#but I don't want to draw three prosthetics

[karlydraws]

Stay Active

[vioyume]

Finally convinced myself to finish one of my other wips and that is the gijinka designs for wave three. I'm just going to share my thoughts on them through bullet points.

I had design a Magolor gijinka before, but I grown to not really like it now and decided to make him a scrunkly little man who has seen enough of the horrors. He has similar elements to my older one.

He is the shortest out of all the other adult characters

The entirety of the left part of his torso and arm has burn scars (You can sort of spot it by comparing the hands). He has scars on his forehead too if you lift the hood down.

Most of Susie's limbs are now prosthetic. They work as a normal limb should but she has the added bonus of long fall boots.

Her eyes are robotic and those antenna looking things on the side of her head are attached to her, they can rotate. (Though I guess I applied that to regular Susie too since I don't draw her much.)

Taranza is a very tall man. He sometimes feels bad for provoking people with his height and spider like arms and eyes.

I went back and fourth when designing the upper part of his body, whether or not he should wear his cape and how his suit jacket should look. He had a carvat at some point too.

He got a little spike thing on his shoes for the people who want to chop his ankles off. (And its a substitute for how actual tarantulas shoot bristles from their body to harm predators)

His arms and hands were an absolute pain to draw.

[lutraviolet]

Every time I see your art show up on my dashboard I mentally go, "Oh! It's the fitpac mlp artist!" and I get excited. I don't watch FitMC nor PacTW. I haven't watched My Little Pony since I was eight. I am unreasonably obsessed with both of those things solely because of you, and I don't know whether to thank you for that, or like, curl up in a ball and cry as I play pirated My Little Pony episodes out of one tab and a HideDuo compilation out of another.

Your art style is the most beautiful thing on Earth, however. I meant it when I said that I get excited whenever I see your works, because they're always absolutely jaw-dropping. Your handle on colors and body proportions is incredible, and you always seem to know how to draw children like they're children. I love the way that you draw eyes and facial expressions as a whole, because they truly are, well, expressive. You can feel the emotion behind each and every character; the happiness, the joy, the bliss, or just a general contentment with life. It's so much fun to scroll through what you have made and just stare at each and every work of art.

I bounce around your QSMP human egg designs in my brain semi-daily on account of how great they look. It takes a special talent and skill to be able to take Minecraft pixels and make them into something that looks even half as good as what you have been able to make, and you are undeniably an incredible artist.

I can attribute my love of FitPac and HideDuo solely to your art, and I feel like you deserve to know that. Every single thing that you make feels quite genuinely unique. From the adorable drawings of Richarlyson as a MLP character with the absolute cutest prosthetic leg I have ever seen and the most flamboyant but incredible hair to the Federation rabbits you have as your banner, there is not a single artist in the world who has ever made art quite like yours nearly as well as you have made it, and that's really cool.

Overall, you are an amazing artist. Your art is an absolute vibe, and what you create is truly something incredibly unique. I hope that you know just how awesome your creations are, and how appreciated it is that you share it with the greater QSMP and art community online, because it is something to marvel at.

Have a good day, a great week, and a hopefully even better month. You deserve all three.

i was tempted not to reply to this just so i could keep it in my inbox to constantly reread, but anon this is probably the kindest most genuine thing anyone has ever said about my work, you have no idea how much it means to me 🫶 please let me cook you a delicious 3 course meal and draw you whatever you want because oh my god i genuinely teared up

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

I've an anthro tiger character who can walk/run/etc both bipedal and quadrupedal. Within the scope of the story he also becomes an amputee - so now hes missing his entire left arm and his right leg up to the knee. I've figured out that bipedally he mostly uses a crutch. but is there anything i can do for him that'll still let him scamper around? I've not been able to find reference for animals missing limbs in a similar configuration.

alright this one was fun. mobile aids for non-human bodies can be tricky, but it's cool and important!

the first step of course is making sure you can keep a character design relatively consistent in both a bipedal and quadrupedal stance.

(image description: simplified sketches of a feline character standing on all fours as well as upright on two legs. their left arm and right leg have also been colored over in red to note that these limbs are missing. there is also a note on the image stating that the arms and legs should be roughly the same length. end description)

keeping the limbs similar in length is important for quadrupedal motion, if you want the spine to be kinda parallel to the ground. otherwise, you get sloped backs which are not the best for smooth motion. but the more important part of this ask is the matter of mobility aids for a character that moves between bipedal and quadrupedal motion! so let's talk about that.

for one thing, if your character is not using a leg prosthetic, they'll need two crutches when they walk upright. one crutch is helpful when you have two legs but one of them is weaker, and in that case you'd use the crutch on the strong side, actually.

I previously reblogged a post about proper cane usage, but it can apply to crutches as well! and from what I've seen, the crutches that have a forearm brace are the most popular for comfort and ease of use. your character happens to be missing an entire arm on the same side he would be using a cane or crutch if he had a leg prosthetic on. so that does make things tricky. alternatively, he could use a leg prosthetic and not bother with a cane or crutch. but! you don't have to do that. you can still give him crutches, leave his right leg without a prosthetic, and even give him a versatile prosthetic for upright and quadrupedal motion!

conveniently, cats are well documented to manage just fine with three legs, whether they are missing a back leg or a front leg! there's even at least one cat out there missing both front legs and doing fine! so, your tiger fella really only needs one prosthetic to do both kinds of locomotion, I think. here's what I've got:

telescopic/collapsible arm prosthetic-crutch-combo and a collapsible or folding forearm crutch that can be carried on a belt when not in use.

(image description: the same feline character sketched upright and on all "fours", this time with added mobility aids. the notes on this sketch say "one leg, no prosthetic, requires two crutches. cats get along fine with three legs." the mobility aids drawn on the character include a folding forearm crutch and an arm prosthetic strapped to the left shoulder that can be extended into a tall crutch for walking upright. end description.)

play around with it until you're satisfied! if you just want a leg prosthetic instead, no crutches, then I think he could use the exact same prosthetic both upright and on all "fours" without the use of an arm prosthetic.

(image description the feline character again, this time showing a simple leg prosthetic that attaches at the knee, has a small thick piece bending slightly back, and then a longer straight rod ending in a foot pad. end description.)

you'll have to adjust the exact proportions and design to better match your character, of course, but these are the options i thought could work for your idea. I hope that's helpful and gives you more ideas for how you want to draw him! good luck!

[milevenstancyendgame]

I have a lot of criticism for Cl**derry that I need to vent, you can read it under the cut, if you like.

It's a toxic and abusive relationship. But it's presented to us as love.

By the latter I'm mostly referring to "The Frozen Ship", where their scenes were paralleled with Rayllum scenes, and portrayed in a very beautiful, romantic way (the music, camera, light, etc).

I don't understand why. It's obvious that Terry does all the work in the relationship, he basically takes turns at being Claudia's carer, parent, and counsellor. When did Claudia ever support Terry? Inquire how he feels? His needs? Talk about anything but herself and her problems? The whole time she acts like a child, who takes his presence for granted.

And no, her trauma doesn't make that okay. It's not just one time, not just when she is in crisis. It's the whole time. Also, she got hurt/traumatised trying to kill others, then killed someone, and never showed remorse for any of that. She repeats that she has to "do, what needs to be done/is necessary, no matter how vile or vicious". She's incapable of seeing the atrocity of her own actions.

And Terry never gets angry. He never voices any desires or needs, it's like he exists only for Claudia. Terry kills another elf to protect her, helps her to carry Viren for hours, builds a boat for her, is not frightened by her murder of Sir Sparklypuff or the fact that she sees animals as ingredients and continuously murders them. He makes a prosthetic for her, washes her, brushes her hair, counsels her, follows her wherever she goes. The relationship is about Claudia and Claudia alone.

And this is never portrayed as problematic, on the contrary - it's shown in a positive light, like some beautiful devotion.

It makes me angry, because I've been the victim of abusive relationships all my life and this kind of romanticising is harmful.

What conclusion will young viewers draw from this? That the only thing that matters in a relationship is that you give 100%, no matter if you get anything back or not? That it's okay if your partner/friend/relative never inquires about you and your emotions? That you shouldn't get compassion fatigue or shouldn't be shocked at their lack of ethics and cruel actions? That you shouldn't talk or want to talk about yourself? That it's still love even though you're not an equal in the reationship? That it's still love even though they take up all of the space and you have to make yourself small? That true love means one-sided sacrifice?

Fuck this. Even if they pull out some big surprise in s7, like a backstory in which Claudia saved his life pre-s4 or something like that - it doesn't change the toxidity of their relationship, it doesn't change what they've been showing us for three seasons.

[screechthemighty]

This one goes out to the Found Family enjoyers. 😘😘 Also I just want to establish real quick since we have *checks notes* two chapters left...the main meat of the "time travel" part of this fic is going to be resolved over the course of THREE fics now. So we have Meryl and Wolfwood's journey back to July in this one, Vash's journey back to July in "moments until the crash" (which I will resume working on in earnest once I'm done with this one), and then a fic covering the new events of July that...I don't have a title for yet but it will probably be more Tombi lyrics. So yeah, just wanted to make that clear. Anyways, onwards!

the unknowable tomorrow | a tristamp fanfic part seventeen: meryl and wolfwood

content warnings: nail biting, body horror, religious/cult trauma, reality warping, suicide mention, abusive behavior (general knives cw)

works cited: one incident in this fic is inspired by an idea from "Low Profile" by spectre_anon, specifically chapter three. quotes are used from episode 10 of tristamp. incidents from trimax, especially vol. 1 ch 4, vol. 8 ch. 3, and vol. 9 ch. 1. song of the chapter: "piano man" by billy joel.

.

“We know you’re in here, Stampede!”

Well, this was a great way to start things.

Wolfwood kept his head on a swivel as he and Meryl moved through the warehouse. He wished there was somewhere else he could send her—this was an active firefight, and her “people shot” count was still at one—but he’d have to make do. Long as I get shot at more than her.

“There’s nowhere for you to run!” continued the voice. The guy sounded like a real asshole, the kind that would be a pain to deal with properly while keeping casualties low. Granted, he couldn’t have cared less about the casualties, but he didn’t want Vash on his case about killing. He didn’t want Meryl to see him pull the trigger, either, not after everything she’d said back…

Nope. Don’t think about that now. Keep moving.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked a new voice nearby. Wolfwood stopped, holding out an arm to block Meryl as he did. “I don’t think we want the police sniffing around here.”

“We’ll take him to the police once we get him. Just some upstanding citizens freeing the wastes from a criminal. No one has to know, yeah?”

Great. Not only was someone trying to get Vash for his bounty again, they were unscrupulous sorts themselves. Probably dumb as bricks, too, with the way Wolfwood’s luck had been going. As Wolfwood scanned the passageways between boxes, he spotted a brief flash of red and the blue-green of Vash’s prosthetic arm. It looked like he was trying to climb up onto a stack of boxes, probably to get a better view. Wolfwood hissed to get his attention. He had to hold back a flinch when Vash spun around with his pistol drawn—not just because he was fighting the urge to raise his own weapon, but because Vash’s quick draw was so damn fast. It was unnerving.

The radiant smile that appeared on Vash’s face when he realized it was them erased all the danger from him. Wolfwood smiled back, despite the tension eating away at him, and gestured upwards. When Vash nodded, Wolfwood ran over, Meryl close behind. They worked quickly: Wolfwood boosted up Vash, then Meryl, then jumped to grab Vash’s hand and let himself be hauled up. The height gave him a clearer view of the space. It looked like the warehouse had been carved directly from stone. It was the sort of cool, dry place you kept food before it was shipped. The haphazard placement of the crates and comments about the cops made Wolfwood suspect the original owners had either abandoned the place or been ousted by the new occupants.

“Are you hurt?” Meryl whispered.

Vash shook his head. “They’re really lousy shots,” he whispered back, “but there’s a lot of them.”

Great. “You got a plan?” Wolfwood asked.

“That’s the problem. They…”

Vash immediately shut his mouth as footsteps and voices grew closer. All three of them shrank down as low as they could. Wolfwood could feel Meryl pressing close to him, Vash’s hand on his shoulder. The weight of responsibility for both of them felt as suffocating as the fear of being heard by the men below.

“…don’t know why he’s bothering. There’s got to be easier places to steal from…”

Steal. Which in Vash’s case would mean steal back. And it would probably be too much to ask that it was something small that he already had in his pocket like last time.

“They took a Plant,” Vash whispered once the men were further away. “I need to get the truck she’s on.” Wolfwood bit back a sigh. Of freakin’ course. “I already have the keys. I just…”

They had to duck down and fall silent again when more footsteps went by. Vash settled for pointing in the direction they needed to go. In theory, they could make their way across the top of the crates. In practice, as much as people had a tendency to not look up, they’d be clear and obvious targets if they were spotted.

Better than trying to navigate on the ground, I guess.

“Someone’s gonna have to carry Meryl,” Wolfwood whispered.

“Hey - !”

“You gonna look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve secretly been a competitive long jumper this whole time?!” Meryl’s face went pink, but she didn’t reply. “No regular person could make some of those gaps. It’s nothing personal.”

“…fair,” she grumbled.

Vash smiled at her apologetically. “Here, climb on. I promise I won’t drop you.”

Wolfwood wasn’t surprised Vash didn’t drop her, but he was a little surprised how damn graceful Vash was about it. He could look like a bundle of flailing limbs even when he was pulling off impressive feats, but this time he was so focused that he made the trip across the maze of crates look effortless. Wolfwood couldn’t complain, though. That meant they had one less thing to worry about on a trip that was already giving him ulcers.

The vehicles were unguarded when they reached them. Wolfwood got to stabbing as soon as they hit the ground, pulling out his pocket knife and going for any tires that looked easily punctured. There were four bikes and three smaller cars parked next to a bigass truck that could only be holding the Plant, and even it was completely unguarded. He was going to question the intelligence of these people when he noted a loose charge cable next to the truck. They’d unplugged it, which meant it probably didn’t have enough juice to get anywhere far. “Damn it,” Wolfwood mumbled.

“I can fix this,” Vash said without hesitation. He pulled a bundle of keys out of his pocket—there had to be enough to cover most of the vehicles there, if not all of them—selected one in particular, and passed it to Meryl. “You be ready to drive when the battery is full. Nico, can you hold them off without…?”

“No killing,” Wolfwood grumbled. “I know.” At least he hadn’t really had to shoot anything since they last bought ammo. Less risk of it running out. “Just be fast, okay?”

