength or intelligence even if they may be stronger/smarter then some individuals. And there is really nothing that can be done to treat that. They needed food over a crucial period and did not receive it. The damage is done and can not currently be treated or healed.

Beatings over a long period of time and forced labour both have a tendency to cause chronic pain in the joints. Shoulders and knees seem particularly common.

There are a lot of possible causes for this sort of chronic pain. Ligament and muscle damage s possible. Beatings with objects can cause bone fragments to uh break away and lodge in soft tissues. Soft tissues around joints can be damaged.

And there are also psychological causes or combinations of both physical damage and psychological causes.

For instance this is something I saw in an account from a survivor of child abuse. The survivor had been punished using standing stress positions and he found as an adult that he got shooting pains in the backs of his legs while stressed at work. With the help of his doctors he found that when he was stressed he leaned forward on to his toes, mimicking part of the stress position he’d been subjected to as a child. This put more strain on his legs and caused the pain.

These kinds of responses can be very difficult to stop.

What I’m trying to illustrate here is that disabling pain is really common in survivors and you don’t necessarily need to know a specific cause for it.

Chronic pain can cause long term problems to do with mobility and performing everyday activities. Most often it means that survivors need to rest more often, they may have less stamina and they might need to do things in ‘odd’/unusual ways in order to comfortably perform the activity.

For instance someone with chronic pain in their shoulders might struggle to hang wet clothes on a line that’s above their heads. So they might get in the habit of lowering the clothes line, attaching the clothes and then raising it by pulling on the cord at waist height. They might have trouble moving their shoulder to put on jackets, so they could use their body weight to ‘flip’ the arm joint to the correct position without involving the muscles of the shoulder.

Someone with knee pain would probably be more particular about the height of chairs in their house. They may stop keeping things in low drawers or shelves.

Consider where your character might have pain, what activities might make it worse and life style adaptions you can work in to your story.

These can actually be a great world building/character detail. Especially because healthy people have a tendency to assume these adaptions are eccentricities rather then necessity, prompting conversation between characters.

There is one part of this scenario that worries me: mutilating the tongue.

Cutting out tongues is one of those things that comes up a lot in fiction and is generally… less survivable then people assume. Tongues are not just for verbal communication: they’re a pretty essential part of how we swallow food and water, not to mention detecting whether said food/water is edible and they contain a lot of blood vessels. There’s a reason things like tongue splitting and tongue piercing don’t tend to show up as traditional body modification practices.

The process of partially removing a tongue is life threatening in and of itself. Victims can drown in their own blood. Inflammation can block the airways causing suffocation. Infection can make breathing, eating or drinking impossible (increasing the chance of death from infection.)

If the victim survives (some definitely did) they’d have trouble eating and drinking for the rest of their lives. This means malnutrition is likely, leading to shorter life expectancies and higher chances of disease (apart from the conditions malnutrition itself causes.)

It also means recovery from starvation would be significantly longer. Which means a longer period when the character’s more at risk from infection and disease as well as the general uh ‘problems’ starvation causes.

I’m not saying you’ve created an unsurvivable scenario. We know from history that some people have gone through stuff like this and survived.

What I’m saying is the survival rate is low. Those survivors (and your character) got lucky.

Keep that in mind when you write this scenario.

In terms of long term recovery I honestly have no idea how a removed tongue is treated, I’m not a medic. I can guess at some lifestyle adaptions though.

Because it makes eating more difficult I think it’s likely a survivors would have smaller meals and more frequent meals rather then large portions that might be cold/unpleasant by the time they’ve finished eating. They’d probably learn to cut their food into smaller pieces and might avoid tougher foods that require more chewing. Their sense of the taste and texture of food would be impaired which might effect their enjoyment of food which could in turn effect their motivation to eat and their recovery.

Overall I think the take away message here is that while most of the physical long term effects of slavery are not immediately life threatening they have a massive effect on long term quality of life.

A lot of survivors of modern slavery come out of similar time frames to this disabled by a combination of chronic pain, joint problems and untreated injury or disease.

One of the recurring themes in Kara’s interviews with slaves is that slavery physically ages people. The combination of extreme distress, physical abuse, overwork, sleep deprivation and malnutrition makes survivors appear much older then they are.

But the reasons why, the injuries and marks of abuse are often not immediately obvious.

I hope that helps :)

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#writing advice #tw torture #tw slavery #tw starvation #tw scars #scarring torture #cutting out tongues #starvation #forced labour #writing recovery #writing survivors #writing slavery #writing victims #time frames #effects of starvation #chronic pain

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