They all took their places—Meryl in the driver’s seat, Wolfwood behind a nearby car for cover, Vash rummaging around under the hood of the car. Wolfwood wasn’t sure what Vash was doing and he didn’t have time to check. Someone was already approaching fast.

“Hey!”

Wolfwood’s first shot was just a warning, and fortunately drove the guy back to cover. It didn’t stop him from screaming, though: “He’s at the cars!”

Damn it. Wolfwood took a deep breath and focused down the rifle sights. No killing. Pretend it’s a take alive mission. Vash said they’re lousy shots, so they probably are…

That didn’t make the first sign of armed men any less harrowing.

Missing on purpose was just as hard as actually hitting them would’ve been. If he wasn’t aiming shots to drive them back, he had to aim for parts of the body that wouldn’t kill them outright. He knew how to aim with precision, sure, but his impulse was to go for the center mass. The torso was easiest to shoot, dropped a person quickly—both things you’d usually want in a situation like this. But Vash had asked him not to kill. So, he tried.

He didn’t exactly shed tears whenever a shot did hit—for example, when a bullet he meant to fire at the floor accidentally hit a guy’s foot, causing him to collapse to the floor in pain. Whatever, he’d live. Wolfwood would’ve moved on to a more pressing target if the guy hadn’t sat up and suddenly gone pale. Not from pain, not from realizing where Wolfwood was and that he could theoretically make a more fatal shot. He was looking at something over Wolfwood’s shoulder.

“What the fuck is that?”

Wolfwood risked glancing over his shoulder and froze immediately.

Vash was glowing. His plant markings were clearly visible, racing across his face in intricate patterns. His eyes were a more vivid blue than ever. It almost looked like his body was moving underneath his coat, flexing and stretching in ways a normal person wouldn’t usually move. Wolfwood even thought he saw something starting to sprout from his shoulder. Petals? Feathers?

I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be seeing this. What’s happening to him? What’s he…

Vash suddenly jerked his hands away. His body snapped back into place, so suddenly and sharply that it was almost more alarming than the changes had been. “Start it!” he yelped as he slammed the hood shut.

Meryl, fortunately, recovered faster than Wolfwood did. The truck roared to life. Wolfwood stayed frozen in place until Vash ran to his side and started dragging him. “Come on, we’ve got to go!”

His legs recovered before his brain did, carrying him into the car before anyone started shooting again. As Meryl drove them out, Wolfwood glanced at the car’s dashboard displays. The battery had fully charged.

Vash had done that. Vash had created power and recharged the battery. It felt like just the other day he’d been in that bathroom, small and explaining how he couldn’t create anything. Now…

Wolfwood stared openly at Vash. “That’s new,” he said.

Vash smiled sheepishly. Before he could explain, something shot off one of their rear-view mirrors. Wolfwood cursed; Vash was leaning out the driver’s side window fast as he could even blink, pistol aimed. Wolfwood leaned out the passenger’s side just in time to see a motorcycle trip as the tire gave out.

Guess I got that one. He aimed for the tires of the next one. It took a few shots, but it did finally slow down, veering off as the driver lost control. He heard the sound of another one tipping over and crashing. It went silent after that, aside from the sound of the truck they were driving.

“Is that all of them?” Meryl asked.

“For now.” Vash sat down heavily and started reloading his pistol. “They’ll probably try to catch up. We should get as much distance from them as possible.”

“Agreed.” Wolfwood sat down as well and rubbed his eyes. “Is the Plant okay?”

Vash paused, his head tilting slightly as he glanced over his shoulder. Wolfwood couldn’t look at his face too long; even with his sunglasses dimming the brightness of his eyes, he could swear he still caught sight of the Plant markings in his eyes. “She’s okay,” he said finally. “A bit rattled. Wants to be back with the others. But she’ll be okay now.” His shoulders slumped slightly as he smiled. “And I was on such a good streak of not getting into shootouts before noon.”

Wolfwood checked the car’s clock. Sure enough, it was almost 10 a.m. “…you’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days,” Wolfwood said flatly. “I can only take so much.”

“All those cigarettes will kill you before Vash does,” Meryl retorted.

Vash started giggling as Wolfwood switched his glare to Meryl. “Sure, everyone gang up on poor old me.” He pulled out a cigarette and held out his hand to Vash. He felt the press of the lighter in his hand almost immediately. “Wiseass.”

He did roll the window down before he started smoking. He wasn’t a total asshole.

The matter of how Vash had managed to pull off what he’d done didn’t come up for a while—first because they were all still too frazzled to talk about it, then because Vash had to move into the back of the truck to calm the Plant down. That left Meryl and Wolfwood alone, but it seemed like neither of them knew how to address it.

You saw that too, right? What he was turning into? What did he look like to you?

There was really no way to ask that question without opening up a whole can of Eye of Michael worms. It was bad enough Meryl knew as much as she did; explaining their religious dogma and why it left Wolfwood with a queasy, about-to-be-struck down feeling would take energy he did not have. So Wolfwood kept his mouth shut and his eyes fixed outside, looking for any signs of trouble.

Shockingly, none came. He thought those idiots would fight harder for their stolen good, but maybe having their transportation taken out and seeing Vash transform into…that had given them second thoughts. He shouldn’t have looked a gift thomas in the mouth. Easy was good. Not having to shoot more was even better. But the silence left Wolfwood with too much time to think.

He’d catch a glimpse of the bruise whenever he glanced down, but when he actually looked, it was gone. He knew that something had changed in July…no, before July. Some event had tipped the scales of his guilt, made him so sick about abandoning Vash that he’d thrown all common sense to the wind and gone back for him. And it must have been something Vash had done; the more Wolfwood thought about it, the more he realized that a lot of his memories around Vash were hazy, odd, slippery as a worm larva trying to burrow back into the sand. Something had changed. Something…

Does it have to do with the Eye? Or…

A wave of nerves collided with the headache his mixed-up memories were giving him. Wolfwood took a deep breath and started chewing on a hangnail. He hadn’t been a nail-biter before Conrad had gotten to him; even then, it was something that only happened when things got really bad. He guessed all this time travel bullshit counted.

“Are you okay?” Meryl asked.

The hangnail came free with a slight stab of pain. The metallic, familiar taste of his own blood drew him back to the present. “Might have to ask Vash about what happened there,” he said finally. “I don’t think he could do any of that before.”

“I don’t either.” Meryl took a deep breath. “But it’s a good thing, though…right? Or at least not a bad one?”

Wolfwood glanced down at his ankle, at the wound that was never as bad as it should’ve been and the explanation he’d been too afraid to ask for. “Reckon it depends on what he does with it.” As long as he doesn’t waste something that special on guys like me.

They had to pull over eventually to give the engine a break. Wolfwood felt his whole body go tense as he and Meryl started to open the back of the truck. He was bracing himself for Vash to look like something else again, something bordering on divine. All he saw was the Plant wrapped up in her bulb and Vash sitting with his back pressed to the tube, head leaning to the side, out so cold he was snoring and drooling.

“At least he feels safe enough to rest,” Meryl said. “I still don’t know how he can sleep like this, though.”

“You get used to it.” Wolfwood tapped his knuckles against the floor. “Hey, Spikey. Rise and shine.”

Vash jerked slightly, snorting on his cut-off snore as his eyes opened. He looked around the space like he was trying to remember how he got there. “…that wasn’t a quick nap,” he said groggily.

“Yeah, doesn’t look like it,” Meryl said. “Do you feel okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…” Vash yawned and stretched. He could be freakishly floppy when he did, but it hadn’t bothered Wolfwood before now. Of course, back then he’d just thought Vash was like the one kid he’d known from the orphanage who had rubber bands for joints and dislocated his shoulder to use as a pillow. Now, Wolfwood half-expected Vash to unpop every limb and twist into a form that looked more like his sister’s.

And who cares if he does? It’s just Vash. You know him.

Wolfwood forced himself to remember the little kid at the start of all this, to imagine that kid chatting away as he stood up. “…always a little tired after electricity. Not sure what’s up with that.” Vash smiled sheepishly. “I hope I didn’t scare you guys too much.”

“No, of course!” Meryl said, maybe a little too quickly. “It was just…unexpected, that’s all.”

“Yeah, for us, you were just saying how much it sucked being specialized,” Wolfwood added—even though, for once, the time travel bullshit had nothing to do with his headache. “Guess you decided to do something about that.”

Vash laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah. Something like that.” He turned around and started checking on the bits and bobs the Plant was hooked up to. “It’s been a lot to take in. Livio’s been really helpful…”

The name slammed into Wolfwood’s chest, nearly knocking the breath out of him. He had to force the next words out: “Did you just say …?”

“Oh! Yeah, I was going to tell you!” Vash turned to face him again, a bright grin on his face. “I stuck around after last time, just to keep an eye on things…I guess whatever you wrote to him worked, because he ran and hid when those guys came back. They really wanted him for some reason, but…” His smile looked a little pleased with himself, and a little embarrassed at the same time. “…guess they didn’t know a famous outlaw was in town.”

Wolfwood’s brain struggled to take all the new information in. “So…Livio’s…?”

“On Ship Three. I figured that was the safest place.”

He remembered, then.

He hadn’t even been on the ship five minutes and he was already itching for a cigarette. The entire situation was too weird. There was a spaceship in the damn sandstorm and he was on it, waiting for Vash to wake up from his dirt nap. He’d taken to twirling his lighter, drawing a few agitated looks from some of the ship’s occupants. He thought about actually lighting it, just to be a contrary asshole, but he wasn’t looking to get kicked out.

“Nico?”

The nickname nearly made him drop the lighter.

He was afraid to look. The whole situation felt so unreal; he was sure he was hallucinating. Brain damage, wistful thinking, whatever. But the sound of hesitant footsteps forced him to look up out of instinct, his body bracing itself for an attack.

An attack didn’t come. The figure stopped a safe distance away, staring openly. It had been ten years. He was twenty, maybe twenty-one, a grown man now. So much about him had changed: the broad shoulders, the sudden extra height (since when had he been the taller one, since when), the clean clothes, the overall vibrancy that he’d grown into. But he still wore his hair the same way–fair white and scruffy, half-pulled back now.

And he had the same golden eyes.

“...Livio?”

The smile was the same, too. That same smile he wore when the Tomas chicks ate out of his hand the first time, or when Wolfwood showed off his lighter tricks. He smiled like the world was a good place, like those little miracles were proof that everything was just and beautiful.

Wolfwood could almost believe that too for a second. He didn’t even protest when Livio practically tackled him in a hug. “I knew you were alive,” Livio said, his voice thick with tears. “I knew it.”

Crybaby, Wolfwood wanted to tease. Words didn’t come. He just held onto his brother with everything he had.

The full story came out after that. Livio was practically tripping over himself, excited to explain every little thing about the ship, the crew, the place he’d apparently been living for the past nine years. They had these things called Flora on board. He was working in the medical bay as an assistant. Vash came up a lot. Vash this, Vash that. Vash visited regularly and taught Livio how to fight and brought him back things from the deserts of No Man’s Land. Vash was the one who had brought him here to begin with, found him outside of Hopeland and brought him to safety.

Vash the Stampede had saved Livio’s life.

That fact cemented itself in Wolfwood’s mind the more he thought about it. That other version of Ship Three still existed, but it felt more and more like a hazy memory, an odd dream. Real and unreal. Maybe it had happened somewhere else, but it was being scrubbed away, replaced by a time when Livio was alive.

Then the rest sank in.

Livio was alive, his Livio was alive. There was no gunfight on the steam ship, no gun barrel pressed to Livio’s temple. The ship had still nearly hit Hopeland, turned there by Legato for whatever reason, but they’d been able to stop it. They still went to Ship Three…still left in a rush when Meryl and Roberto had been taken…except this time, no, no, they’d taken him, too, fucking Zazie had stolen Livio and Wolfwood had ridden into July City with his mind only half on the mission and half on popping that little worm freak’s head off with his bare hands…

But only half.

Because three people had entered that elevator and kept going down, two injured but alive. Because when the adrenaline had faded, when he’d finally managed to wrench his fingers off the trigger and remind himself that he couldn’t shoot Elendira, as much as he wanted to…

He could’ve followed the others down, but he hadn’t. He’d still taken the other elevator up with Vash. He’d still walked down that hallway, Vash just behind him.

What a load of a babysitting job this turned out to be.

“Wolfwood?”

His body jerked away from the sudden touch of Meryl’s hand on his arm. She looked worried. Vash did, too, but nervous at the same time. Like he had some idea of what was going through Wolfwood’s head…like he knew…

But it’s done now.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He could still remember Vash’s eyes behind those sunglasses. Soft, nonjudgmental. Kind.

Hey, Wolfwood? Thanks for everything.

Wolfwood tore his gaze away and ran.

Meryl shouted after him, but the sound quickly grew silent. Or maybe he just stopped noticing. His mind stayed fixed on one truth, one solid and fixed point in the mess that his life had turned into.

Vash the Stampede had saved Livio’s life.

And Wolfwood had given him up to Knives anyway.

.

“Wolfwood!”

Meryl’s brain was a scrambled mess. Vash’s confession had shifted in her memories, layering a blanket of new memories over what had once happened. No longer was the white-haired man a gun-wielding phantom who had fallen off the edge of the sand steamer, limp and lifeless. He was Livio—bright and smiling as he ran into Vash’s room to hug him tightly, introducing himself politely as they followed Luida to the Geoplant, shielding her and Roberto from Zazie even though they’d just met. The clashing memories were enough to make her feel woozy, but she knew that whatever Wolfwood was feeling had to be worse.

His brother was dead, and then he wasn’t. That was a lot bigger than a few scars and an absent bruise.

But before she could go after him, a hand gently rested on her shoulder. “Let him go,” Vash said. “I think he’s got a lot on his mind.”

Meryl looked up at Vash in surprise. He was staring after Wolfwood with a tight jaw and eyes that were starting to look teary. For a moment, Meryl’s attention was torn in two. Wolfwood was obviously upset, but so was Vash. She weighed her options, tried to figure out which of them would be more likely to open up to her. The deciding factor was knowing, deep down, who Wolfwood would want her to choose.

“Are you okay?” Meryl asked.

Vash shook his head. His hand dropped off her shoulder as he turned and started closing back up the truck. “Nai founded the Eye of Michael,” he said. “I didn’t poke around too much, don’t worry. I just…had to know.’ He hesitated in front of the truck’s closed doors, his shoulders visibly tense even under his bulky jacket. “He’s the reason Nico was taken away. Nico, all those other kids…” She heard a soft thump as his head hit the doors. “He’s the reason I’m trying to learn more about my Gate.”

“To protect Livio?”

“To protect myself.” Vash wrapped his arms around himself tightly. “I took Livio off Ship Three for an away mission. He wanted to help more…he’s a good kid, you know? I didn’t know Nai was in the area until he showed up at the hotel. He’d seen us together, asked me if Livio knew what I am. Of course he does. I told him years ago. But when I told Nai that, he…grabbed my arm and I started to just…” He gripped his right arm more tightly. “…unravel. I was changing. I guess that’s normal, that’s something Independents can do, but I didn’t know that then. He knew. He knows how my own body works better than I do.”

Vash laughed harshly, tearfully.

“I couldn’t stop him. I was scared. He left me looking like a…a monster, told me to see if the humans accepted me then…”

Immediately, Meryl stepped closer to Vash. He flinched away from her at first, but after a few slow, deep breaths, he turned to face her. “So, uhm, I can transmit emotions and thoughts through touch when I’m like that,” he admitted. “So, I did scare Livio when he came back. But we talked things out. And he’s still my…” He laughed again, burying his face in his hands. “He’s more a brother to me now than my actual brother.”

Vash sank into a crouch. Meryl only hesitated for a second before hugging him tightly. She didn’t feel any emotions that weren’t hers, which was probably for the best. Her own growing anger was bad enough. “I’m so sorry, Vash.”

“I miss my brother,” Vash said. “I miss Nai. I love Nai. But the day he cut off my arm, he said he was Millions Knives now, and Knives…Knives has hurt almost everyone I love. He’s hurt me, and acted like that’s a good thing...he killed my…” He choked on a sob and hugged her back tightly. “I’m…I’m so angry at him. Meryl, I think I hate him. I don’t want to feel that way. I don’t…”

“I know. I know,” Meryl said softly. Even justified hatred didn’t feel very good. She knew from experience. “I’m sorry, Vash. I wish…”

She wished she knew what to say, what to do. But she was an only child and a normal human who would never have to deal with the kind of pain Vash had. All she could do was observe.

Again.

That terrible feeling of helplessness gripped her ribs, making it feel hard to breathe. Meryl pushed down her own urge to cry—even if at least some of the tears were sympathetic ones, it didn’t feel right for her to cry now—and started humming Vash’s song as she stroked his hair. It was all she had to offer for action. It didn’t feel like much of anything, not against the sheer mountains of pain Vash must have been feeling.

But to her surprise, Vash’s tears began to quiet. He didn’t hum along, but he still seemed soothed. His breathing slowed. His grip grew a little less desperate. Eventually, he pulled away from the embrace, wiping his tears away. “Thanks,” Vash whispered.

Meryl shrugged, suddenly unable to meet Vash’s eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve done so much for me.” His fingers rested over the place she’d been burned during the Big Fall. “You pulled me out of the fire. You defended me. You listened. A lot of people can’t even listen but you do. When I’m with you I feel understood.” He smiled at her. “We’re not even the same species, so that’s kind of a big deal.”

It sounded so much bigger when he said it that way.

Vash stood up, dusting the sand off his pants as he did. “I know there’s no easy answers,” he said, “not to this. But it does feel a little better saying it all out loud.”

“I can see that. Hey, Vash?” There was at least one thing she could say, and it was something she was pretty sure Vash needed to hear. “I know you don’t want to hate him, but…hate and anger aren’t the same thing, you know? You’re allowed to be angry with him, even if you still love him. He has hurt you.”

Vash nodded. “Yeah.” Then, “Don’t tell Nico I said this, but at this point I’m not even mad at him for hurting me. Lots of people have hurt me by now. I’m mad that he acts like he isn’t hurting me. No matter what I say…” He sighed. “Other people have changed. So far…he won’t.”

That won’t seemed so heavy, as if Vash was starting to realize there may not come a day when Knives would. She wondered what that would mean for the future—a future that, so far, still seemed to lead to July City.

What else can I do?

Is there anything I can do?

“Will you be okay watching the truck alone? I want to try and talk to Nico about some things.”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.” She had a feeling if no one had managed to catch up to them so far, they were in the clear. “Worst case scenario, I can always hit someone with it on purpose this time.”

Vash laughed and leaned over for one more hug. “That’s true.”

His laugh sounded genuine, and his steps weren’t so heavy as he went in the direction Wolfwood had gone. But Meryl still felt a tightness in her chest as she watched him walk away.

Wolfwood said he was twelve when he was taken, that he was about twenty-two now. Depending on how long it had been since their last portal, Vash could have anywhere from nine years to months until the day she met him in the future. Was that enough time?

Was there anything else she could do?

.

He’d smoked his way through the rest of a pack by sundown.

Wolfwood didn’t know why. They weren’t making him any calmer. His hands still shook every time he tried to light them. The sting when they burned all the way down to his fingertips or lips wasn’t harsh enough to be real punishment. He couldn’t even say he was doing it to kill himself faster. Any cancer cells the cigarettes might have spawned would be undone with the next vial. And there wouldbe another vial, and another, and one after that. Not because the orphanage needed him. Because he was a coward who couldn’t even die right.

Bastard, miserable piece of shit, you should’ve just let him kill you, a lot of people would be better off if you’d just…

He heard footsteps. Wolfwood didn’t have to turn around. He knew the tread of those boots by now, same as he’d learned Livio’s footsteps when they were kids. Wolfwood didn’t say anything. Couldn’t bring himself to.

“...Nai sends you after me, doesn’t he? Is that how we meet?”

Wolfwood flinched. He had this sudden mental image of Vash standing there with his gun drawn, aimed right at the back of Wolfwood’s head. He wouldn’t fight it if it were. He deserved that. He deserved worse. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a harsh rasp. “How’d…?”

Vash must’ve shrugged; Wolfwood could hear the rustling of his jacket, the soft myeh Vash would make sometimes. “I looked into the Eye of Michael after I found Livio,” he said. “It wasn’t hard to put together. The two angels sent by God kind of gave it away.” He huffed, sad or amused or both, it was hard to tell. “He’s always been dramatic.”

Wolfwood wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. He tried to will that gun into Vash’s hands. Tried to tell himself that he wasn’t hearing softness in that stupid voice, again. “He got it in his head that you needed looking after,” Wolfwood said. “You were going to July anyway, but he wanted to make sure you got there in one piece. I volunteered.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the full truth, either, but the full truth didn’t matter. Vash needed to know he’d volunteered. He needed to understand…

“Because they’d leave Livio alone if you did?”

Damn it, Vash.

Wolfwood glanced over his shoulder. There was no gun in Vash’s hands, no betrayed look in his eyes. “You said,” Vash continued, “you could handle it. That you wanted it to be you, not any of the others. I’m guessing they came back for Livio…”

“Stop.”

“...because they knew you two were close. Did they threaten him anyway?”

“Stop.”

“Say they’d leave him and the others alone if you…”

“Who gives a shit?!” Wolfwood was on his feet so fast it made him dizzy. The cigarette fell from his lips only half-smoked, but he didn’t care. “It doesn’t matter why I did it!”

“Of course it does - “

“No, it doesn’t, Vash!” Wolfwood wanted to grab Vash by his stupid jacket and shake some sense into him. He wanted to turn and run away. The conflicting impulses froze him in place, body tense and shaking. “Stop trying to justify this! Stop talking yourself out of being angry with me! You should be angry with me!”

“Why?”

“Why…” Wolfwood growled in frustration and rubbed his eyes. “What part of this isn’t sinking in? You saved one of the people I love most, and I handed you over anyway. That’s how I repaid you. I’m worse than low. You should hate me. Just…” He could finally move again, stepping forward to shove Vash as hard as he could. “...fucking hate me, damn you!”

Vash barely staggered. Wolfwood might as well have shoved a brick wall. At that proximity, Wolfwood had a full view of Vash’s eyes. He looked so deeply sad that it felt like a knife to the chest. But not the sorrow of grief or betrayal Wolfwood remembered from after Knives had cut his arm off. This was something else.

Empathy.

“Wolfwood,” he said quietly, “did you follow me back to Ship Three for Nai? Was that part of it?”

He could’ve lied. Maybe if he did, Vash would finally take the justice he deserved. But it would ruin him, too, so Wolfwood told the truth. “No. The job was done when all that happened. Contract fulfilled.”

“So…what I’m hearing is that you owed me nothing, not even on Nai’s behalf, and you…stayed with me for a week until I was let out of that cell? Held me when I was scared? You nearly gave up going home for me…because you wanted to?”

“Because I did owe you,” Wolfwood corrected. His voice sounded weak to his own ears, pathetic. “After what I’d done, I couldn’t just walk away. I’m already a monster, I couldn’t…” He took a deep breath. “It should’ve been someone else. You deserved better than me.”

Vash nodded. And then he smiled. “You know,” he said, “monsters don’t cry like this.”

Was he crying? When had he started? Wolfwood desperately scrubbed them off his cheeks, leaving smears of dust and ash instead. “Don’t,” he whispered again. “Please. Just…damn it…”

“I was mad at first, for the record.”

“Good.”

“But you know what I kept thinking about?” Vash looked away, staring out over the desert landscape. “For a long time, I’d look for Nai whenever I left Ship Three. All I wanted was for him to come back and apologize. If he’d just…” Vash’s voice broke; he shook it off and rested his hand on Wolfwood’s shoulder. “You came back for me. You’ve tried to make things better. My own twin won’t do that, but you have. And that’s why I forgive you for whatever’s coming. Because I want to. Because I know you’re not a monster.” He squeezed Wolfwood’s shoulder gently. “My decision, Nico. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

He didn’t deserve this. Nicholas D. Wolfwood didn’t deserve that kind of grace and he never would. But here was Vash, giving it freely.

His knees finally gave out. Wolfwood collapsed, forehead pressed to the sand. He apologized, over and over, for all of it. What he done (would do) to Vash. What he’d done (was doing) in the name of the Eye. For every drop of blood on his hands. He didn’t ask forgiveness, because he still didn’t feel he deserved it, but he’d burn alive if he didn’t confess how low he truly was. If he didn’t at least apologize.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close. Vash hummed quietly, that wordless tune he’d been using since he was a kid. Wolfwood didn’t have the strength to push him away, didn’t have it in him to reject that forgiveness. He still didn’t think he deserved it, but he wanted it. Absolution felt like pain medication after a long contract, like the first hit of nicotine, like Livio’s embrace on Ship Three. Like those fleeting moments when life felt beautiful and kind.

Eventually, he ran out of things to confess. Vash hadn’t let go; Wolfwood had long given up fighting against it. When he did pull away, it was only far enough to look Vash in the eyes. “He’s going to kill you,” Wolfwood said. It was the truth he’d been too afraid to say, but what consequences were there now? Livio was alive, so the future could be changed. Vash already knew what he’d do one day, so there was no more fear of judgment. What was the worst that could happen? “He’s got some crazy plan to wipe out humanity and he needs you to do it. He needs whatever it is you can do. Something about a bridge, I don’t know. They don’t tell me these things. But whatever it is…”

“He doesn’t care how much he has to break me to get it,” Vash finished. He didn’t sound surprised. “Because Knives knows best, right?” He laughed bitterly and shook his head. “And he probably thinks I’ll just go along with it.”

Wolfwood raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t need you to do it willingly.”

Vash sighed, pulling away fully to sit down in the sand. “No. I guess not.”

From that angle, Wolfwood could see how red and puffy Vash’s eyes were. “Geez, don’t cry over me…”

“I was crying about Nai, so don’t worry.”

“That’s worse.” Wolfwood huffed as he settled down himself, staring out over the wastes in front of them. “How old is…?”

Livio. How old was he now? How tall had he gotten? Did he still talk to his imaginary friend, ask for the same stories, cry at every big emotion, good or bad? Was he healthy? Was he happy?

“I have a picture. Do you want to see?”

Wolfwood’s heart leapt up into his throat. He had the new memories, of course, he had some idea of how Livio looked grown-up and untouched by Conrad and his needles, but a picture felt more real, somehow. Vash reached somewhere into his jacket and pulled out a photograph. It showed a Livio who looked to be in his teens, wearing the white clothes of Ship Three. The sleeves were a little short, so he’d probably had a growth spurt recently. He was grinning, holding up a tablet that showed he’d scored a 90 on something.

“That’s when he passed the exams to enter the medical program,” Vash explained. “The kids usually start their career training in their late teens. He’s sixteen now, so he’s started this year. He wants to be a doctor so he can go back to Hopeland and help the kids. And he wants to see you again one day.”

Wolfwood could feel tears forming in his eyes. He passed the photo back to Vash to avoid getting it wet. “Doctor, huh? Didn’t know he could handle blood like that.”

“He’s tougher than he looks. Actually…” Vash stood up and held out his hand to Wolfwood. “I can tell you about when he picked that path, if you want. But we should get back to the truck. Meryl’s probably worried about us.”

Wolfwood nodded and took Vash’s hand. “Yeah,” he said as he stood up. “Yeah, sounds good.”

They walked back to the truck side-by-side. Vash told Wolfwood about the dustlung outbreak that happened when Livio was thirteen, his second year on the ship. He hadn’t been in any danger, having already had it while he was at the orphanage, and he took advantage of that to volunteer with the kids on board. He’d spent weeks in quarantine, helping distribute medicine, telling stories, keeping their spirits up as best he could.

“They all loved him by the end of it,” Vash finished as the truck came into sight. “He probably could’ve started a child gang if he wanted to. They still think he’s really cool.” Vash smiled fondly. “He is, to be fair.”

“He always had potential. He caught a girl who nearly fell off the roof once. Never been prouder of anyone in my life.” Despite the deep ache in his chest, Wolfwood found himself smiling, too. “You realize that hiding out in Hopeland and fighting deacons counts as doing something stupid, right?”

“Maybe, but I don’t regret it. He means something to you. He…means something to me, too.” Vash’s footsteps slowed, his expression suddenly growing uncomfortable. “I’m not trying to replace you, I promise. He really does want to see you again one day. I’m glad he’s in my life, but I wish…I wish it was you.”

The ache in his chest suddenly had a name. Wolfwood had to take a few deep breaths before he could respond. “It’s…I’m not mad at you. Don’t resent you or anything. He’s doing better than most of us could hope for.”

Vash nodded. “You can still be upset about the situation. Even around me. I won’t take it personally or anything.

Maybe Vash wouldn’t take it personally, but he’d still feel Wolfwood’s pain a little too deeply. That was almost as bad as him taking it personally. “Moping about it won’t fix anything,” Wolfwood said. “I’d rather focus on the fact that he’s okay now.”

And he’d stay that way if Wolfwood had anything to say about it. He had two reasons to steer Vash’s future now. If Livio was dragged to July, that meant he was in danger.

I won’t let them hurt him again.

Should he tell Vash everything he was going to face? Would that be too dangerous? Meryl got out of the truck and started walking to them before he could decide. I’ll talk to her about it. She might know what to do.

“Are you okay?” Meryl asked.

“Better now,” Vash said. “Right, Nico?”

“I’m functional.” And hopefully he didn’t look too much like he’d been crying. “Do we know where we’re going? Don’t think just driving around is going to get us anywhere fast.”

“I do! I can navigate. We’ll have to keep moving so eventually someone else will have to drive…”

Vash kept chatting as he walked away, but Meryl hung back. Wolfwood thought she was going to say something to him; instead, she gave him a quick, one-armed hug before running to catch up to Vash.

Oh.

Maybe the gesture shouldn’t have been a surprise after their conversation last time, but Wolfwood still couldn’t quite believe it had happened. It was more grace and forgiveness that he didn’t deserve, and yet neither Meryl nor Vash seemed to care about that. They gave it freely anyway.

Three reasons, he decided as he followed the two of them. He had three reasons to fight for the future.

If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was fight.

.

Vash barely had to be bullied into sleeping first that night, which really spoke to how tired he was. Meryl was glad she didn’t have to fight him about it, and just as glad that it gave her a chance to talk to Wolfwood.

“Do you think we should tell him everything?” Wolfwood asked.

“I…” Meryl sighed. “I don’t know. It feels drastic, but maybe…”

Her hands clenched the steering wheel. She’d been thinking about the changed events of the future while the boys were gone. As it turned out, Livio’s survival hadn’t just influenced her later interaction with Wolfwood.

“What do you remember about July now?”

“Uh…lot of it’s the same, up ‘til we find you in the tower. Elendira hurt…” Wolfwood took a deep breath, but it wasn’t enough to hide the note of rage in his voice. “…Livio. And Roberto looked like he had some blood on him.”

“That’s his. Livio tried to be a distraction, so he got most of the nails, but Roberto…he still got hit. But not in his gut like before. Just his arm.” Which was still potentially bad. The words brachial artery and don’t want to mess with this her were thrown out there. But…

“Wolfwood, he was alive when I went back up for Vash.” Meryl felt her eyes start filling up with tears. “He still gave me the derringer, but he was alive. He and Livio were going to get out of the city together.”

“…Shit,” Wolfwood breathed. “Damn. We really did something, huh?”

Meryl nodded and reached up to wipe the tears away. “And that’s a good thing. I’m grateful, I really am. But I was thinking, maybe all of this…we can change things, sure, but what I’m worried about is that no matter what we do, Knives is never going to stop. We can make Vash realize what he’s like, we can save Livio and Roberto, but that doesn’t fix that Knives wants Vash back.”

“Right. Right.” Wolfwood groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If we convince Vash not to go to July willingly…

“And if no one is ever able to catch him for the bounty…”

“God only knows what kind of tantrum Knives will pitch.”

“Pretty much.”

“Shit.” Wolfwood rolled the window down and lit a cigarette. “So, we turn this thing towards July and put a bullet in Knives, then?”

“That’s not…first of all, can you even pull something like that off?”

“I’m about ready to give it a shot. Pun fully intended.”

“What happened to dying a normal death?”

“You know the amount of bullshit I’ve already done for my family? I can do one more thing. Killing an angel isn’t that far off from betraying one, if you think about it.”

“…okay, that would make a great quote,” Meryl admitted, “but the plan is still stupid.”

“You got a better one?”

Meryl glanced in the rearview mirror. Vash was still fast asleep, right down to the snoring and drooling combo. “The only person who can beat Knives is Vash,” Meryl said finally. “Maybe…we tell him the truth, if he wants to know it. And then we trust him to do what’s best.”

Wolfwood looked like he was about to bite his cigarette in half from how tight his jaw was. “He shouldn’t have to,” he said quietly. “Even if he’s capable of it…”

“We’ll be there for him no matter what happens,” Meryl said. “I think we’re a lot more capable of that than we are of fighting Knives ourselves.”

Wolfwood sighed out a cloud of smoke. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Not happy about it, but I’ve barely been happy about the way my life is going for…” He paused, then counted on his fingers. “Most of it, so I guess I shouldn’t be too shocked.”

Meryl grimaced. “Well, hopefully you’ll have something to be happy about at the end of all this. Do you mind taking over? I need to write something down.”

Remembering dates took longer than she expected, and she had to ask Wolfwood for help a few times, but before it was her turn to rest, she had a timeline of what was to come written out. “So, we give him this, tell him some of what’s at stake…then it’s his call,” Meryl said. She rubbed her eyes and bit back a yawn. “Only so much we can do now.”

“Don’t remind me.” Wolfwood slowed the car to a stop. “We’ll do it in the morning. Get Vash up, then you get some sleep.”

“Okay.” Meryl went to open the door, but hesitated. “Wolfwood…earlier, when you said ‘family’…”

It was hard to tell in the low light, but she was pretty sure she saw Wolfwood blush a bit. “Listen, it’s your damn fault for letting me tag along this long,” he said. His words were defensive, but his tone had too much honesty in it. “That’s what happens when you feed strays. Everyone knows that.”

Oh.

Meryl stared down at her hands for a moment. It somehow would’ve been easier if he’d said he was in love with her or something. That she knew how to respond to. This felt…bigger, somehow. Maybe it was because of everything they’d been through together, or maybe it was because she knew how important family was to Wolfwood. Either way…

She was surprised to find she didn’t mind the idea.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you with the truck,” Meryl said quietly.

Just like that, any awkwardness was gone between them. Wolfwood laughed, and Meryl started giggling along with him. “Yeah,” he said. He was smiling. It was one of the few real, genuine smiles Meryl had seen on Wolfwood’s face. “Yeah, I am, too.” Wolfwood nudged her gently. “Go on. Sleep.”

It took more effort to wake Vash up than it did to convince him to sleep, but eventually he took Meryl’s place in the passenger seat while she tried to make herself comfortable in the back. Despite the inherent lack of comfort that came with sleeping in a moving vehicle, she found herself dozing off quickly, lulled to sleep by the sound of the motor and the quiet conversation between Wolfwood and Vash.

It was strange to admit that she felt safe, but she did.

.

“Hey, can we talk?”

Wolfwood winced. That wasn’t the best way Meryl could’ve opened the conversation. Vash looked between her and Wolfwood with a confused expression. “Uh, am I grounded or something?” he asked.

“Why bother?” Wolfwood said. “It wouldn’t stop you from doing boneheaded stuff.” No, joking about this wasn’t going to make it any easier. Might as well just jump in. “It’s about your brother.”

And there went the mood, predictably. Wolfwood almost felt guilty, seeing the light go right out of Vash’s eyes, but it was a conversation they had to have. Better to just rip the rest of the bandage off. “I know we talked about some of this yesterday, but things with Knives aren’t going to get any better,” Wolfwood said. “People are going to get hurt. People are going to get killed. And I’m not saying that’s your fault, that’s all on him. But it would be on us if we didn’t warn you.”

Meryl nodded in agreement and held out the timeline she’d written the night before, carefully folded up into a tidy square. “It’s all here,” she said, “if you want to read it. Everything that’s going to happen in the future. We don’t want to force you, but we thought you should have the option. It’s up to you how much you want to know.”

Vash took the paper carefully, as if it were a live worm that might sting him at any second. “I’m the only one who can do something aren’t I?” he said quietly. “Not because it’s my penance. I just…am.” Wolfwood expected him to start tearing up again, but instead Vash just smiled. “How awful is that?”

Meryl hugged him immediately. Wolfwood joined in the embrace. Vash still didn’t shake, didn’t cry. “I have a few years, right?”

“Yeah,” Wolfwood said. “Yeah, you’ve got time.”

“Enough time to be a little selfish?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“There’s a little bar in the place we’re going. No limits on the drinks this time. I want…” He gripped Wolfwood’s arm a bit more tightly. “…I want to have a few drinks with you. Play the piano again. Just be normal for a little while, you know?”

“I don’t think that sounds selfish,” Meryl said, “but it does sound like a good night. I’d love to.”

“Count me in, too,” Wolfwood said. “Think we can convince them to give us free drinks? We are about to be their heroes and all.”

“Can’t hurt to ask.” Vash pulled them both a little closer. “I’m so glad to have you both.”

There were still no tears in his voice, but the earnestness there hit harder than tears. He sounded young again, like the kid locked up and alone, desperate for comfort, happy to find it even in the company of a stranger.

But they weren’t strangers anymore. Wolfwood may not have meant to be so sentimental to Meryl’s face the night before, but he had meant every word.

They were part of his family now, for better or for worse. And he’d do what he had to for them.

.

It felt like a miracle that they made it into town without anything going wrong. The warm welcome they received felt even more surreal as a result. Vash looked just as taken aback as Meryl felt—which led her to wonder how many less-than warm welcomes he’d received lately—but he warmed to the treatment quickly. Wolfwood was much more closed off until a gaggle of kids started following them around, asking questions. He may have kept side-eyeing the adults, but he had no problem chatting with the kids.

“Oh, there was a hundred, at least,” Wolfwood said. He didn’t seem deterred when the claim was met with a chorus of disbelief. “That’s how many I counted.”

“It was ten at most,” Meryl interjected. “We wouldn’t have made it out if there was one hundred.”

“Sure we would’ve. That’s thirty…something each? We could take that many.”

Meryl narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t tell if there was a compliment hidden in the tall tales boasting—if Wolfwood really thought she could handle thirty-ish armed bandits solo—or if he was just messing with her. Vash interjected before she could think about it too hard: “It sure felt like a hundred.” He finished inputting something into the various machines the Plant was connected to and stepped back. “That place was so messy, you couldn’t turn a corner without running right back into someone – “

“Look!” yelled one of the kids.

The Plant was peering out of her bulb. While some of the kids shrank away at the sight, even more pressed forward, poking their heads through the railing that separated the guests from the equipment. “Easy, don’t trample each other.” Wolfwood scooped up one smaller child who was dangerously close to being squished by the railing and set her down next to him. “You’ve never seen this before?”

Meryl wasn’t surprised when the kids shook their heads. She’d only seen a Plant’s body in textbook illustrations before that day on the sand steamer. The Plant’s visible eye moved from Vash, to her, to Wolfwood. Did she recognize them? Had they met before, or did she know them through Vash?

“Do you want to say ‘hi’ to her?” Vash offered. The girl Wolfwood had moved nodded. “Here.”

The girl took Vash’s offered hand and walked closer to the tank with him. A nearby Plant engineer and a few security guards watched carefully. Meryl was a little surprised they hadn’t tried to stop them, but maybe they wanted to see where this was going. “Just put your hand right here,” Vash said. “She’s friendly. I promise.”

The girl pressed her hand against the glass with no hesitation, reaching up as high as she could. Her gaze was intense at first, but brightened into excitement as the Plant bulb opened more, giving a full view of the Plant’s face. One long, slender arm reached out as the Plant reciprocated the touch. The girl jumped up and down in place. “She’s smiling!” she said. “Do you guys see that? She’s smiling!”

“I told you she’s friendly,” Vash said. There was joy in his voice as he watched the moment of connection. “Anyone else want to say hello?”

In the end, every one of the kids, even the ones who’d backed away at first, came forward to touch the glass. Most just gave a simple greeting, a hi or a hello, but a few had more to say.

I think you’re really pretty.

Thanks for giving us power and everything.

I’m glad you’re back safe.

Every kind word made Vash’s smile grow more radiant—not necessarily bigger, but definitely brighter. Meryl could especially see it in his eyes, in the way they softened, taking in the scene as though it was everything he’d wanted.

And maybe it was. This was humanity treating Plants with kindness, appreciation. Everything Knives seemed to think would happen. This was just a small moment, but it was something.

There has to be more I can do in the future. I’m a reporter, aren’t I? I can use that to advocate for the Plants. No matter what changed about the future, that she could do.

I won’t let his faith in us be for nothing.

“I have never seen that happen with a Plant before,” said the Plant engineer as the last of the kids left and the Plant retreated back into her bulb.

“I think she’s glad to be back with her people,” Vash said cheerily. “Or maybe I have the magic touch.”

Not even Wolfwood and Meryl’s looks of alarm at the semi-confession were enough to knock the smile off his face. He was practically floating as they got settled into town and headed to the bar. Meryl kept bracing herself for something to go wrong, for people to decide that turning on Vash was worth the money it might bring them, but it didn’t happen. They were welcomed into the bar as heroes. As Wolfwood had hoped, the drinks were free. Meryl kept her own consumption to a minimum, and Wolfwood looked like he was holding himself back, too, even though he had more than her. Vash had more than both of them. He didn’t get falling-down drunk, but he was a lot less hesitant to get on the piano this time. His cheer made the lyrics of the song he was singing a bit surprising.

And the waitress is practicing politics as the businessmen slowly get stoned…

But she guessed that made sense in its own way.

Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone.

It was exactly the kind of normal night Vash had wanted. Meryl was hesitant to end it for him, but she was starting to nod off at the bar, and there was only so much alcohol Vash could consume before he got dangerously drunk. Wolfwood ended up preemptively carrying him, just in case he wasn’t sober enough to make it back. “Don’t whine to me if you have a headache tomorrow,” Wolfwood cautioned as they reached their motel room door.

Vash giggled. “I have a secret. Guys, I have…”

“Hold on,” Meryl said. She opened the door and let the boys in first before following. “Okay. What secret?”

Vash giggled again. “I process alcohol more efficiently than humans do,” he said in a loud whisper. “I probably won’t have a headache at all.”

Wolfwood rolled his eyes. “Showoff,” he said as he dumped Vash onto the bed. Vash’s giggles turned into full laughter. “At least tell me you’ve exploited that to win a bet or something.”

“Oh, yeah. I needed the bus money.”

“I’m only a little mad at you, then.” Wolfwood started yanking off Vash’s boots. “You should still get some sleep.”

“Mmm, yeah. Should probably head out early tomorrow.” Vash waited until his boots were off before he curled up on his side, grabbing one of the pillows and clutching it to his chest. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Meryl tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t. She could only stare helplessly at Wolfwood as he put his hands on his hips and stared down at the floor, his jaw flexing as he mulled it over. Vash lifted his head to look at them. “Hey, don’t look sad,” he said. “I had a good time. And I think I’ll go back home after this. See everyone again…figure things out.” His head dropped back to the mattress. “It’ll be good for me, I think.”

“That’s a good plan.” Meryl sat next to him. He was still smiling, and it wasn’t the somber smile he wore when he was upset. He really did look happy, just tired. “We’ll be there in the morning to get you there, okay?”

“I know.” Vash’s eyes drifted shut. “Thank you, guys.”

Meryl started carefully stroking Vash’s hair. He didn’t seem to need the comfort; he was out cold in seconds. Wolfwood shrugged his jacket off and stood over the two of them with his hands in his pocket. He was wearing the clothes Vash had gotten for him. They made him look older, less like a child playing dress-up as an adult and more like the early twentysomething that he was. “Probably a smart idea to get out of here early,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Meryl replied.

“Still sucks, though.”

“Yeah. It sucks.” Meryl sighed and got up. “Almost everything about the situation he’s in sucks.”

Wolfwood nodded in agreement. His gaze drifted to the window as Meryl walked to their bag. She started her usual routine of checking what supplies they had. Wolfwood was low on ammo. That could be a problem in the future, though if they were leaving before even the shops opened, they might just have to deal with it. She should fill up their water bottles before she went to sleep. She…

The water bottle in her hands was suddenly in Wolfwood’s. “You sleep,” he said. “I’ll handle this.”

Meryl wanted to argue, but the sudden feeling of heaviness sweeping over her won out quickly. “Just be sure you sleep, too,” Meryl said as she stood up shakily. “We don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow.”

“Yeah, true.” Wolfwood grabbed the other water containers and started for the bathroom. “I’ll get us refilled and then right to bed. Promise.”

Meryl was barely able to get changed into something more comfortable before crawling into bed. She could see Vash in the next bed over, curled up and facing her. He looked so young and peaceful. She didn’t think he’d even looked so peaceful when she knew him in the past. The last thing she heard before drifting off to sleep was the sound of Wolfwood crawling into his own bed.

She hoped he slept well, too. Not just to face what the next day might bring. He deserved the rest.

They all did.

.

Vash, true to what he’d said, barely showed any signs of the last night’s alcohol consumption, aside from chugging a lot of water directly from the sink. Wolfwood wanted to be jealous, but he was too wrapped up in the big picture.

“Where’s your head at?” he asked as they finished packing up.

Vash shrugged. “Trying to focus on one thing at a time. I’ll make better decisions about Nai when I’m back home.” He glanced at Wolfwood. “If you don’t have to leave before…do you want to see him?”

His first instinct was to say yes. Even from a distance, even to see if Livio was okay for himself. But he had that fresh memory of Livio on Ship Three, clear and vivid as any of his old memories, even if deep down he didn’t really feel like he’d experienced it himself. He could hold onto that for now. Besides, for all the forgiveness he’d been given lately, he didn’t think he was ready. Didn’t think that he deserved to be in Livio’s presence again. When all of this was over, maybe, but for now…

“Probably better if I keep my distance. I appreciate it, though.” He gave Vash a light thump on the arm. “Just promise me you won’t let him reach your level of stupid decisions, yeah?”

Vash chuckled. “I’m trying. He’s got more common sense than me, but…well, you’ll have a lot to talk about.” He stood up and glanced out the window. The light outside was still orange, and the sounds of the early risers getting to their jobs were starting to filter through. “Maybe I’ll come back here one day. It doesn’t seem like a bad place.”

Hopefully, if he did ever come back, he’d receive the same warm welcome, or at least one of indifference.

They didn’t see many people on the street as they left, but the few they did were friendly enough. Stay safe, come back soon, all of that. Wolfwood still stayed cautious until they were out of sight. He’d heard about how quickly Jeneora Rock had turned on Vash when they needed the money. A repeat of that would ruin Vash’s seemingly good cheer.

The appearance of a portal not too far from town wasn’t enough to make Wolfwood feel any safer. He was almost hesitant to hand over his lighter, much as the item had started feeling like a good luck charm. “Straight home, okay?” Wolfwood said.

“Yes, Nico, I’m going straight home.” Vash pocketed the lighter, hugged Wolfwood, hugged Meryl. “And I’ll think about it. About…all of it.”

Meryl was slow to let go of him. “I’m really sorry,” she said quietly. “I know it’s a lot to put on you. If there was any other way, we’d take it.”

“I know.” Vash’s hand rested on her shoulder for a moment before he looked out over the horizon. “See you in the future.”

“See you, Vash.”

They lingered in front of the tear in the scenery, watching Vash walk away, whistling as he went. “He’ll get there okay,” Meryl said quietly, “right? If he were going to get into trouble, we wouldn’t be leaving right now.”

“I think so,” Wolfwood said. “It’s the after I’m worried about.”

Meryl nodded and looked back at the portal. “It feels different this time.”

He knew what she meant. Going through these doors had always felt like stepping through the unknown before. This time, he had a strange feeling that he knew what was on the other side of that door—or, at least, had a better idea than he had.

Vash only had about four years. That didn’t leave them with many incidents to run into.

“We’ve handled it all so far.” Wolfwood held out a hand to Meryl. “I’ll stay close.”

Meryl nodded and took his hand. “I will, too.”

And with that, they stepped through, another step closer to a future that was feeling more and more uncertain.

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Lies Late at Night

Summary: Written for AI-less Whumptober Day 4. Canon Divergent AU. Hiccup won the honor to kill the Nightmare, but before he could, the Nightmare mysteriously disappeared. Now it’s been three years and his father still doesn’t know about Toothless and the Dragon Riders.

Warning: /

Rating: General

Characters: Hiccup, Stoick

Pairing: /

Words: 1 011

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon, Race To The Edge

Prompt: Hiding an injury, Betrayal, Lying

Whumpee: Hiccup, Stoick

Author’s Notes: Thought of this AU, don't have a name for it yet, but I can see the potential for a lot more fics for this one.

Enjoy!

@ailesswhumptober

XOXOX

As quietly as he can, Hiccup tries to open and close the front door to his home. It's late. Much later than he told his dad he'd be. And as luck would have it; his father sits at the fire. He’s been waiting for him, stoking its dying embers.

A pot hangs above it. Hiccup wonders if whatever used to be in it is still edible. He hasn’t eaten since this morning, but he doesn’t hunger for a hearty dinner.

Stoick knows he’s there, he knows he does. Even so, Hiccup tries to sneak past him up the stairs.

Unfortunately, he’s limping and that means he doesn’t get very far without drawing attention. His prosthetic is quite loud on the wooden floor. He can hear the stool under his father creak as the mountainous man rises.

Hiccup freezes just shy of walking up the stairs. His face is in a grimace, bracing himself for what could possibly turn into a lecture.

“You’re late,” his father starts, hands on his hips. It’s a very father-like way of standing and Hiccup can’t look at him.

“Uh, yeah. I, uh… I got held up,” Hiccup explains briefly.

“You got held up? While fishing?” Stoick asks. His son doesn’t need to look to know that at least one eyebrow is raised in suspicion. Not only did he return with no fish to show for his efforts, but the gear he has is not one would usually take with them on a trip to the nearest lake. Not unless his way of catching fish is by clubbing it over the head with the hilt of a sword.

He knows it’s a collapsible sword. Stoick doesn’t understand how it is in any way a reliable weapon.

“Uh, yea-yeah? Anyway, gotta go to bed. Need to get up bright and early tomorrow for work, right?” Hiccup chuckles awkwardly as he tries to cut this conversation short. He’s so tired. He’s tired and in pain and he wants to go to bed.

His father might’ve actually let him go with that one. Hiccup once earned the right to kill the Nightmare, but the dragon mysteriously disappeared and with it disappeared any hope of a connection between father and son.

Not because of Stoick, however. He assured him that they would catch another Nightmare to prove his worth with. It was Hiccup who suddenly pulled away and distanced himself from his father as far as he could go. It no longer feels like they even live in the same house anymore and Stoick has absolutely no idea why.

In a way, it broke the man and that’s why- three years later- he won’t question his son’s whereabouts anymore.

The rest of the village might complain to him about their lackluster heir, but he has lost the will to fight with his son. Hiccup is 18, if he couldn’t change to be one of them earlier, he’s not going to now. At least he still has his friends, for however long they’ll stick around. At least for the time being Astrid seems fond of him. Hiccup won’t let either of them cross this distance between them, but at least he doesn’t have just him and Gobber in his life.

Unfortunately for the both of them, however, he’s limping and his father is still his father.

“Son? Are you hurt?” Hiccup winces at the question.

He and Toothless made a bad fall, dislocating his weak knee. Astrid reset it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still hurting and his knee isn’t still swelling.

But he can’t tell his dad that. He doesn’t know about Toothless or the missions they do together. No one in the village knows about the Dragon Riders and it’s for the best. If they did... He refuses to imagine what would happen to their dragons if they told anyone. It’s the one thing keeping Snotlout and the twins quiet about their secret.

“Uhm, I-I slipped. It was muddy out there and-and you know how clumsy I am, dad,” Hiccup makes an excuse and one his dad doesn’t believe. He sighs heavily and Hiccup’s chest constricts, he aches knowing that his dad is disappointed in him. They both know he’s lying.

From the corners of his eyes, he dares to look at his old man. Stoick rubs in his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He can see the migraine growing.

But just like they both know he’s lying, they also know that neither of them are trying anymore.

“Did you at least visit Gothi?” Stoick asks.

“Of course!” He responds eagerly.

Hopefully, it’ll ease his father’s heart. He hasn’t forgotten yet how he responded to his friends returning him to the village with a terribly mangle leg. The limb was nearly lost in an attempt to rid the Archipelago of the Red Death, but it was in vain. She’s still in that volcano, ruling with an iron fist and bringing death to the Barbaric Archipelago. He and the rest of the Dragon Riders almost lost their lives fighting this behemoth only to find out that she was quite untouchable. And so, the only alternative was to help dragons escape the nest.

“It’s, eh, a minor injury, so,” Hiccup gives him a thumbs up. He hopes to at least assure his father that he’s okay.

But his father sighs and walks back over to the stool to drop down onto it. He should be glad that his son is okay, he should be relieved, but all he can think of is how Hiccup is still lying to him and how he would’ve hidden his injury if Stoick hadn’t caught him.

Hiccup’s guilt grows, he looks away.

“Hiccup… son… When will you finally tell me the truth again?” The question is asked so quietly, he’s not even sure if Stoick meant for him to hear it.

“I don’t know, dad,” Hiccup responds even quieter and limps up the stairs. He heads up to his loft to drop down onto his bed and hopefully leave this day far behind him.

[galvanizedfriend]

what do you think about the baby plotlines? about hope and the twins? do you think they ruined any chance of klaroline being together? or do you think kc could have been together for real and had a good relationship if the babies didn't exist?

This might seem surprising since I have written over a million words of baby fic (although I will argue that it's not a baby fic, it's a fic that contains a baby, which is very different 😌), but I hate the baby plot. I'm a clown. 🤡

It's not about Hope or the twins in particular, nothing against them, I just think that suddenly including magical babies in a supernatural story about vampires is just about the stupidest thing you can do. Vampires are not supposed to have babies, period. I remember watching the backdoor pilot episode of The Originals not having the slightest clue what to expect because I wasn't in fandom back then, or even following anything about TVD, just watched the episodes as they came out, and the moment they revealed The Originals' move to New Orleans was about a baby, I turned off my TV. Whoever thought that giving Klaus A BABY was the best thing they could do for him, is an idiot that should've been fired on spot.

If they wanted to explore the whole father-child situation, drawing from Klaus' immense well of daddy issues, they could've used Marcel. It would've been so much more powerful and so much more interesting. The thought that Klaus, out of all the Originals, would just decide to embrace fatherhood after getting a one-night stand he didn't even like accidentally pregnant makes NO SENSE AT ALL. This is the man who stabbed his siblings and carried them around in coffins as a love language. And people want me to believe that this violence-first, emotionally constipated hybrid would want to raise a child. Sure.

As for Caroline's pregnancy - I guess once you have established that Klaus could make magical babies, then anything was possible. The excuse they used that Candice was pregnant was so dumb though. So many movies and shows have been shot while the actresses were heavily pregnant, but their characters weren't. Catherine Zeta Jones was six or seven months pregnant in Chicago. Everyone in Grey's Anatomy had babies. Ellen Pompeo had three onscreen babies but none of them were written to match her real life pregnancies. In fact, Candice had to wear a prosthetic belly because she wasn't pregnant ENOUGH. So stupid.

HAVING SAID THAT. I don't think the babies were the reason why Klaroline didn't happen. At the end of the day, it wouldn't have been something that would've kept them apart if the writers had wanted to go there. If anything, babies could've brought them closer. I mean, Klaus should've been completely inept when it comes to taking care of another human being who's entirely dependent upon him. Caroline, as a carer at heart, could've seamlessly fit into the narrative. And especially after they gave her babies as well, they could've easily connected through their snowflake kids.

In fact, my personal headcanon (somewhat backed by real canon) is that they did. Klaus gave her money for her school, and while I don't think he did it so he could send Hope there later on as Legacies tried to make us believe, I do think the reason he ended up allowing Hope to attend the school was BECAUSE Caroline was there. He trusted her with his daughter, in a way he probably wouldn't have trusted anyone else, particularly because he was absent. He needed to know she would be safe and in good hands, and that was definitely not because of Alaric. And I also think they kept in touch during all those years where Hope went to school there and he went on a murder bend around Europe. Hayley couldn't get a hold of him, but Rebekah IMMEDIATELY knew who she could reach out to to find him. If Caroline hadn't seen or spoken to him in 15 years, that would make no sense. The way Klaus is all 'Trying not to flatter myself that you're here on a sudden whim to see me' implies more intimacy than two people who hadn't spoken in over a decade would've had. They were definitely in touch. How much touching was involved is up to your imagination. :)

One thing I wish Legacies had explored was Caroline's relationship with Hope. They obviously had one, we were just never shown it, which is sad, because there were so many interesting layers that could've been explored. It's also in my personal headcanon that Lizzie would've been fascinated with Klaus had him and Caroline ever had a chance to be together and he got to hang around her kids as well, and the irony that her middle name is Jenna is just delicious (Klaus wouldn't have felt the slightest bit of remorse). It would've given Alaric so much grief.

In conclusion, Klaroline could've been together with or without the babies. They weren't what was standing between them. Stupid writing was.

[erinelizabethh]

Time Slip | Chai x Reader (5/?)

Summary: Chai, ambassador of Vandelay Technologies, certainly has his ways of communication. You, living in the suburbs outside the campus, don't even have a cell phone. You know what they say about relationships...

Chapter One: Time Slip

Chapter Two: #E67451

Chapter Three: Daisies

Chapter Four: Sweet Dreams

Chapter Five: Synesthesia

When the sun begins to set is when Chai begins to squeeze at your fingers like the beat that grants him life. One heartbeat, two heartbeats… a song from the late seventies that he begs you to never skip when you tune into the radio. He swings your arm back and forth with the tune, walking with a swagger unlike you, basking in the summer breeze that caresses your skin and draws out the beauty marks and imperfections–a sketch across your skin. The glances up and down is the tell, except his eyes don’t gloss over the flush of red all over your face. Yours can’t help but notice, the casual, “Me and a pretty girl out on a date? Who would’ve thought… and she’s my girlfriend!” sinking into your stomach like butterflies.

 The date is like your first, with the visit to that same cafe except Chai wills himself to order a pumpkin spice latte he mentioned seconds ago released too early. However, his tongue relishes in the whipped cream reduced to foam atop his drink; the man raises his free hand to slurp at the topping before groaning in satisfaction. His eyes roll to the back of his head every time, and you imagine the reaction is amplified by the fact that the two drinks did not come out of his wallet. His hand does not let go of yours, the two of you across an overpass that overlooks the sun in the distant horizon. The time of day calls for a movie night, perhaps at a local theater where the experience is so real and imperfect and humans provide the service.

He pulls you along the sidewalk of the overpass but you halt your movements to observe the trail of train tracks descend towards a sky of violet hues and summer blues. The path grows narrow as the distance between increases, and behind the two of you is the sound of a drawn out horn. Your gaze is through holes of a fence, a wall before you dragging you from the unknown. What is now is the garden of tulips that surround you, the scent that represents the present more than any other invention that attempts to replicate what is real. What is real is the arm that hangs over your shoulder, following your gaze out into the distance, as real as the refuge Chai provides you.

You hum, and because that doesn’t get his attention, you call out his name. “You gotta’ take me to that place. Y’know, with the view.”

His arms wrap around your shoulders, his chin resting on your left. “That’s off limits but I guess I can take you.”

So he does. The route there is as mundane as the life he lived as a child, a conclusion you jump to upon the tapping of his feet on the train car floor. His prosthetic taps at the metal bar above your head, regardless of the huffs that escape you, yet they falter at the first sight at the place he calls home: the campus that houses him and his roommate Peppermint. The buildings, although imitating, tower above the railway with the interest in housing for those desiring to be close to work. Ahead of you is the spot you have dreamed of since the photo Chai sent you of him and his friends with the ocean behind them; the shine of the sun’s rays across the water is a sight you want to experience for the rest of your life. Perhaps there is the romantic getaway the hopeless romantic in you have always wished for.

You don’t think there’s a sight that can compare, especially because the tips of the grass glows and tickles at your ankles with a sway that rivals Chai’s incessant rocking. You taste the breeze atop your lips, the chill brushing past a cupid’s bow chewed on the more Chai reminds you how much you are loved… without saying it, of course. You scramble to your knees, to embrace the tufts of grass in your fists, to savor the distance between you and the sun setting to meet you. Ten steps forward and it is you against the ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below as the ascent to reach you begins. Nothing is past your vision except the possibilities and the stories untold; you haven’t a clue what is out there, and perhaps that is what’s most exciting.  The young man behind you throws his hands up in the air as if to say, “Welp, this is it!” yet he underestimates the glimpse of the wonders of the world he bestowed to you.

“You like it, huh? Did good, right babe?” He then sits beside you, a guitar he picked up from a nearby rock resting atop his crossed legs. The streaks of red and white are his match, as are the stickers he slapped on with the most notable being a holographic black cat and a fragment of you outlined as a flower. Chai’s shoulders are relaxed, a sigh escaping past the grin that cements itself on his lips. When his eyes begin to glisten, no doubt the reason being the attempt to see the world in your eyes, he turns to find you sparing a glance at him at the corner of your eye. You share the sentiment, your vision shuffling to the guitar in his embrace, and your smile grows with the shade of pink that warms up his face. 

With a hurried strum of his guitar, he warns you with a, “This isn’t finished, but—” He shakes his head. “I really want you to hear it.”

Synesthesia is the name of his work in progress. He looks into your eyes as he begins, a gaze so tender that it’s as if the song is written for you, and you edge closer as if the warmth stems from only him. His voice is soft, low enough that the waves crawling towards the bottom of the cliff threaten to drown out his tune. He whispers at times, mumbling words here and there, and he remedies his nerves by closing his eyes and allowing his body to sway with the chords. The grass follows his movements, and what surrounds you two is an audience that resonate with Chai’s words so much they sing along ever so quietly, a murmur swallowed whole by your humming. As if familiar with the song, a chorus is raised around the two of you as the outro begins, the wind picking up despite the heat nipping at your skin.

When we're together, I'm all the color

When we're together, I'm all the color

When we're together, I'm all the color

You repeat the lyric back to him, effortless enough to memorize. Your lips are centimeters from his when he opens his eyes again, your vision flickering to his lips wet with anticipation. Like yours, they begin to flutter close with what’s about to come, both of you confident that the two of you will align with a kiss that is as perfect as this view. This one promises to be different from the rest, edging toward the abstract of love without the words being spoken. You imagine it’s another step toward that three word phrase, one you’ve said so many times and too quickly for your own good. His breath hot on the tip of your nose, his hand threads itself past the knots in your hair to the back of your head, pulling you close. For now, you can tell him you love this, that you love that it seems as if each kiss will be better than the last. You hope it’s enough for him, if you remind him that—

“Oh dear! It looks like we’ve interrupted something between Mister Chai and Miss—”

Chai groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sight of his trusted friends. Peppermint is the first to approach you two, followed by her love interest Korsica, their guardian Macaron, and his whimsical analyst CNMN. Of course, 808 follows suit with a nuzzle against Chai’s back, vying for his attention once again. However sheepish the big guy is, Macaron tends to the curiosity of his friends by tagging along with an apology and a scratch of his scalp. Peppermint, with her hands on her hips, relishes in the embarrassment of her friend with a smirk tugged on her lips, cackling when Chai answers with a, “Yeah, CNMN! You kinda’ did!” They definitely did, as his head drops with a drawn out huff. The robot taps at his arm to grab a marker from a slot in his forearm, then drawing eyebrows on his face that resemble two meeting sides of a triangle above eyes that emit a bright yellow glow. He is thrilled, surely because he spends too much time with someone who very much finds joy in seeing her friend too red in the face.

Korsica stoops down to your level. “Thought we’d find ya’ here!” Then, to Chai. “You finally showed her the spot, eh?”

“Yes!” CNMN nods, his excitement concerning. “Did she like the song you wrote for her, Mister Chai?”

Your boyfriend, with another groan, buries his face in his hands. You giggle in response, evolving to a snort when you lunge forward to attempt to pry his hands away from his burning cheeks. Only then, despite the burning of your own, do you throw your arms around him to pull him into an embrace. The left side of his face is squished up against yours in the process, and despite voicing his complaints, no effort is made to distance yourself from you. His complaints, mind you, are at the mercy of a smile so wide they stretch at his cheeks. 

The rest of them can’t help but share the sentiment, but the second you notice the lingering gaze of Peppermint’s towards Korsica, you are at the mercy of her glare. Her eyes narrow, as if already knowing your not so well-kept secret.

Hey. Stop messing around and go tell him you love him already.

[tyo-mimt]

19/36. @tmnt-event-blog

Mikey remembers that asking for help is okay.

Mikey wouldn't say he's overprotective or defensive about the kitchen, but he'd be lying if he said he trusted his brothers with dinner. It wasn't an attack on them as people, but the three of them had different ways of cooking, and Leo would probably be the closest to a legitimate chef, if it wasn't for the missing hand and the hazard a highly explosive prosthetic would pose to the kitchen (thanks, Donnie).

Besides, he enjoyed making food for the whole family, and it wasn't like any of them were going to complain about not being able to eat.

Though, today was a particularly hard day.

His hands shook as he handled the pan, liquid sloshing out as he fought his body to cooperate.

He tried drawing before, but they looked sketchier; it wasn't the artistic kind either, the dissonance between his mind's eye and action discouraging him further. He tried helping Donnie with an invention, but the tremors in his hands caused a wire to melt; he wasn't officially banished from the lab yet, but there was the implication. He even tried to accompany Raph with a training session, but the jitters kept him from focusing; Raph officially banished him from the garage until the bad streak ended.

So where was he now? Struggling to make a simple soup for his family in the kitchen, pushing his frustrations to the back of his mind as he attempted to focus on the task at hand.

He bit his tongue, eyes narrowing as he eventually managed to place the pan down on the stove without spilling anything. He let out a sigh of relief, stepping back only to trip over on a soapy sponge. He wasn't able to catch himself, impacting causing him to kick the cabinet in front of him and topple over a precariously piled stack of dirty pans. It's easy to guess where they all fell.

The sound of metal clattering unceremoniously onto the box turtle alerted the other three turtles, immediately rushing in to lift the dirty dishes from Mikey's fallen body.

"Who was supposed to do the dishes?" Mikey questioned, trying and failing not to sound accusatory.

Raph and Donnie immediately turned to look at Leo; the slider scowled incredulously, "Hey! I dropped the sponge and was dragged out of the kitchen by the Caseys! Well, just Cassandra specifically."

"Never mind that," Raph groaned, facepalming with that typical flavour of big brother disappointment, before extending a hand to Mikey with a soft smile, "Let's just focus on helping Mikey out."

"Right, we don't want him turning into us," Donnie drawled, only to get jabbed in the elbow by Leo.

"We definitely don't want that," Leo rolled his eyes, crossing his arm over his plastron. Mikey laughed a little, lifting his hand up. It shook, a reminder of what caused this to begin with... Ah, but it didn't matter. He took the hand extended to him, being pulled up. The mess on the ground promptly cleaned up and the wet sponge thrown into the closest trash can, they continued to cook.

Raph helped wash the rest of the dishes, Leo kept track of the soup to make sure it didn't overboil, and Donnie cut up a various array of vegetables as Mikey flew across the cupboards for any seasonings he missed. They finished quicker than Mikey expected, just in time for their regularly scheduled dinner time. Dad (Splinter) came back with other dad (Draxum) from a small exploration of New York, immediately welcomed with the smell of warm stew.

It was dysfuctional, maybe a little broken, but Mikey wouldn't trade it for the world.

[maria021015]

“I think it’s time you give us a proper explanation,” Isaac crossed his arms, standing across from Chris in the Argent’s office. Scott, Allison and Zaida were standing around the desk whilst Kira waited in the other room. She’d surely have plenty of questions for them, but right now they had more important things to worry about.

“I thought you were going to wait before telling the others,” Chris glanced at the teenagers in the room.

“We did,” Allison interjected, leaning against the window as warm light streamed through the half-drawn blinds. “They showed up again. The other night, how did you know what they were?”

“Because I’ve seen them before.” The man relented, taking a seat in his desk chair. “Many years ago, in Japan, I watched one of those…things, grab a man’s face and just stare at him. There was something almost ritualistic about it - like it was looking right into his soul.”

“That's the same thing it did to me.” Isaac identified bitterly.

“That's what they did to everyone.” Allison corrected.

“Not everyone.” Scott shook his head, stepping forward. “They only came after the werewolves.”

“And Lydia,” The huntress pointed out only for Zaida to then raise her hand.

“And me,” She added lowly.

“Anyone with a connection to the supernatural,” Chris summarised, staring at them all grimly.

“Then who was the guy they went after in Japan?” Isaac brought them back to Chris’ story.

“A Kumicho - a Yakuza boss.” The man answered with pursed lips.

“Yakuza?” Scott repeated with his eyebrows drawing close together.

“Japanese mafia,” Zaida answered succinctly so that Chris could continue with his story. She pulled the jacket that she had borrowed from Scott closer around her body, still feeling a lingering chill.

“It was my first gun deal. I was only eighteen, and it was supposed to be a simple exchange...Except Gerard left out the minor detail of the buyers being Yakuza.” Chris recalled the memory. “He wanted to see if I could adapt in the moment. Testing my ability to, uh...improvise.”

“Or, your ability to survive.” Allison scoffed, still harbouring some well-earned resentment towards her grandfather.

“The moment the sun came down, it was like they just materialized out of the shadows. They had swords - not curved like katanas, but straight, black steel, like ninjatos.” The man continued his tale.

“What did they want?” Isaac interrupted once more in an attempt to guide the conversation where they wanted it to go. They needed information. As the others spoke, Zaida checked her phone for any message notification. There was one from Lydia confirming that she was okay, but none from Stiles. With the acrid taste of disappointment in her mouth, She turned her attention back towards Chris.

“To get to the Kumicho. They cut down every living thing in their way.” The Argent spoke in a low voice, his eyes clouded with darkness.

“Did they mark him like they did us?” Isaac questioned eagerly.

“Not exactly…” Chris grimaced. “They impaled him and all of the men who tried to protect him.”

“If they went after the Kumicho, he must have been supernatural too,” Zaida spoke up and Chris nodded slowly.

“What was he?” Scott asked, leaning against the desk.

“I don't know. But, there might be someone who does.” The man’s shoulder stilted into a half-shrug. “There were a few others who survived that night. One of them was a man named Katashi. They called him ‘Silverfinger’ because of an unusual prosthetic...And it looked like he was getting ready to take them all on himself. I've known for a while Katashi was in the country. I spent yesterday tracking him down.”

“Didn't look like he wanted to be found,” Isaac responded snarkily, eyeing the deep cut on Argent’s temple, which he had closed up with three Steri strips.

“Not particularly, no.” Chris grimaced.

“You think he knows what they are? Or what they want?” Scott shifted his weight from one foot to the other, supporting his weight with crossed arms pressed against the desktop.

“Maybe…” The man tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“What if he doesn't want to talk?” Allison asked.

“What if he doesn't even remember you?” Isaac followed up with a question of his own.

“He'll remember this.” Chris reached for an item shrouded in cloth on the desk. Pulling the fabric back, he revealed pieces of a silver mask, shattered but placed in order like a mosaic. Zaida immediately recognised the face, only when she had seen it, there had been yellowish-green glowing eyes behind the dark holes. “ In a desperate attempt to save Katashi’s life, I shot one of them directly in the face. I know I didn't kill it - I'm not sure you can. But, I slowed it down long enough for us to get out of there.”

“What was behind the mask?” Scott wondered aloud curiously.

“Darkness...Absolute darkness.” Chris swallowed thickly. “No person - just black smoke.”

“Like spirits?” Zaida clarified, her brows rising inquisitively.

“Like demons,” The man shook his head.

“Even better,” She muttered. How was she going to explain this one to Xander?

“Scott! Hey, Scott!” Zaida caught sight of the boy, slamming Lydia’s passenger side door shut and half-walking, half-running towards where he was pulling into a parking spot on his dirt bike. She looked back to wave the redhead goodbye. “I’ll see you later!”

When she managed to catch up to Scott, two motorbikes had parked on either side of him, and the twins tugged off their shiny black helmets. “Why are you two always everywhere now?” She groaned and Aiden reciprocated her glare.

“You guys going to be doing this all day?” The alpha questioned the two omegas beside him.

“All day.” Ethan began with a smirk and looked at his brother to finish his sentence.

“All night,” Aiden confirmed.

“Is this about being in my pack?” Scott asked with an unamused expression sharpening his features.

“Because if so, you can kiss that hopeless dream goodbye, because it ain’t happening,” Zaida smiled sweetly at Lydia’s ex, though her lips were painted with poison.

“This is about you being the target of demonic ninjas.” Aiden corrected, ignoring her snarkiness.

“You mean, the demonic ninjas that pulled swords out of their chests and completely kicked our asses?” Ethan’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he played up the roleplay with his brother.

“Yeah! Those demonic ninjas!” Aiden nodded enthusiastically.

“I don't need anyone to protect me.” Scott insisted, but none of them were entirely convinced. One-on-one, maybe, but facing a whole hoard of them? Impossible.

“They were looking right at you when the sun came up.” Ethan justified their worries.

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” The brunette admitted, agreeing with the twin.

“And they also disappeared. Argent thinks that they could just come out at night…” The alpha shrugged.

“Scotty boy, I don’t think you’re taking this one seriously enough. I don’t know what they were doing, or why, but I can tell you it sure as hell didn’t feel great,” She grimaced, remembering the state she’d been left in the night - and morning - before.

“Since this is our first experience with demonic ninjas, we're thinking we should play it safe.” Ethan nodded.

“All day,” Aiden started the duo’s apparent new tagline.

“...And all night.” Scott finished it with a grumpy sigh, swinging his leg over his bike and carrying his helmet with him as the twins did the same.

“Scott, just…I need to talk to you!” Zaida quickened her pace to walk after him, shooting a pointed glare at Aiden. “Without any unwanted, nosy listeners.”

“Weren’t you the one who was just agreeing with us?” Ethan arched a brow at her.

“Whatever!” She scoffed at him and flashed Scott her phone screen. “Have you heard anything from Stiles? He hasn’t been answering my messages since he left the loft last night, until this morning when I got this.”

“Ooh, trouble in paradise?” Aiden teased her with a pleased grin and she stuck her favourite finger up at him in response. After finishing at the Argent’s apartment, Scott had been tasked with taking Kira home and catching her up with supernatural. Zaida had gone back to the apartment to catch a few hours of sleep and waited for Stiles to reply to at least one of her messages or calls, to no avail. Except for a brief text she’d received only twenty minutes earlier instructing her to meet him in Harris’ classroom. Safe to say, she was worried about him.

“I got the same message,” Scott nodded, glancing back over his shoulder at the twins with a stern look. “Okay, one thing first. I need to talk to Stiles and let him know everything that happened last night - without you two.”

“No!” Aiden protested, but Scott was having none of it.

“Yes.” He insisted. “And I don't want you listening in. No wolf-hearing.”

“How would you even know?” Aiden challenged the alpha but Scott raised a brow.

“I'm a True Alpha - you have no idea what I can do.” He smirked, and though Zaida was fairly certain he might be up-playing his abilities, she wasn’t about to call him out on it. Particularly not in front of the twins, and especially not when it would get them to piss off. Thankfully, both werewolves split off from them - but not without a bitter glare.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Zaida took the lead towards the Chemistry rooms, eager to see Stiles - to see if he was okay. He was waiting for them outside the classroom, leaning casually against the wall and looking entirely unharmed. “Oh thank God, you’re okay!” She pulled him into a tight hug, and though he stiffened in confusion initially, he melted into it quickly. “I thought that maybe they’d gotten to you too.”

“Who?” The boy pulled away, brows furrowing as he looked at her in confusion.

“Last night at Derek’s, I tried to follow after you but these things showed up and attacked us-” She began but his eyes widened in alarm and he cut her off.

“You were attacked? Are you okay?” Taking a step back, he gripped her shoulders and scanned her up and down, searching for any signs of injury.

“I’m fine,” Zaida promised and laid her hand over his soothingly, pulling away to allow Scott into the conversation. “We’re all fine.”

“I’m sorry I left but I had to get here and then I spent all night researching and yes, I’ve had a lot of Adderall, but I think I figured it all out.” Stiles rambled, the words shooting out of his mouth rapidly with an anxious jitter to his movements as he held open the classroom door for them to pass inside. “Remember how you were talking about phosphors, and the key having chemicals on it? So that made me think of the chemistry closet, and the fact that someone had to let Barrow in...You guys have to see this.”

“...See what?” Zaida asked as she scanned the empty classroom. Nothing particularly stood out to her, and Stiles pushed past them both to stare at the clean blackboard where they had found the coded message the night before last.

“It's gone…” The boy stared at it with a hollow look in his eyes before whirling back around to face them with a wild expression as he dug through his pockets. Pulling out his keychain, he sorted through the mass of metal. “Okay, it doesn't matter though. It doesn't matter. I've still got the key...What the hell?”

“Is it not there?” Zaida asked, stepping closer to see that the round key from the night before was indeed missing from the collection.

“I had it - I had it here. I had it here this morning, I swear to God, I had it this morning.” He muttered, beginning to spiral as his breathing shortened. Now that she looked closely, Zaida could see the deep bruised bags on his face and his bloodshot eyes. He didn’t look like he’d slept a wink.

“The key you were talking about last night?” Scott clarified and the boy nodded fervently.

“Yeah. I showed it to you, right? Didn't I show it to you?” He asked and whilst Zaida had indeed seen it, Scott shook his head.

“No, you just told me about it. I never actually saw it…” The werewolf trailed off with wariness behind his gaze.

“I saw it,” Zaida reassured the boy in an even tone, hoping it would calm him. She knew him, and he was close to falling off the edge.

“I was here a couple hours ago. And the message left to Barrow spelling Kira's name was right there on the board in my handwriting, and I had the key to the chemistry closet.” Stiles explained, and Zaida's stomach twisted. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

“So, you unlocked the chemistry closet so Barrow could hide in it from the cops, and then you wrote him a message to kill Kira...?” Scott repeated, his brows creasing in concern.

“I know how it sounds...But look at this-” Stiles exclaimed in frustration, letting his backpack slip down over his arm so he could pull a stapled bunch of papers out to show them. “This is the news report that came out about Barrow when they caught him, okay? About the shrapnel bomb that he used. See this? See what he did? He put nuts, bolts, and screws, and then he hid the bomb and the detonator in a box that he wrapped as a birthday present. What does that sound like to you?”

“Coach…” Scott answered, recalling the prank on Mischief Night. “The joke we played on Coach.”

“Stiles-” Zaida began but the boy cut her off.

“That was my idea. You remember? That was my idea.” He spluttered. “That's no coincidence. It can't be.”

“I don't want to sound like I'm trying to tell you that you're wrong...But I don't think you're trying to kill people, either.” The werewolf pointed out, appearing entirely unconvinced. In fact, he was looking at Stiles like the boy was…crazy.

“It was here. It was all here.” He whispered under his breath, eyes watering from the overwhelming emotions flooding his brain.

“Stiles, just breath.” Zaida reminded him, reaching out to grasp his hand.

“Dude, are you feeling okay? You're looking really tired…” Scott prodded gently.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” He sucked in a shaking breath. “I just haven't been sleeping, really…”

“I thought things were back to normal since we helped the Tates?” Zaida frowned. She hadn’t received any midnight calls from the boy, and his reading had been back to normal. Scott and Allison hadn’t been experiencing anything strange since then either. So what was happening to Stiles?

“Why don't you go home? Take a sick day, or something?” Scott suggested to his best friend, but Zaida shook her head.

“No, we’re going to the hospital.” She insisted, her guts writhing within her torso uncomfortable as a feeling of dread rose like bile into her throat. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Dr. Gardner's not back until next week...Do you want to try waiting for one of the urgent care doctors, or…” Melissa asked from the other side of the desk as Zaida tapped her nails against the top of the counter anxiously. “Stiles? Are you all right?”

“I don't know...I guess...I guess not really?” The boy sniffed in a flat tone and Zaida's heart lurched at the sound. She hated seeing him like this.

“Please, there’s gotta be something you can do while we’re here,” Zaida whispered with pleading eyes, hoping to whatever higher power there may be that there was indeed something Melissa could do to help him.

“All right, kiddo, all right. Come with me. It's okay.” The woman got up from the desk and put her arm around Stiles, leading him down the corridor and into an empty examination room.

Melissa sat him down on a hospital bed and pulled a small clipboard and notepad from a large pocket in her scrubs. Zaida waited patiently in the corner, twisting her golden rings around her fingers again and again to dispel her nervous energy. She couldn’t quite describe the feeling she was experiencing, but she knew it couldn’t mean anything good. It was like something on the tip of her tongue - she could taste its bitterness but she didn’t quite know what it was.

“So tell me what’s been going on,” Melissa opened the conversation in a casual way, but Zaida knew she would be taking notes.

“Blackouts...But not for that long. And sleepwalking, which I used to do a lot as a kid...Um, I'm also having some really bad anxiety…” He started to list his symptoms and with each one Zaida’s heartstrings tightened more and more. How had he been going through all that and she hadn’t even noticed?

“Panic attacks?” Melissa nodded, the tip of her pen scribbling over the paper.

“Yeah, a couple...Oh, and I temporarily lost the ability to read. But, that might have had more to do with this giant magic tree and the whole human sacrifice thing…” The boy drawled sarcastically to deflect from the seriousness of the situation.

The corners of Melissa’s lips tugged upwards in slight amusement. “I remember something vaguely about that, yes. How many hours of sleep are you getting?”

“Eight.” He responded with a sigh, hanging his head low and fidgeting with his fingers.

“A night?” Melissa clarified, obviously expecting the answer to be yes.

“In the last three days…” Stiles corrected and the strings holding Zaida’s heart up snapped, sending the organ sinking into her stomach. Even Melissa’s head swivelled to face the boy in alarm. “Yeah, definitely eight.”

“Been feeling irritable?” The woman continued.

“Yeah...possibly to the point of homicide…” Stiles huffed - another joke.

“Inability to focus?” Scott’s mother added, going through a mental list. She clearly already had a theory as to what was going on with the boy, given that she knew exactly what to ask.

“No, the Adderall's not working.” He shook his head slightly and Zaida’s blood only grew colder and colder within her veins.

“Impulsive behaviour?” Melissa asked, and Zaida recalled the way he had run out of the party the night before on a whim. Check.

“More than my usual? Hard to tell.” The boy snorted sarcastically, lacking much of the energetic emphasis his words usually were backed by.

“Vivid dreams during the day?” Melissa questioned once more and Stiles’ foot tapped against the tiled floor in slight frustration.

“Okay, basically all of the above.” He admitted with a blanket generalisation. “Do you know what this is?”

“I think so.” The woman muttered to herself, turning to a supplies desk and retrieving a large shot of clear liquid.

“Uh, what's that?” Stiles eyed it warily, and Zaida remembered the way he had passed out simply watching Scott get tattooed.

“He doesn’t like needles,” The brunette teen spoke up for him, wondering what indeed was inside the shot.

“Do you trust me?” Melissa sighed, her eyebrows raising slightly as she looked at the boy.

“When you're not holding a needle…” He mumbled, trailing off uncertainly.

“It's midazolam - a sedative.” She explained and without warning, pushed the metal tip into the flesh of Stiles’ arm, finding the median cubital vein effortlessly.

“Why'd you give me a sedative?” Stiles looked up at the dark-haired woman with glassy, heavy eyes.

“Because you, Stiles, are one profoundly sleep-deprived young man. You need rest, and you need it now.” She gripped his shoulders and gently laid him back down against the bed he was sitting atop. “Lie down.”

“Okay, how long's it take to-” He began, suddenly being hit by a wave of almost dizzying fatigue as he settled into the pillows. “Oh... Not long at all…”

“Get some rest.” Melissa patted his shoulder affectionately before turning away, only to freeze at the next words that came out of the boy’s mouth.

“Thanks, Mom…” Stiles murmured in a drowsy and disoriented tone, and Melissa’s face crumpled, full of emotion as she walked away. Even Zaida’s muscles stiffened, her soul weeping at the heartfelt moment. She supposed Stiles and Scott had been best friends for so long, that they were practically brothers. It made sense that Stiles would feel some sort of familial attachment to Melissa - especially since his own mother couldn’t be there. Taking the nurse’s place by his bedside, Zaida crossed over to grip Stiles’ hand, leaning against the side of the bed.

“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this? I thought things were fine…” She whispered softly, gently brushing his hair back from his forehead as he lay with his eyelids fluttering open and shut.

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to drop everything else to look after me - like you did before.” He explained, slightly garbling from the effects of the drug rapidly taking hold. She had asked for space, and he’d wanted to respect that.

“Don’t be stupid,” Zaida scoffed, her lungs constricting in her chest painfully at the sight of him. “I don’t care what else is going on. I’d drop everything to be there for you even if the world was on fire.”

“I know,” His lips tugged upwards in fond amusement. He’d always found her instinct to protect those she cared about was one of her most admiring characteristics. “But I didn’t want you to have to - you had problems of your own you wanted to sort out. I didn’t want to take away from that.”

“Well, just so you know for future reference, you’re my priority. Everything else can go to hell,” She stated boldly.

“I’m sorry…” Stiles’ words came out in a breathy tone, his eyes half-shut as he struggled to hold onto consciousness. Now that his head was clearing of all the external noise, he couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, and the way she had danced with him. Or the way she had looked so deflated when he’d left her behind in such a hurry. “For skipping out on our first date.”

“That’s okay,” Zaida shook her head, brushing it off. Truthfully, she was surprised he was able to give her as much as he had, considering the state he was in. He’d clearly had other worries on his mind. Worries that now played on her thoughts. Had it actually been his handwriting? Had Stiles been the one to instruct Barrow to kill Kira in some dazed or delusional dream state? “It was a party anyway, so it doesn’t really count. Consider it a clean slate - our next one will be better.”

“Yeah…the nex- nex one’ll be better…” He slurred, barely awake. “I promise.”

“Stiles, shh,” She cooed, her hand shifting to cup his cheek. Her thumb brushed over his skin soothingly in a manner that told him it was okay to let go. “Get some rest. Go to sleep.”

With her permission he finally released his hold on the land of the conscious, falling into blissful darkness. As soon as she was certain he was asleep, Zaida’s walls crumbled. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched over him, her heart weeping for the boy. She’d felt as if she was going crazy for less - it was hard to imagine just how much he was going through. How scared had he felt these past few days? How terrified had he been when he’d discovered he held the key to the storeroom - when he’d discovered he might have been the mastermind behind the whole plot? The best-case scenario was that he’d dreamt the whole thing - going to the school, unlocking the closet and matching the handwriting. But Zaida couldn’t deny that she had seen the key and it had been touched by chemicals that would have only been handled in an environment such as the chemistry closet. It was too large of an unexplainable coincidence for it not to be connected. But what was more was that she had seen the look in his eyes. Stiles had been convinced of it. The worst part was, she could feel he wasn’t lying. No - the worst part was that…she believed him. What was happening to him?

[onlineproblems]

the goings-on

my brother has to have aortic valve replacement surgery within the year, which is hella expensive and particularly dangerous for him as he already has a condition that could cause a brain bleed if there's a negative interaction from a prosthetic valve. regardless of what solution they come to, it's going to be hella expensive. he's in his 20s and in my parents' care full-time.

m starts a new job in a week, after his previous company went belly-up. i myself am getting a new boss since my current boss is moving to a different department, and it is not the person i hoped for. this is disappointing. but i will cope.

mom changed her relationship status on facebook, so evidently she's serious with this guy. I'm sure this is wreaking havoc on my dad's psyche. i don't particularly care that she's dating someone, but the whole divorce drama has been so annoying and she's so annoying and every reminder is jarring to my otherwise relatively peaceful existence.

i have like 6 months of medication left if i keep to the minimum dose (ive been taking 1/2 the starting dose actually), but i really really hope i can get my neuro to try to authorize a refill before then. insurance has been playing tag with me for months and it fucking suuuuucks. i'm almost not disabled when im on the normal dosage, and its been hard to adjust back to being....well, disabled. having to be super-conscious of what i eat and do, struggling with things that haven't been a struggle for years. like not since college.

Things are not bad, but they could be better.

I'm enjoying my creative outlets and find myself easily putting aside screen-centered activities in favor of reading, writing, drawing, being outside, hanging out and talking with people. I think my anxiety and ADHD treatments are finally at an optimal place.

Making friends has been hard, but in the past year I've put effort in and it's paying off. All the weirdness and awkwardness at the beginning fades away and you fall into a natural rhythm. I wouldn't say I have *close* friends among them yet, but they're good friends. And that's a huge change from a couple years ago when I had like two or three people to occasionally talk to.

I'm more confident, more assured in my capabilities, less concerned with my so-called shortcomings, and happier in general. I am better at establishing boundaries (though I can always improve). I nurture the relationships that nurture me.

My goals include taking random classes on whatever interests me, learning basic first aid, how to fix common car problems, and deal with household maintenance like fixing simple utilities, repairs, etc. I want to get out of my comfort zone more and interact with people I'm not familiar with. A different culture, a different perspective, different interests. I'd love to have someone to practice German with. It's not motivating to learn it alone.

Okay, that's all.

[ferromagnetiic]

;From Miss Golden Week A sea king’s head approaches victoria punk, weirdly doesn’t seem to cause any harm than laying its chin over the ship as a little girl slides from its beak. A wanted poster in one hand and a brush in the other. “ You. You stole Mr three, didn’t you? Prepa—” “✨Uaaaaaahhhhhh!✨”

Eyes turn into sparkly stars, arms upwards in an excited motion even though she keep her frown. “Mecha! Mecha Arm! Uaaa—ha!” Bag is thrown on the floor, scattering things as she reaches for a pen and a notebook. “ Eeehhh! Nevermind! Keep him. Do you mind If draw your arm? It will take 2 seconds.” Marianne didn't really waited an answer as she started to sketch anyway.

          【 UNPROMPTED ASK. 】                     @waxgentleman 【 Miss Goldenweek. 】

          The blithe nature of the steadily approaching Sea King was an unusual sight; the majority of reptilian sea beasts tended to avoid the Victoria Punk entirely, sans the occasional few too young, reckless, and stupid to know they were pursuing an early death by bothering the pirate crew. Even from afar, Kid could tell this wasn't an ordinary one, though he hadn't quite anticipated that it had been trained to serve as a method of transportation.

Bringing in another weirdo, it seemed. She was damn lucky he hadn't shot her ride with a canon.

The young girl standing before him peers up at him from under the brim of her hat with her wide, dark eyes, her energy confidently composed. Not quite like Dive, then. A similar age and height to her, perhaps, but this one is significantly less rabid. She bears no proud display of shark-like canines, nor any nervous twitching which results from an untapped thirst to spontaneously commit acts of inexplicable, unprompted violence.

She was Galdino's girl. He should have figured it out sooner, but her identity was revealed regardless the moment she utters the man's name. Probably shouldn't toss her overboard, then; the wax artist would be in a perpetual state of horrified shrieking for days if his daughter arrived for a number of seconds, and was then immediately flung from the deck. Well, whatever. She was small, she wouldn't take up that much space. Kid could vaguely recall Candlwick mentioning something about the girl in question arriving some time in the immediate future, though in truth, he really hadn't been paying attention to what he'd said. Even if he had brought it up multiple times every single day for the past two weeks in a demonstration of both his sheer excitement as well as his paranoid anxiety for her wellbeing, Kid hadn't been listening to any of those times, either. The point was, she was here now.

Her immediate fawning over his prosthetic limb and subsequent desire to begin sketching it does not inspire a cocksure display of overt conceitedness in him; it would take more than complimenting his craftmanship as a mechanic to form a congenial bond with him. Connecting with him would not occur solely due to her admiring his arm; he knew it was cool already, irrespective of whether or not she told him outright or not. Rather, he is awkward, uncomfortable. Total strangers bluntly praising him often tended to raise his defenses rather than lower them, and entice a degree of suspicion from him. What was she even going to do with that drawing of his arm, anyway? Just keep it and look at it in her spare time? He hadn't even known this girl until around twenty seconds ago. Try again when he had decided if he actually liked her or not.

Kid begins to turn so his back is partially towards her, on the cusp of walking away. If she wanted to draw him, she better do it damn fast, because he wasn't about to linger and wait for her to finish. He had things to do.

     ❝ Stick with Candlewi— With yer Da. I ain't babysittin' ya, and I don't have time to mind another brat on my ship. ❞

She could stay. Considering his attitude towards most guests aboard the Victoria Punk, this might as well have been a grand gesture of hospitality from him, and she should take what she could get.

[powderrblue]

so i was asked to describe the little Fucked Up Blorbo that i have made out of post escape rainbo. i spin he in my brain Constantly so here's some thoughts. some of them are older things but i'll try to add new stuff too :D

to me they trust charlie and sneeg with their life. and any semblance of normal they had before showfall is eventually Gone because they somewhat balance out the codependency charlie and sneeg have but the way the other two functioned before ranboo came along also becomes a part of them too because sneeg and charlie don't know any different. and after showfall they're all fucked up in so many different ways that some days all they can do is hold onto each other. because even if they hate each other they don't have anything else to fall back on.

and in my head i have a specific look. they have prosthetic eyes and hearing aids and the whole thing from the box. i am wanting to draw it very badly but it's been difficult because i don't know how bad the scars are gonna be around the eyes yet. not to mention the other scars but YUH

(there's gonna be more silly thoughts in parentheses btw because i am Silly with a bit of Whimsy but. post escape ran especially with the aforementioned design. he give such cozy vibes to me. like. sweaters and hot chocolate and woods. don't mind me it's the delulu cabin au using me as its puppet speaking its words)

but back to Angst. i probably said this before in another post but. when sneeg and charlie have days where they fucking hate ranboo he will literally curl up in a corner if that's what it takes to get himself out of their sight. and whether or not charlie gives a halfhearted attempt to defend them when sneeg yells at them it still sticks in their brain and they end up believing him if they didn't already.

and when sneeg and charlie fight they stop it as well as they can. they know they can still try to keep the two from clawing at each other and they do even if they get hurt in the process. they try to comfort the two when it's over. and sometimes when they try to stop the two from fighting it makes them spiral because deep down they don't know what to do or how to help or if they're making a difference in the end. and sometimes they get overstimulated during it and it takes one of the other two leading them outside and reminding them none of them are fighting for their lives and that charlie and sneeg do care about each other even when they act like they're on the verge of tearing each other apart to make him calm down.

they hate wearing masks but they still do when they can tolerate it because they know there's literal holes in their face. and even though they can't see it they hate that charlie and sneeg do. (i also have my insane au where niki tells them they look pretty and they just straight up cry. i might talk about that one later because it's part of my delulu cabin au and i love that one with my whole heart)

and to me they cannot stand anything to do with spaghetti-like noodles because it reminds them of the filter showfall put over them literally digging through charlie's organs. and it's bad. like full on breakdown bad. and charlie doesn't remember it happening so neither him or sneeg know what's going on.

in my head all three of them are so so so emotionally unstable but ranboo is in the quietest way out of the three. they aren't the type to break into fights or yell or ignore the other two the way sneeg and charlie would in their respective ways. with ranboo every time charlie sits them down to genuinely ask how they're doing they cry. when sneeg stops one day to apologize for saying they deserved the box they tell him not to be sorry for telling the truth. they hate showfall with their entire being because charlie and sneeg didn't get to see the sun for their entire lives and they don't realize that anger is there until they're up at three in the morning sobbing because they thought about it a little too hard. to me they could spend a whole day spiraling and sneeg and charlie wouldn't find out.

(side note another au i think about is one where randy eventually escapes and finds rgb trio. i love this one again because both the randy and ranboo interactions but also i enjoy the guitar headcanons implementation. the one where randy eventually gets a house and the kids are there with him. they find a guitar and randy tunes it for ranboo so they can play it, yada yada. continuing on that however in this au to ME ranboo keeps on picking away at it and eventually gets really good. and ough. i love this one so bad)

ough anyways i'm just really insane about them. i might reblog with more because sadly i have said a lot of this before. i will be probably more insane later when i have more time LMAO

[dahyeltal]

for your choose violence ask game:

9. worst part of canon?

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

9. worst part of canon

The worst part of canon in TOS and TOS movie era is Shatner's ego. There are so, so many scenes that were either taken from others and given to him, or cut out so he could get more screen time. As a Spones shipper, knowing that a lot of the scenes that were cut were Sponesy makes it even worse.

In the current era, the systematic erasure of Doctor McCoy is so goddamn aggravating. They were a triumvirate. They all three go together. To single out just Spirk constantly when referencing the old eras is so goddamn annoying. I also worry that SNW won't bring in McCoy and leave him out, yet again. I didn't want SNW to bring Kirk in, but if he's there, Bones has to be there, too.

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

I'd like to see more disability rep in fics, especially with canon disabled characters. TOS didn't do the best job of it, but y'all. These characters go through some really traumatic shit during their job. PTSD is a thing, and despite wicked advanced healing devices, even Doctor McCoy can't heal everything. Don't be afraid to write or draw characters losing limbs, using prosthetics or mobility aids, having depression and/or anxiety, or any number of things. My ideal Future Gay Space Communism doesn't erase or shy away from disability, it designs a future with disability in mind.

[omgkalyppso]

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies? 🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities? for any current favorite OC of yours :3c

Thank you for the ask!

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?

I read a fic recently where the author gave Enver Gortash the skill / hobby of sketching / art. The fic was a fun read, but I don't think Enver would draw his own porn (intentionally / for the purpose of release / tantalization). However, I really like the idea that he has a surprisingly neat and steady hand for art because of all his invention schematics (I'd also appreciate if someone gave him chicken scratch for The Same Reason, but I'm won over to the art for now).

I bring this up because I've been playing my evil dark urge Meabh who I ship with Enver and so they're both on my mind. I haven't shared screenshots because early game evil durge is depressing / would require so many cw's. So I blocked out a bunch of dialogue of Meabh finding what they think will be one of Enver's diaries, but instead it's this book of projects, either personal or half finished, mostly equations and technical drawings but also including a bunch of toys and tools that have sexual purpose. Meabh doesn't find this out (yet) though because he takes it away to instead return to her, her own book of art, and that this is more gorey, but technically comparable, drawings of creatures that come from corpses which would have Balthazar salivating, of bodies and blood - but theirs would be the one that would have pages dedicated to sexual titillation, including pages that feature her lover - especially in ways she would never injure him. So there's that shared, but private hobby. He only looked in Meabh's book when he thought they had died.

I'm calling gymnastics another of Meabh's hobbies. Always fun when your rogue can contort real small or climb a building like an aerial dancer.

Their third hobby can be knife collecting.

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

So I'm probably incapable of writing a character who doesn't have adhd and / or autism, so many many of my oc's and their partners will at least have one of these disorders. Which means I will not elaborate. If you suspect it, it's probably true. Sometimes it's intentional. Most times it is tbh.

My ffxiv wol Sawyer is mute. My ffxiv oc Sybille translates sign language for most of their communication with npc's who are less practised with the method of communication. Sybille also needs glasses for near-sightedness.

My fe3h oc Faedolyn has a congenital heart defect in au's to honor the canon of a magical heart transplant at birth. You can Just see scars for this in some art of them (it is Very Hard to notice because I didn't use black lines to outline it. It's just a pink / purple line on their chest): Here and Here. And it came up in my fic Just Go With It.

My dragon age oc, like many people's, Samaire Cadash is missing her left arm.

My bg3 oc's ... well there are some who have the durge condition. What are people calling that? OCD + C-PTSD? Orboloth is also missing his right eye (using a white eye to signify this).

My fe3h oc (one of Claude's sisters) Asmaa walks with a cane and was born with some spinal issue. My fe3h oc (Rodrigue's wife / Felix's mother) Eugénie is missing her right eye. My fe3h oc (Claude x Fae fankid) Simon was also born with a spinal issue and it affects his balance / how much weight he can lift but not much else of his life thus far, he also requires glasses for near-sightedness.

I have a nerve injury in my left foot and have been meaning to give someone the same, but I don't remember if I have? (Sometimes the pain is so bad I want an oc who's had their foot amputated entirely who uses a prosthetic).

Not going to list more glasses users but there's a bunch.